Fly Your Freak Flag, Proudly


via Scott Stabile

Be a freak. Be a big weirdo. 

Proudly wear your unique and unrepeatable and luminous light out into the world.

Don’t let anyone tell you you cannot do what you’ve set out to do. Others are already doing ‘it,’ so why not you? (‘It’ might be writing a marvelous book, or starting a yoga studio, or studying ancient history, or hiking the Pacific trail.)

Don’t listen to the naysayers, the negativos, and the party of ‘No.’ Don’t drink their Kool-aid.

Don’t swallow the fear, the drear, or the catastrophizing of those who are terrified you’ll change. Terrified you’ll prove them wrong for sitting still, doing nothing in particular.

Don’t worry what others think at all.

Simply fall into the authentic life you want to live; bring your own posse of beautiful freaks along for company, but don’t hang back waiting for others to change, become willing, or move forward. Anyone who doesn’t want to join up can happily languish in the land of beige.

That doesn’t mean you have to.

what is normal“Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.” ~ Rob Siltalen with the participation of Lee Clow (for the Apple Think Different Campaign)

Don’t wait for permission.

Don’t wait for approval.

When you look back at your life at the moment of your death, do you really want to be thinking, “At least I had more stuff than the Joneses?” At least I fit in and didn’t make waves? At least I took up as little space as possible and left no mark?

Scuff up the world. Run your body hard and fast.

Experience the world, don’t just visit it.

Share your particular and breathtaking gifts. Color outside the lines.

Fill yourself; gorge yourself on life.

Be completely you.

That’s what we (collectively) most need. We need for each one of us to step up and see this world — this mirror and this window — as though we’ve never been here before.

Fresh eyes. Open hearts.

We need to be willing to be abnormal, wrong outsiders who will change everything because everything needs to change.

© 2015  Shavawn M. Berry All rights reserved

Feel free to share this post with others, as long as you include the copyright information and keep the whole posting intact. If you like this piece please share it with others. You can like me on Facebook  or Twitter to see more of my writing and my spiritual journey on my website  at


Don’t Give Up


Let the Water Take You

The theme this week seems to be loss and letting go, which have been the overarching themes of the past several years, if you’ve been paying attention. At. All.

We’re back in our hip boots, standing in a fast moving current, nearing the point where the water will sweep us off our feet. There’s no point in trying to stagger upstream any more. The currents whirling around us have their own plans. It’s time to float, leaf-like and still, and see where we land. (Even if it is someplace bewilderingly unexpected.)


In the midst of all this chaos and loss, I’ve been re-evaluating my planned trip to Spain and London this summer. I’ve realized that next summer is a better choice. In order to walk the El Camino de Santiago (550 miles of often rugged terrain), I need to lose a minimum of 50 – 75 pounds and be much more physically active and fit than I am. Having just started to recover from years of sleep deprivation, I realize now I can actually do physical exercise without collapsing in exhaustion, but it will take time. With school keeping me insanely busy, I don’t know how I can devote four or five hours a day to exercising.

Once the semester’s over, I’ll have down time for about 8 weeks. That’s when I originally planned to take my trip. Now, I will start my serious exercise then, in preparation for the summer of 2016.


This also will allow me a chance to devote myself to my writing projects because I will not be teaching at all this summer (something I haven’t done since 2010). I can launch several writing workshops (and their online components) and do some local writing workshops to beta-test some of the materials I want to use for workshops in London next year. I am setting up plans on my calendar and building time into my schedule for both writing and self-care.

At last, I am doing what is important first, rather than what is urgent. (Everything can seem urgent to a teacher.)


What are you letting go? What’s changing in your life? How are you navigating these losses?

Every Sunday I listen to New York astrologist, Anne Ortelee, broadcast her “Weekly Weather.” This is a big week. Today is a significant full moon. Tomorrow is Chinese New Year. Today is Lent…and the list goes on. If you have noticed that the losses are piling on and you feel isolated and alone with your grief, be sure to listen to Anne’s podcasts. They help. Tremendously. I feel much less alone when I hear her caution that the week is jammed packed with difficult aspects. I take her advice to heart. I build down time into my schedule. I nestle in bed and snuggle with the cats. I read and drink scalding hot Earl Grey tea. I sit with the song sparrows and hummingbirds and grackles; I listen to their contentment and joy as they chatter incessantly: Spring! Spring is coming!

