The First Night 

My memory of that night
Is fluid
The way memory is
Events flexing,
adapting, absorbing
the liquid context
of meaning.
Stories layered upon each other
alternate versions
of truth within
each textured discovery.
What doesn’t change
is the title;
the meta knowing
that however flawed,
however mutable
this is our origin.
Cherished in each
edit, rewrite, and translation.

The Quality of My Love 

I am of birch and wind
The fickle response
To the urge for immediacy
And the slow breath
Of trees and stars.
This place in between is
Where I live.
Between silence and beat
The stillness of listening
I am of seasons and flow
Moving within
The presence of remembrance
A cycling resonance
Of water and light.
This is the quality of my love.


Did we know?
—in that moment
when our eyes met across that room, 
across oceans of time, pain, and place—
Did we know a secret magnetism
was calling us home?
Green on blue map markings,
course-correcting bearings
among all the navigated savagery,
across all the lost wilds
we had traversed without.

Did we know this wild rose
would bloom between us?
Poles shifting until
starry-eyed, our circle connects;
A fixed point amidst torrents
of world-worn chaos and despair.
Our love, our commitment
a beacon in the night.

Enduring. Constant. True. 


In the most literal content-based sense
Sisyphus had a problem.
A boulder shaped disparity
Between expectation and reality
Within the absurd monotony
Of a repeated empty struggle
Without change, without purpose.

​ Let's roll with this for a moment
Clearly Sisyphus
Had a pattern that on first glance
Could be called maladaptive.
Punishment enacted over and over
For living life too preciously
—Too cleverly—
In the pursuit of all
The immersed pleasures of earthly existence.

​ How heavy is that?
This micro-focus on every pound
Of that existential weight.
The muscle shake of resisting
The dreadfulness of futility.

There is more. There is always more
The whole greater than sums of parts.

For there is an instant,
A wild exclamation at the pinnacle
When the stones of sorrow and toil
Release downwards
When Sisyphus stretches his arms
Light as two fallen feathers
And runs joyful, wind in hair
Descending rebellious free
To laugh meaning into the moment.

​ There is value in his process
Of pushing hopefulness ever upward
In the lightness of a mind organized
Around transcendent levity
Rising up again and again
To disrupt the silence of stone fate.


I want to reclaim #medusa
To turn the telling of her story
On its serpentine head.

​ Externalize the monster
Draw it out; poison from
A festering collective wound
Left by a god-culture
Intent on subjugation.

To place every slut-shaming
Victim-blaming stone
Where they belong
In a graveyard of petrified beliefs
That no longer serve
Acknowledged even as
They are laid to rest.

I want to reframe, retell
Remember to her,
—to every so-called Medusa—
The strength in survival
The wily adaptations
that transmute trauma
into body-borne wisdom.

​ To bear witness
As each fierce survivor
Sheds their gorgon terror
And rebuilds a new temple
Of resiliency and power
From the rubble of despair.
A story of reclamation.
A process of meaning.

​ To honour and celebrate
The voice finally speaking
Reintegrated and transformed
From the altar of identity.


Breathe in. Breathe out.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The breath as tides
Ebbing, flowing
Rhythms that define
The body's anchored home.

​ Close your eyes. Settle.
Let go the detritus
That clutters the mind
Plugs emotional floodways
Drift into the electro-currents
Of that dark theta flow.

Heart slowing. Beats
Dancing circadian synchronous
With breath waves
In that pulsing lullaby
That sings you downstream
Of consciousness.

Float past the blue delta
Landmarks named
From the sediment of day
Lush growth regenerates
An accretion of healing
Against the forces of decay

​ Empty into that deep
Ocean of dreams
Rapid-eyed sailing
Through emotional roiling
Charting the passage
Through memory and time.

Hush now. Sleep.
These twilight journeys
Unload our diurnal cargo
Unpacking lightly and easily
Until you are an empty vessel
Ready to be filled.


