Sunday, October 30, 2016

Of Death and Dying Things

Before a new moon, I set great intention. New moons are special, much like this season, Autumn, shedding leaves precious to the limbs of trees, dying things that bring beauty to this Earth, to us, humans, observing the full circle of life. 

Autumn brings me to my knees in a most humbled state of being. I imagine the tree in spring, waiting all winter, hibernating like the bear, waiting for the ice princess to take her last breath, welcoming new buds, tiny green leaves, sprouting from every limb.

How utterly glorious. 

Right this moment, I am one with the spirit of a tree. I am tall and stark against the spring skyline, my eyes flutter open and once again, there to greet me, are my buds soon to be leaves that will provide me shade and keep my brow cool from the blazing summer sun. 

This relationship is twofold, manifested, synchronized and perfect. There is giving and receiving. There is equanimity, there is pure divine love emanating from a solitary tree. 

We must learn from nature.  

I feel the buds blooming; they are brand new souls on this Earth responsible to me, this tree, in order to keep me flourishing and beautiful. The leaves will make sure the birds have a place to berth and that critters have homes to take respite from their day. The sky above me looks down lovingly upon my treetop, happy to have such a sight to wake up to every dawn.  The leaves empower each limb to reach that much further up to the heavens, kissing the sky.  

I accept these gifts, such utter grace and allow the leaves, critters, birds and even humans, to settle upon my limbs, to take solace within my embrace, to travel upwards, climbing my weary spine.

How unconditional.  

There is happiness from this connection, this birth of rebirths, and this ultimate bond. 

I have witnessed this a million times and this year, I am not simply an observer. This year, I am the tree, the leaves, the critters, the birds, the sky and the Earth, that selflessly grounds the roots of the mighty tree feeding this entire family, this union, along with the sun, healing them all with light, and I am reminded then of Autumn and this coming new moon. 

Leaves glow like red hot embers escaping fire to radiant orange, sun splashed yellow, burnt sienna, and finally, gold. All at once, sometimes the same tree, even one leaf.  


I walk the woods crunching as quietly as possible, clambering upon the precious forest bed with my clumsy human self. I hear nothing, nothing but my footfalls in the lovely silence of nature. Then the birds, they flit like butterflies from one tree to another. 

I crane my neck to catch a glimpse and they are busy in their playfulness and outsmart me repeatedly. I catch a blackbird perched and a red-bellied woodpecker along with woodcocks and bluebirds and they are all together. They sing for me there, standing in the woods, among death and dying things, showing me life. 

Right there everything around me changes, the height of the trees and the width of logs, the colors are intense, deeper, and the birds, they know I understand their speech. 

I do not wish to leave this place, this is holy, right here, me in the middle of the woods, no humans around, no sound but the breath of nature, the wind swaying the leaves lazy, the birds chattering, the brittleness beneath my feet, leaves screaming their dying breath to the sky. 

Yes, it is Autumn. A time of preparation as the new moon approaches. I learn to let go, to come back into myself, my body, to be present, yet awake with immense intent put forth with each footfall above for my future and those I hold dear in my heart. 

Like the tree, I shed leaves. This is my path, my purpose, my knowing, my immense pleasure to stand sentinel and wave my arms wild and free and shake my soul to the sky and the Earth and watch everything I love fall from me and around my feet like a psychedelic bridal gown.

I belong to no one. I walk, pulling roots gently from dirt, taking with me leaves, swaying on my train and I dance in circles, leaves all around me, and great golden supplications fall from heaven freeing my soul from weights carried this season. 

It is a time for forgiveness. This is the season of death and dying things. 

This is the phoenix preparing to rise. 

 Words and photo © Susan Marie 

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

You Are Not Broken [Radio with Women For One]

This is an astounding interview with Cara Bradley so please listen and enjoy and thank you to everyone at Women For One for orchestrating this.

Spoken-word poet and broadcast journalist Susan Marie shares with Cara Bradley how she connects with others through positivity and authenticity in our most recent Real Women, Courageous Wisdom podcast.

Listen here --> You Are Not Broken

Here’s what we spoke about: 

6:45 The power of metaphor
9:20 Why we aren’t supposed to be perfect
11:25 You are not broken
13:00 What are you doing for yourself?
16:40 The art of spoken word
19:15 What it means to stop caring what people think of you
23:05 Susan’s eulogy

Sunday, October 23, 2016

A Shamanic Journey

I have taken numerous loving, guided shamanic journeys, recently a most dear journey via the Well of Light. I released past trauma, recognized my ancestry, the light and dark within self and universe. Your experience will be different than my own. 