They celebrate change. They revel in letting go.


via damien-crisp

via damien-crisp

I am having dreams again, after years of just slivers, fragments.

Full blown nonsensical narratives pour through my head each night.

This is a sign I am deep into the creative juice of my subconscious while I sleep. I awaken feeling rested! I haven’t felt rested in years.

For a long time, I lamented my lack of energy since it blocked my forward motion.

Now, I understand what a pleasure it is to see the world clearly and to be able to make plans. I am daydreaming again. I spy on my most secret self, greet her, ready to unpack the suitcase she’s been sitting on since I was 35.

There’s so much joy in being present, in being here.

I’ve come home to myself.

I can finally get started.

© 2015  Shavawn M. Berry All rights reserved

Feel free to share this post with others, as long as you include the copyright information and keep the whole posting intact. If you like this piece please share it with others. You can like me on Facebook  or Twitter to see more of my writing and my spiritual journey on my website  at

The Journey of a Thousand Miles

10858487_10204575821828191_2380620331922281524_nAnd so it begins.

Seeing Light. Everywhere. Seeing doors everywhere. Seeing my way through.

At last.

While I’ve been recovering from the various and sundry ailments of the past few months, I’ve started to brew up some big plans, which I will be acting on during the next four or five months. One of those plans — the plan to walk the El Camino de Santiago this summer — will require a large commitment of time to prepare for. I am also starting a new book on writing as well as compiling a manuscript and writing a book proposal for another book — both of which will also require a significant time commitment. I have professional commitments to attend to besides teaching, so this spring is going to be quite busy. 

Sharing the process journey…

As a result, I will be writing fewer traditional posts here and instead, giving status reports on my progress, as I move forward with these plans.

I am a bit superstitious about ‘talking about’ my writing while I am up to my elbows in the process, so I won’t be gabbing about the contents of these projects, so much as providing a window to anyone who is interested, into my writing and creative process.

Why I do what I do.

I’ve written from time to time about my love for language, my fascination with words, and my genuine belief in their power to heal. To me, that is what the next few months of my life are about. I’ve been quite ill (mostly due to terrible sleep apnea) for the past fifteen to twenty years. Apparently, I’ve stopped breathing more than 15 times each hour as I tried to sleep. I didn’t know that was the problem. I often thought it was depression or ennui or iron poor blood.

Now, I am ten days into a period of actual rest due to treatment for the disorder, and I can tell you, sleep (real, deep, restorative sleep) will cure what ails you.

I feel a bit like Gulliver, waking to find his whole world changed.

Gulliver's Travels via Deviant Art

Gulliver’s Travels via Deviant Art

And I am listening to the heartbeat of my life, and heeding its call for, perhaps, the first time in my life.

What’s it telling me?

It’s insisting on a spiritual journey this summer, a health journey this spring, and a writing journey through both.

As the opening bell peals, I am excited. Terrified. Filled with joy. Hopeful.

I will let you know what I find out.

© 2015  Shavawn M. Berry All rights reserved

Feel free to share this post with others, as long as you include the copyright information and keep the whole posting intact. If you like this piece please share it with others. You can like me on Facebook  or Twitter to see more of my writing and my spiritual journey on my website  at

A Pearl Beyond Price

Image via Tumblr

Image via Tumblr

In Memory of June White, 1931 – 2015.

Reason to believe.

There’s a reason. There’s always a reason for everything we experience. We may not like the reason. We may rail against it. We may gnash our teeth and weep over it, but there’s always something to learn, something to uncover, something to unearth, no matter how luminous or slimy or ugly it might be. No matter whether it cuts our legs off or leaves us crying in a heap in the middle of the road, we’re here to experience and learn from everything: darkness, loss, love, strife, illusion, death. It’s all a part of this cosmic cake we call ‘life.’ That doesn’t mean it’s easy. It sometimes tastes bitter, rather than sweet. As Alanis Morissette once said, life is often ‘a jagged little pill.’


My friend’s mother, June, crossed the river of death this past Monday. Diagnosed with leukemia seven days before she died, J (her daughter) didn’t even know she was sick until last Friday.


Talk about getting your hair blown back.

One day you’re here, the next, gone, gone, gone.


And those who loved you most, are left to wonder what the hell just happened.


