life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

and so it goes

My life is not tied up

in pretty blue bows

not many straight lines appear

on my map to this place

where I find myself today

I’ve chosen to go off grid

well maybe the truth is…

I found myself off grid

and after a while I realized it was the gift!

So I began making difficult, but purpose-filled choices,

again and again to stay there

I’ve skated thin ice and jumped with no net

over and over despite my own stable-craving nature

these tough years teaching me so much

in solitary silence

I’ve learned that somehow the ground always holds my weight

the universe conspiring to help me

and so, I live mostly on the edges

where adventure steals

all the comforts of an easy chair existence

where there is no sinking into the clouded cover of ‘safety’

when risking it all in the danger zone of unconditional loving

takes everything you have

a complex living

of big picture purpose

of loving the world enough to sacrifice pride

to stay small and humble

does anything I do matter?

sometimes Im not sure

But, all I know for sure is…

If anything does –

then everything does!

and so I must

and so it goes


Amy Lloyd

I met a new friend today who is absolutely WAY out there…

which means we will become forever friends,

as she needs me and I need her…her name is Maxy!

She doesn’t know how to bow yet…

but does a curtsey as she enters the wooden gates to the cottage.

She enters the front door with a bit of hesitation,

then brings forth her entire body into great expression

as she begins to view the colors on the walls…

two shades of green…

and the delicious soul that breathes into the spaces…

she smiles, tips her head, gestures towards the singing bowl,

the tiny blue Hindu elephant on the counter near the photos,

she wraps her arms around her chest and peers into the coral bedroom, peeking around the corner of the French doors,

where she sees the altar on the long blue wooden dresser and the suitcases stacked with a wooden tray as the nightstand near the bed. Vases of flowers, she smells them.

She asks me intimate, personal questions,

as we’ve just met , yet known each other forever…

she wants to know how it all came to be,

why in this lifetime could I appear?

She narrows her lips and rubs a finger across her cheek

while I share God in the mystery, the mystical, the crazy opening of portals in morning and evening hours,

perhaps the deli line,

or when I walk my dog past the little wooden library stall

that my neighbor keeps full ,in her front yard, near the mailbox… and I stop to look in for the titles and authors and Sylvia comes out in her bathrobe and Christmas slippers.

She wants to know how God can live so easily in the Midwest, on the coasts, in the heat of the south and the countries and continents that we barely know.

Maxy has a few muses of her own…and every archetype

that mentions abundance and creativity…

She met me because I wrote a book and she wanted to see the little yellow cottage…

She sat with me for two hours…and when she left another inch of snow was covering the top of my car,

the cobblestones to the gate were no where to be seen,

but I knew Maxy was a piece of the God art for the day

and Mayberry Street would never be the same to me after entertaining someone who saw through and into the heart

of ” Finding God on Mayberry Street.”


Donna Knutson

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