This journey is available for free online --> HERE

We all want to live a meaningful and purposeful life, but we get stuck in sabotaging patterns from our past. To overcome these patterns and fully express our authentic gifts, strengths and talents, we must connect with our ancient cellular memory to create new physical, emotional and mental patterns. 

Our dear friend Michael Stone is launching a new 7-week Live Online Course to help you shift your mind, body and emotions to be in harmony with nature and the limitless potential of the universe.  

It’s called -->  Embodied Shamanism: Shapeshifting Into Living a Life You Love
uring the journey of this 7-week course, you will: 

  • Become the author of your own life rather than being a victim of your history 
  •  Transform doubts and limiting beliefs into portals of healing for self and others  
  • Learn to live a complaint free life and embrace the miracle of being alive 
  • Turn problems, limits and barriers into opportunities for transformation 
  • Embody the intelligence of nature and tap into our ancestral wisdom bank 
  • Utilize the sacred power of direct revelation to tap into the limitless potential of the universe

This highly-interactive course is based on the deep work that Michael has been engaged with for the past 40+ years and includes 7 powerful live course sessions, weekly course materials, live Q&A sessions, pre-recorded and musically mixed guided meditation / journey recordings, a private, custom course website and a private, interactive Facebook page where you can work with your community of support.

I suggest taking part in order to progress and meet some of the most beautiful souls creating a better existence for us all through essential work such as facing self, the environment in which need to thrive and survive, and acknowledging our own ancestries and traditions. These are simple, everyday things anyone can do in order to bring more peace to this world, especially to self.

Please find out more on the -->  Course Information Page

Monday, October 3, 2016

Thunder, Lightning, Rain [wait for it]

"And I stood there, daring the sky, both feet apart, my arms raised in supplication, mouth wide open, chin upturned, eyes, wild and staring, as thrushes flew, on fire and volcanic, from the very depths of my abdomen, and I let out a most inhuman growl, my entire spirit, cleansed, by tears of the most holy angels."

- Susan Marie

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

This Is How We Are Blessed

 © Susan Marie

Selfless and passionate
birds cry, melodic.

Rivers and lakes
streams and oceans,
the great majestic seas
roil like thunder,
yet rest our weary souls

This is how we are blessed.

The trunks of trees
bear limbs
reaching down and out
from heavens sweaty brow
holding out hands
made of elm and birch
of oak and fir
thunderous heads of hair
crowns of chakras
all colors
falling, falling as leaves
blanketing grass,
emerald and awake
blinding our senses stupid
as children playing hopscotch
drawing chalk lines
of castles and kings
of princes and queens

and this -
this is how we are blessed.

Listen -

the human heart beats
like tribal drums,
circled by ancestral fires,
drumming and pounding,
treble and bass,
prodding the spirit -
onward towards destiny,
towards fate,
towards the next step -

In this mad world,
this great globe,
this utterly insane
human existence
is beauty.


This is how we are blessed.

Words/Photo © Susan Marie

Friday, September 16, 2016

Harvest Moon

"She embraced me beneath the firmament, pulling my sternum forward, magnetic. I heard the crack of ribs and cared not, for my heart opened wide and swallowed this Earth, whole." - SM

© Susan Marie 

Friday, September 2, 2016

Too Much, Too Raw, Too Real, Too Quick

Too much,
too raw,
too real,
too quick.

Life bursts
wide open,
like a wound festering,
gaping, infected.

Life is like birthing babies,
again and again,
within seconds,
never having time
to recover,

Life is a bullet
breaking skin,
hitting the heart
deep within chambers
of orchestras playing,
sustaining lungs.

Life is time, clicking
the clock goes

tick tock -

in the deepest, darkest parts of my soul
the bleeding is endless,
like the ever changing faces
of Mother Nature.

Time is short and long,
when attempting to maintain
some semblance of sanity,
in a world gone
quite insane.

And the soul takes flight
every single moment of breath,
like that of the eagle,
yet grounded,
on Earth.

This mundane society is killing me,

The constant incessant chattering of tongues
that do not recognize my speech
stare at me -
wild eyed in wonder,
like that painting, The Scream -

I stand, horrified and shocked,
turning my back
on millions of children
screaming -
millions of people
hurting -
billions of souls
crying out -


Oh, but the birds, wildlife
even the trees -
the sky knows my name
and calls to me at dusk,
to show me its bright eyes
and diamonds dancing
in the endless abyss of the universe.