Six weeks ago, I sat next to June on Christmas Eve, laughing and talking about life. We ate steak and baked potatoes with all the trimmings. I ordered extra sides: sauteed mushrooms and grilled asparagus and shared them with her and the rest of the table. She regaled us with her sharp wit and sharper tongue.

“It’s tough gettin’ old,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I’m tired. Sometimes I think we just live too long these days.”

Hilarious, wise, and beautiful, I found myself hoping I would be still be that much fun at 83.


Earlier in December, J drove up from her house in Coolidge with June riding shotgun. They picked me and my mother up, and we spent the afternoon running a whole cache of mundane errands (UPS, Costco, banking, groceries).

First, at a Gyro place a few miles south of my house, we crowded into a booth and lunched on Greek salads, kalamata olives, gyros, and souvlaki skewers, washing them down with iced tea and sodas.

At one point, June playfully batted J’s hand away from her plate, saying,”No. No. Get away from my olives!”

She looked a little like Popeye, her lopsided face and crooked smile the result of the removal of a brain tumor twenty years ago. “Stop. It. No, you can’t have my olives. But I will take your onions.”

They exchanged items from each others’ plates and continued talking over each other, just the way my mom and I do, an easy humor and love under their words.

Once we finished, we piled back into the car and drove from place to place all afternoon, checking items off our ‘to do’ lists.

The whole time, my mother and June sat side by side, resplendent in their colorful outfits and dark glasses, holding court from the backseat of J’s new car.

June cracked jokes and provided running commentary on our activities. Neither one of them could hear worth a damn, so they spoke louder than need be. (Imagine Maggie Smith and Ruth Gordon as sidekicks, to get the idea.)

“What next?” June sighed, clearly starting to run out of steam.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” My mother worried we were being a burden, asking for help running errands.

“We’re just hanging out, mother,” I said, “for the fun of it.”

“Isn’t it great having a girl’s day out?” J added.

After we mailed Christmas gifts, picked up a blood pressure cuff, and got groceries, we ended the afternoon by dropping my mom off at the house to unpack groceries, while I went several blocks away to open a new bank account at the credit union.

June and J sat outside waiting for me as the bank representative took me through a painfully slow process to open an account. As this very thorough representative explained the details of the differences between money market accounts and standard savings accounts, June tiptoed through the front door and waved to me, motioning that she and J were waiting in the car. Still. “Still waiting,” she mouthed, and turned heel to return to the car.

Forty excruciating minutes later, I emerged, and apologized profusely.

“We didn’t think you were ever coming back,” she blurted from her post in the backseat.


Thinking back on it now, it was a perfect day.

We discussed the weather and our health and the falling price of gas and books we love. June told me she watched Outlander with her sister, and how “crazy sexy” the actor playing Jamie in the miniseries, was.

We didn’t do anything significant.

It was one of those days you don’t think are anything special: bright sky smeared with clouds; peals of laughter in the car as you drive from place to place; verbal clucking and cooing and chatting, mother to daughter, daughter to mother.

It was nothing and it was everything.

I know that now. Now that we can never get those precious minutes and hours back.


All your life you think — always — there’s plenty of time. No hurry. There’s plenty where that came from.

But, in the end, that’s not true.

The clock winds down and you find you’ve lost a pearl beyond price.

And you hope they knew what they meant to you.

And you say a prayer of thanks, of grief, of peace.

And you will yourself to remember. Every bit. Every cadence. Every joy. Every sorrow.

All of it.

© 2015  Shavawn M. Berry All rights reserved

Feel free to share this post with others, as long as you include the copyright information and keep the whole posting intact. If you like this piece please share it with others. You can like me on Facebook  or Twitter to see more of my writing and my spiritual journey on my website at

Sleeping Beauty

Image by Elisa Talentino

Image by Elisa Talentino

“The goal of life is to make your heartbeat match the beat of the universe, to match your nature with Nature.” ~ Joseph Campbell

The Heart of the Matter

The last few months have been a whirlwind of doctor appointments, tests, more tests, and more doctor appointments.

So much for ‘winter break.’

