I felt in great need of a pilgrimage,So I embarked on a journey.Before arriving to sacred ground,I adorned myself with reverenceand painted my face with valor.I then looked at myself in the mirrorand saw the eyes of the womanI had once dreamt of becoming.Before arriving to sacred ground,I tied a string of bells around each ankle, their jingles sweetly singing:“Dance as your prayer,and live as your dance.”Before arriving to sacred ground,I kneeled down and retraced the journey travelled thus far—the rough terrain,the fast flowing rivers,the misty mountains,the moonlit nights.Smiling inwards,I stepped foot onto sacred ground,going forth as a an artist,a storyteller,a pilgrim.“I felt in great need of a pilgrimage” 12.13.2025  Backstage photo at the Midtown Arts and Theatre Center Houston  12.02.2025

A villanelle poem inspired by Chinese philosopher Zhuangzi's parable of the butterfly (4th century BC).Once Zhuangzi dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn’t know he was Zhuangzi. Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakable Zhuangzi. But he didn’t know if he was Zhuangzi who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuangzi. Between Zhuangzi and a butterfly there must be some distinction! This is called the Transformation of Things.The Dreamer, The Dreamt, and the DreamI did become a Butterfly last night.Gentle wind upon my wings, joy aglow—Now who am I beneath this morning light?Eyes closed, fragrant reality took flight.Sipping on golden nectar,time slipped slow.I did become a Butterfly last night.The sunrise melts the moon and I–wide eyed.My wings now flesh. Still a Dream?I don’t know.Now who am I beneath this morning light?Seemingly real– then and now.Yes, both quiteExistent. Yet, can’t solid turn to smoke?I did become a Butterfly last night.Delicate winged creaturewith dancing eyes,Could you be I,in a mere mortal’s guise?Now who am I beneath this morning light?Dream, Dreamt, and Dreamer– all behind veiled skies.Dear True Self: revealyourself and arise!Did I become a Butterfly last night?Now who am I beneath this morning light?✍️ The Fourth Week of April 2025

A poem in dialogue with another poem in dialogue with Chinese sage and philosopher Zhuangzi: “Cutting up an ox” from The Way of Chuang Tzu by Thomas Merton. This story of a cook who worked for Prince Wen Hui explains the stages to mastery and effortlessness, wú wei. The poetic form loosely follows the villanelle, a French verse form based on repetition.Rhythm! Timing! Like a breeze!Prince Wen Hui’s cook was cutting up an ox.What he follows is beyond all methods!The cook cut the ox with utmost grace and ease.Prince Wen Hui, impressed, exclaimed:“Rhythm! Timing! Like a breeze!Your method is faultless– explain it, please!”“O Prince,” the cook said. “Method?What I follow is beyond all methods!When I first began to cut oxen,All I saw was the whole ox in one big mass.After three years, I started to see the distinctions.Now, I don’t see– I feel. My cleaver finds its own wayIn the thin space between tendon and bone.A subtle movement of the blade and flesh falls away,What I follow is beyond all methods!”The cook withdrew the bladehe’d been using for nineteen years,still slicing as if freshly sharpened.(Other cooks have their knives replaced every month or year. Their methods? Chop, cut, saw, and hack.)The cook wiped the blade clean and stood still,joy sinking in.Prince Wan Hui said to himself:“This is it! My cook has shown me how to live life.Rhythm! Timing! Like a breeze!Just as a sacred dance or ancient harmonies,There is no method. The effortless lies beyondall methods.”✍️ spring 2025