The mighty hand of wind
changes direction,
in milliseconds
causing my neck
to crack,
spine misaligned,
a constant whiplash
of my senses,
reeling into dimensions,
I have not yet traveled
and have no choice
but to stand and face

For I am woman, strong,
born of the cracked and wounded hands
of immigrants,
who built this land
we now reside on,
stolen from others
now sacrificed in vain.

I am not the woman I was
five minutes ago.

Dear Great Creator,
crown my head
with great golden angels,
and send me into places of peace,
to meadows and sunshine,
to deep waters of dolphins diving,
and the vast free wilderness
of Africa.

For my body is tired,
yet my soul is exploding
supernovas of senses
tethered in this human shell,
my head feels
like it is about to crack
wide open,
and all the secrets of this place we stand upon
are to be known,
yet my feeble human mouth
is not enough
to report my discoveries.

I need ammunition.

Please send recon,
a backup,
something to tell me
that I am not alone,
to tell me
that my blood is not spilled in vain,
to let me know that all of my breaths
have not been wasted for nothing.

I need a sign,
Morse code,
a telegraph,
take me back to the days of trade,
cover my body in pelts of wildebeests,
and sit me down by fireside.

Explain to me
why I have chosen
this path for myself.

My dear Lord,
I understand
far too much,
too raw,
too real,
too quick.

is like birthing
again and again,
within seconds,
never having time
to recover,

Saturday, August 13, 2016

Interview by Fred Whitehead of Plur-al-ity Press

                                            You can visit the interview by clicking the icon below.


A conversation with Susan Marie by Fred Whitehead

Susan Marie

The work of writers who have an affinity for nature has always appealed to me. Whitman, Merwin, Pollan. I've come across plenty of good writers whose work touches on nature and the human spirit while scanning the exponentially growing library that is the Internet.

​One of my favorites who occupy this realm is local writer Susan Marie who maintains a big presence through her Facebook page, blogs and website. In fact, it was through social media that I first encountered her writing, which led me to go listen to her read her work. I've since kept her posts in daily rotation. She agreed to a thoroughly modern mode of interviewing (that being via email and text messaging). It is my hope that, after reading this, you search out more of what she has to offer.

Fred Whitehead - When did you start writing?

Susan Marie - I recall my first attempts at writing around the age of 15. A lot of my writing back then is full of my poetic interpretations of books I read on firsthand accounts written by Vietnam Veterans. The music I listened to, mostly 60's and 70's, had a massive impact on my writing, too. When I turned 16 and met my future husband, my writing began to rhyme and was focused on love and romance. That changed as I grew as a person. I still have all of my journals from those times, too.

F.W. - Who were or are some of your biggest influences and why?

S.M. - Jack Kerouac, Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī [Rumi], Kahlil Gibran, Charles Bukowski, Billy Connolly, Khwāja Shams-ud-Dīn Muḥammad Ḥāfeẓ-e Shīrāz [Hafiz/Shiraz], Franz Kafka, Carl Jung, Mary Oliver, Langston Hughes, Saul Williams, Stephen King and that list goes on and on. I am influenced by these writers because they all have a unique style and voice, yet every one of them went against the status quo of their time.

F.W. - What is it about these writers that inspired you?

S.M. - They utilized their voice and saw it as a gift and brought what they felt, saw and experienced to the people. Some of these writers still do. They wrote of what is real, tangible, things that can be felt, experienced, tasted, and touched. They wrote of life, pain, death, loss, tragedy, happiness, bliss and spirituality. They wrote of the horrors of our world while still recognizing the beauty. These writers fought inner battles within self and allowed us to learn from that.

F.W. - What is your writing day like and do you have any particular habits or certain places you go to write?

S.M. - I do not have a writing day or schedule. I simply write and must write, with anything, in that moment the inspiration strikes or else it will be gone. That can happen all day long or a week from now. If I am driving, I record my thoughts in order to catch them. If I am working, I must write it down quick or type it and send it to myself in an email. I simply am "elsewhere" when I write I cannot be bothered or the entire moment is lost.

F.W. - I like to think of those moments as Transport Episodes. When it seems to go completely quiet and you are not quite sure how long you've been staring off into the distance before you snap back to this plane to jot something down.