My father, grandfather, and uncle all died of heart disease. In fact, my dad had his first heart attack at the age of 50; he died of a massive coronary at 76. At 54, the long list of symptoms I incrementally developed finally wrested me from my stupor and got me to go in for a check up (lethargy, peripheral edema, arrhythmia, high blood pressure). At the behest of my primary care physician, I went to see a cardiologist reluctantly. However, I was pleasantly surprised to be cared for with candor and compassion (as opposed to given a lecture on family history and the obesity epidemic, which is what I expected).

My doctor sat across from me after reading my preliminary test results and said, “The reason we are here is pure and simple: you treat yourself like shit.

Alrighty.  A truth teller in a white lab coat.

He went on to tell me that he was ordering a series of tests to ascertain just exactly what might be wrong. These included two different types of stress tests (physical and nuclear), a resting test (nuclear), an extensive ultrasound of the heart and the assignment of wearing a portable heart monitor at home for 24 hours.

As I shuffled from appointment to appointment, I admit, I worried what he might find.

Nicolas Dufalt - Inner Child via Pinterest

Nicolas Dufalt – Inner Child via Pinterest

In the end, he found just one major symptom of heart disease: thickening walls on my heart. (The symbolism wasn’t lost on me.)

There were no blockages or problems with the way the heart works. It worked too hard (the story of my life) and didn’t beat with as much regularity as it should, but he told me all these things were “reversible” with exercise, changes in diet, and eliminating most, if not all, stress in my life.

He gave me the all clear to exercise three weeks ago, which I’ve done with actual gusto, for the first time in my life.

I eliminated a few things from my diet (mayonnaise & full octane coffee; sorry to see you go) and started to take medication for high blood pressure and heartburn.

My peripheral edema is now under control. I got a blood pressure cuff and support hose for Christmas. (Yikes, I am getting old). I set up a standing desk (with the help of my Buddha-bud, Jon) to eliminate the sedentary nature of my teaching job. Now, I stand when I work and write.

Even in just a short time, the difference is palpable. (I’ve lost ten pounds, to boot.)

Adrift, not asleep.

But there was still the matter of the fact that I couldn’t sleep. At night, I simply couldn’t sleep.

I’ve long wondered if I had sleep apnea. My last boyfriend complained about my snoring to the point that I slept on the couch rather than listen to him bitch. Everyone who was ever around me at night complained about the snoring, but no one suggested it might be a medical problem.

And I didn’t know it could be, either. I should have listened to my body and gotten my ass to a doctor.

No rest for the weary.

So, for the past twenty years (conservatively) I haven’t gotten much, if any, sleep. I fell asleep all the time. I was chronically exhausted and sucking down an ocean worth of Diet Coke and coffee. But real, deep sleep?

Nope. Haven’t been there or done that, in decades.

A Study in Sleep.

After an almost three month wait, I finally got approval to do a sleep study.  Last Saturday I spent the night at my neurologist’s sleep study office. This entails going to a complex in the middle of nowhere (for me, at least) and being hooked up to a computer via tiny wires and sensors attached to your head, jaw, heart, and chest.  Sensors are put on your throat, and you wear plastic wire sensors across your lips and nose.  Straps are wrapped around your chest and abdomen. When fully set up, you look like something out of 2001: A Space Odyssey.  

While you sleep, a technician monitors your blood pressure, heart rate, brain waves and breathing. They watch you via night vision cameras and listen to you sleep over the audio feeds in the room. Once you are all hooked up and dialed in, you crawl into bed in the sleep study complex, and ostensibly, drift into dreamland.

Uh. No.  Even the pictures of elephants in my room (which I love deeply) didn’t calm me or help me sleep. (Although I was glad to have them there. It felt like a good omen.)

I thrashed and tossed and turned and gasped for the first couple of hours.

Suddenly the tech was there, ‘waking me’ to put me on the Continuous Positive Air Pressure machine (CPAP).

I do, in fact, have pretty severe sleep apnea. And he likely woke me because I stopped breathing while I slept.

He attached and velcroed and adjusted the head piece and put the nozzle over my nose. I imagined it would be onerous to have that contraption on my face. Wrong-o.

Within minutes, my whole body calmed down, and I fell deeply asleep. Deeply.

I didn’t awaken for the rest of the night, something that hasn’t happened for as long as I can remember. via Pinterest via Pinterest

The Heart Sees the Truth. The Heart Sees What’s Real. 

Yesterday I got confirmation from my insurance that my CPAP machine has been ordered and is fully covered as a part of my benefit package through my job. Next week, a technician will come out to the house to show me how to use it.