Freud got it wrong.
Yes Oedipus killed his father
Married his mother
But that is not the story.
Those are the symptoms
The surface presentation
That if not examined
Becomes a diagnosis
Of lust and greed.

There is more, in the marrow
A deep tragedy
In the sacrifice
The honour
The courage
Of people caught unknowingly
Enacting the very outcomes
They are desperately trying to avoid.
A story of love.
A story of missed identity.
A story of humanity.
With all its messy imperfections.

Do you see now?
How the meaning is in the context.
How gilded eyes don't always see.
How choice can be an illusion
Within the oppressive regime
Of prophecy.

​Can we see beyond all these predictions
To the person,
Flawed and trying?
To the here?
To the now?


This is the borderland
This carefully constructed space
Between was and yet to be
We meet here, you and I
At the cafe
Where we order words that
Have not yet become
Taste the sweetness
Of honeyed potential
A liminal Venn
Of expanding familiarity

Elegy for a Lost Love 

What would we have done
If that last day had been known?
Would we drive to that place
The one from before
When it was just us
Where wind-rippled grass
Rolled in living waves
Where the white flash
Of your joyful strength
Ran cresting through
Tides of familial connection

Would we stand at the junction
On the top of the hill
Where so many times
We had passed unheeding
Of all the crossroads
We would traverse together
Where each momentous change
Was brought down
To tenacious footfalls
On gravel-strewn life

Would we sit while the sun
Wheeled pensive on hallowed skies
Where your head
Was ever cocked
To all the possibilities
Of all the unsaid, unneeded words
Where the nestled silence
Of our shared belonging
Was voice enough of love

That day was many days
Many hours laid upon many years
It was not our last day
But it is the day I choose to remember

The loss is profound
The grief still tender

As fragile as the fleeting delight
Of a new prairie crocus
Budded on together treaded paths
Fuzzy petals soft against your fuzzy heart

As fragile as the inept words
I try to piece together
To honour the nobility of spirit
And enduring affection
That were always to be your legacy

As fragile, as apt
To dissolve into dark waters
As the light in your puppy brown eyes
On the day you left.

#poetry #elegy #forpippin #love #grief


You don't know. 
how could you? 

that beautiful 
mind dendrites 
twist to endure 
even the harshest 
of environments 
that this is survival 
that this is adaptation 
that what you 
call insanity 
is actually a reasonable response 
to unreasonable circumstance



Find Me



Previous events


Shades of the Living Light The music of Hidegard von Bingen

Yoga MCC, 2028b 33rd Ave. SW., Calgary, Alberta


Shades of the Living Light

The music of Hidegard von Bingen

March 12, 2016 7:00-9:30pm

$30+ gst

Vanessa Cardui - voice, guitar

Sora - voice, piano

Dorothy Bishop - cello

Trudy Hipwell - percussion

Prashant - bansuri, guitars

"The beauty and depth of theme found in Hildegard’s theology, philosophy, cosmology and medicine can all be found condensed in her music as in a jewel."


Sands of Time Exhibit

Essentia, 1113 Kensington Rd. N.W., Calgary, AB

We would love to invite you to the Sands of Time Opening Reception where you will be able to view Liba's incredible peices of art, while contemplating time. Sora will also be singing Celtic melodies that are sure to put you in awe!Liba Labik is a local visual artist who explores in her latest work time and its impact on life. She is using mainly oil, encaustic and mixed media in her work.During Liba's Opening Reception for "The Sands of Time," Sora will be singing. Sora is a World/Celtic singer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist whose soaring voice and poetic lyrics have garnered her international acclaim. *30% of each art piece sold in January at Essentia will go to the Calgary Wildlife Rehabilitation Society.For more information, please visit:


Annual Candlelight Shindig

The Lantern Community Church, 1401 10th Ave SE, Calgary, AB

A Christmas story interspersed with holiday music.