I don't submit much of my work to publications. I've chosen a different path for getting my work out. How about you, do you submit your work on a regular basis? 
Susan: They utilized their voice and saw it as a gift and brought what they felt, saw and experienced to the people.

​S.M. - Yes I do. This is integral to being a writer. You must get used to rejection [and not let it bother you] and become familiar with the various submission and publishing processes.

F.W. - What kind of journals or publications do you submit to?

S.M. - I submit to all and any journals or magazines that correlate with and accept my style of writing, whatever that is. If it does not speak to me, I do not submit. I want to ask you back how you choose to share and publish your work?

F.W. - I almost always share my work through my blog or on Facebook before I compile the poems into a manuscript. Ninety percent of the time these are the raw, first drafts. I really don't mind people seeing them in that form. They can, if they wish to, follow the arc of a poem as it goes from a first thought to a finished product. When I get a group of poems together I then will publish a book myself or check with a couple of small presses I know of to see if they want to.

Do you write mostly poetry or do you dabble in prose as well?

S.M. - Mostly poetry. I have written a lot of flash fiction, articles, short stories, have two half written novels, am published in a ton of anthologies and have my own volume of poetry and prose and am waiting on final publication of a new volume of poetry. Poetry is no doubt my voice. Spoken-word poetry is definitely my voice. It is extremely difficult for me to adhere to a time/day for writing as it hits me out of the blue. I have deep respect for writers that keep a schedule and are true to their calling as novelists.

F.W. - Are you originally from the Buffalo area?

S.M. - Yes. South Buffalo.  "Is fearr Gaelige bríste, ná Béarla clíste!"

F.W. – Ok, I ran that through a translation app. and got "Gaelige best trousers, a clever English!" Ummmm... Is this true?

S.M. - Haha, no. Translations online are always horrible.
"Is fearr Gaelige bríste, ná Béarla clíste!" means: Broken Irish is better than clever English. That is part of my Irish Heritage. My family is from County Cork. I was raised in South Buffalo Irish Heritage District, my Mother, The Old First Ward.

F.W. - Where did you study?

S.M. - I have no formal study in writing. Life teaches me.

F.W. - You seem to write a good deal about nature and spiritual matters. What is it about those things that spark the muse for you?

S.M. - Nature is a grounding, healing energy source and integral to human existence. The beauty I see, feel and experience in nature is undefinable as each of us have our own perceptions, however, nature IS spiritual because it includes the universe as a whole that helps us to recognizes self and in that, our placement on this Earth with our brothers and sisters.
Susan: "Is fearr Gaelige bríste, ná Béarla clíste!" means: Broken Irish is better than clever English
F.W. - Where do you go to find nature?

S.M. - Everywhere. Nature is right outside my window, inside my home. Right now, I hear birds singing for me. While driving, the sunrise and set is always by my side, I spot deer and wildlife by creek beds or the side of the road. I hike a lot and have found numerous waterfalls to stand beneath. Our beaches allow me to dig my toes in the sand where I can also collect rocks, shells and driftwood. Growing my own food and herbs, working in my garden is nature. I am thankful to be surrounded by Lake Erie and the New York State and Olmsted Parks Systems. Living in Western New York is a blessing.

F.W. - You seem to have a great interest in photography. Is that also something you submit or show, or is it for your own pleasure?

S.M. - I have always adored photography. I still have two 35 mm film cams. There is a magical aspect to catching a moment and it need not be perfect, it just has to "say something." Photography is purely my own pleasure, however, I like to document and show others what I have seen hoping they might go see for themselves. This is not professional by any means nor do I intend it to be.

F.W. - How important are social media platforms to you in getting your work and ideas out to the public?

S.M. - Necessary, integral. Without social media, connecting to the world in seconds is impossible. By utilizing technology for positive fashions, I have been able to reach across the world and my own city to show things to others and in return, them to me. It is a powerful tool for communication and I do my best to utilize technology for the greater good. If you have a voice you wish the world to hear, and hope to bring goodness to our world, you must learn how to utilize technology to its fullest.

F. W. - You seem very connected to groups that advocate for those who are prejudiced against in one way or another. Have you always wanted to be a voice for helping people?

S.M. - I do not see myself as a voice for anyone, you know, as a human being, it is our duty to help one another if able. I see atrocities occurring daily and if I am meant be a part of it, I am. I see us all as a collective group, doing our best to raise consciousness and make this world a better place, together, not apart. I mean we are all taught the basics of what is right and wrong as children. Many people tend to forget this most important lesson as they grow older. To me, it is a simple thing to show solidarity.