Then, I will be able to sleep again. I haven’t really slept since I was, perhaps, 32-years-old. That’s twenty-two years ago.

During that time, I over-ate and I used stimulants like coffee to fuel my life. Otherwise, I had no energy to do anything.

The reason sleep is so important is that many of our health problems as a society are likely due to the lack of sleep.

The neurologist told me that not sleeping deeply causes a host of problems: heart disease, obesity, and high blood pressure among them. If the body never rests, the brain never rests. If the body never rests, the heart never slows and rests. This can be catastrophic for one’s health, long term.

What’s My Heart Trying to Say?

The whole time I’ve been navigating all this sickness, I’ve wondered what its message was for me.

I dreamt the other morning, just before waking, of a baby born into water, still encased in the amniotic sac, floating like a perfect starfish, unaware its first breath was just seconds away.

There was a blood transfusion bag feeding into the mother’s left arm, which dangled like a white birch branch, over the side of the bathtub where the birth took place.

The ‘mermaid’s purse’ (the name for this birth within the amniotic sac) glowed and the child inside it sucked its thumb.

To me, the dream is about rebirth. About comfort. About being able to breathe again. About feeling transfused, sated, safe.

It took me too long to get here — to this new place inside my life — but I got here.

Now, I can only wonder what’s next.

© 2015  Shavawn M. Berry All rights reserved

Feel free to share this post with others, as long as you include the copyright information and keep the whole posting intact.

If you like this piece please share it with others. You can like me on Facebook  or Twitter to see more of my writing and my spiritual journey on my website at

If You Numb the Darkness, You Numb the Light



“If you numb the darkness, you numb the light.” ~ Brene Brown, Daring Greatly

Can Your Hear Me?

Lately, I sometimes feel much like the character, Major Tom, in David Bowie’s song, Space Oddity. I am floating in my tin can, high above the world, observing, taking notes, compiling questions. My air supply is finite and dwindling; ground control’s lost contact.

I am all alone and there’s nothing I can do. I watch my demise unfolding, powerless to change a god damn thing.

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Of course, this is not a true measure of the state of things. I am not drifting like a leaf, unable to save my own life.

I have options. Lots of them.

We all have agency in this world. What we focus on — incessantly, fervently — brings molecule by molecule together to shape reality. We vote with our focus and our thoughts. We vote with our obsessions and compulsions and vulnerabilities. We vote with our beliefs and our hearts and our minds.

We aren’t less vulnerable if we isolate ourselves, far from the so-called ‘madding crowd.’

We aren’t stronger if we live in a bubble of our own making.

We think we are. But it ain’t true.

In Living Color

We’re simply allowing our days to pass without the vibrancy and color they might otherwise contain if we waded into the water and felt the stones slipping under our feet. If we looked up at the swirl of clouds above us, and heard the clatter of birdsong ringing out all around us.

We’re living in muted tones instead of living in color.

I think that’s what Brown means (in the above mentioned quote) when she cautions that, “numbing the darkness” will “numb the light.” We are creatures of contrast. We are creatures who need community, solace, contact, love.

And to fully enter life and community, we must be willing to be vulnerable to loss, fractures, shame and, even bitter-sweetness.

Be Here Now

Otherwise, we miss the jarring, brightness of the journey. We miss the joy. We trade the sting of life, for the dull blade of complacency.

Becoming Willing

So, I must become willing — every single day — to head out into the world and let myself be seen.

I can carry my armor, but I cannot avoid the fray. I can ‘trust but verify,’ but still allow myself to be visible to those I need to meet.

I can wear my heart on my sleeve, vulnerable to whatever gifts, experiences, travails, and challenges life sends.

It is part of this thing called earth school. We are beaten soft by life. We are bruised and rubbed raw.

Like the skin horse in the Margery Williams children’s story, The Velveteen Rabbit, every day, we become real.

Real. The genuine article. The whole shebang. The cosmic sandwich.

Every day.

Love Your Dark; Embrace Your Light

See, we can’t outrun darkness; we can’t hide our light.

We’re here: carbon, constellations, pools, caves. Trees, leaves, worms, grout. Rust, polish, stillness, waves.

We’re here for the whole ride.  Not just the ‘nice parts.’

So, I am strapping on my big girl boots and pulling up my big girl pants, and I am marching into the fray. I am walking the El Camino de Santiago this summer. I am heading to Kenya to meet the elephants, one way or another. I am drinking wine and watching the stars drop into the ocean. I am writing books and sending my words out into the world.

It’s not that I am not afraid.  I am.

It’s just that I am unwilling to stay small in order to stay safe.

We’re here to wear wings and jump in mud puddles and kiss strangers and get fucked up. We’re here to love and ache.

There’s no safety in a real life. Only risk.

Only everything.

Only that.

© 2015  Shavawn M. Berry All rights reserved

Feel free to share this post with others, as long as you include the copyright information and keep the whole posting intact.

If you like this piece please share it with others. You can like me on Facebook  or Twitter to see more of my writing and my spiritual journey on my website at







The Greatest Thing You’ll Ever Learn…

Art by Kelly Louise Judd

Art by Kelly Louise Judd

Last Words

It is the last day of 2014.

Last day, last hours, last thoughts, last dreams.

What roads open before me? What burdens can I release? What have I learned during this harrowing, difficult, heart-wrenching, expansive, transformative year?

I woke up with Nat King Cole’s voice running through my head, singing “Nature Boy.”

There was a boy
A very strange enchanted boy
They say he wandered very far
Very far, over land and sea

A little shy and sad of eye
But very wise was he…

And then one day, a magic day
He passed my way, and while we spoke
Of many things, fools and kings
This he said to me

“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn
Is just to love and be loved in return”

“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn
Is just to love and be loved in return” (Words and Music by Eden Ahbez)

My dog slept peacefully near me, tucked in between the pillows at the head of the bed. My little black beast-cat, Elvis, snuggled next to my chest, purring in my left ear. Like a mantra from a distant shore, I awakened awash in those words: “the greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.”

Trial by Fire

Love. Seems like such a simple word/concept/emotion, right?

Yet, we expect it to be difficult. We expect it will rub us raw; and it does, it often does. But it also gifts us by showing us the ephemeral nature of life. Showing us what we lose by not embracing it, in all its messy glory.

How do we become willing to risk real love? How do we learn to navigate the tender, candid, rank, frightening hollows of the human heart?

We spend our lives learning its curves and fast balls. We aim to unravel its mysteries.

Sometimes we have a slight hint of what it extracts from us. Sometimes not.

Turns out, the purpose of our lives isn’t to make money or scale mountains. In fact, if we don’t bother to stretch our soul skins by risking love, all that material stuff is, basically, worthless. Worthless in the face of not truly seeing another person, and being seen in return. Worthless because love is the only energetic currency we carry from life to life.

No amount of money can rescue you from the empty, lovelessness of your life. No amount of accomplishment will assuage your fears or wipe away your tears as you languish in your deathbed, if you haven’t learned to give your heart.

Love is why we are here.

New Beginnings

So. We are closing out this year, and ringing in the next. On the ledger of life, have we written more love or more loss on the books?

If our lives aren’t balancing out, then perhaps we need to reconsider our priorities.

Perhaps we need to cross off anything that leaves us heart sick, or gives us heartburn, or results in heart break.

Perhaps what we take to heart should be worthy of our affection and attention.

Perhaps what we focus on should enlarge us, expand us, enliven us.

As for me, I’m done with anyone and anything that doesn’t love me in return; be it a relationship, a job, or a location.

It’s time to hang my hat in the luminous halls of worthiness and joy. It’s time to kick back and bask in some juicy love and affection. I know my spirit family. They’ve been by my side for a while now. So I don’t need to search for those I love or those who love me. We’re already gathered. We’re already close.

May we bake around a heart fire so bright it burns our eyes. May we love ourselves enough to let anything that no longer serves our highest good, go. May we risk it all to love this life we are given, no matter how hard that may be.

May we love as though we’ve never been hurt.

Happy New Year

For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.

~ T.S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

Wishing you all a joyous and unforgettable 2015.

Thank you for reading, sharing, and liking my posts this past year. I appreciate every single one of you (and all 132 countries where my work is read). XOXOX


© 2014  Shavawn M. Berry All rights reserved

Feel free to share this post with others, as long as you include the copyright information and keep the whole posting intact.

If you like this piece please share it with others. You can like me on Facebook  or Twitter to see more of my writing and my spiritual journey on my website at