F.W. - Are there any other artistic endeavors besides writing and photography that you dabble in?

S.M. - Yes! I play the drums and the flute. I paint, well, I try to paint, I sketch. I like trying DIY [Do It Yourself] art projects that include recycling and upcycling. I adore art in all forms and will attempt anything and see if I am good at it or not.

F.W. - What do you think of the poetry scene in Buffalo? What, if anything, would you change or like to see happen.

S.M. - The poetry scene in Buffalo has always been booming. When I entered the scene that was old Allen Street and the Hardware, Urban Epiphany, Talking Leaves, Rust Belt, Caz Cafe, then onto the Screening Room, the CFI and Merriweather Library. Endless places to read and meet other writers and artists. I met the most beautiful people that taught me about finding my own voice through spoken word. I began recording the poetry scenes, as many as I could get to and they are still archived online. I see the scene consistently changing and that is necessary. What I like now is there are far more venues and opportunities to read your poetry than say, maybe 10 years ago. Buffalo is alive with art. Art is, besides nature, the city's greatest treasure.

​Here are a couple of Susan's poems as well as links to some of her other work.

Born of This

Published On Mogul

It is tiresome
being human
with a beating heart.

I wish to close my eyes to horror,
yet my soul was made to speak.

I shout atrocity from rooftops
with rusted gutters,
my jawbone clenched tight.

Hoping that the blind shall see,
and the deaf shall hear;
dead-men nod to my supplications.

The sky quivers and quakes,
roaring untold stories of ancestors.

Nature does not judge.

Instinct is the root
of coming
into becoming whole.

Oh, such peace
to be among the birds and trees,
the grass, green.

The deer and raven dine side by side.

I shall recharge like Walden,
gain clarity,
go home where I feel peace.

The human race confuses me,
and I am often ashamed to admit
that I am born of it.

the perfect poem

the perfect poem
is without words

it is heard within the cries of lovers
legs entwined
like trees
limbs reaching roots
climbing vines
towards heaven

it is the sun dappled dawn
rich and vibrant
like cheeks rising
as apples, ripe

it is the laughter of children
encrypted within chalk lines on sidewalks
where no words are spoken
and no language exists

it is the heart, racing
through atriums and ventricles
pumping blood to breath

so your eyes
show laughter
through your tears after rainfall

the perfect poem
is you


it is the presence of love

and the breath of angels.

​For More Info on Susan Marie: 

Monday, August 8, 2016

Hawks, Poetry, a Cemetery in August

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For me, there is no death, there is only life.

Places of burial are sacred to me. They provide me with immense peace. I am at home standing upon the thin line between worlds I wholeheartedly walk into. It is natural for me to be among the living and the departed

Since May, I have been physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually weighted. I use all the tools I learned thus far in this mad, crazy, beautiful ride called life to rid myself and space of negative energies, feelings and thoughts to prevent negative actions. Holistic body healing modalities work wonders, yet sometimes they are not enough.

As a physical being, every thought, experience and action requires use of energy, my own and others. This results in the absorption of energies of thoughts, which are quite powerful; to later settle into the physical self, the body, showing up as illness or pain. This is a red flag to rid yourself of what weighs you down.

Spiritual weight I am used to. I am an ultra-extra sensitive empath, among other things, so I kind of have no choice in that matter and accept spiritual matters humbly and with reverence. This is climbing up another rung of the ladder, learning new things about self and others, about shadow and light, discarding head-trash, fully accepting those I love, those I lost, loving the child within me and the woman I have grown to become. Preparing myself for the woman I am growing into. These weights I do not mind. They are necessary to a seeking soul.

Emotional and mental fatigue is disabling. Once negative thoughts and/or energy embeds itself within the physical body, and it does, for everyone, with or without consent, illness sets in. Illness can range from being distracted and crabby to outright disease. This begins in the mind. Things you tell yourself, the way others treat you, how you accept that treatment, the way you treat yourself, what you choose to allow and do not allow with self and others.

Boundaries are crucial
. I have strict boundaries. Apparently, I like to play jump rope with my own boundaries. I mean hey, it is life and life is meant to be experienced but suffering is not part of the deal. Not this kind of suffering. This kind of suffering I am able to control with my mindset.

This is why, this day, is surreal.

Upon waking, I wished to get down to the water, my ultimate grounder. Instead, driving to the lake, I was diverted by a cemetery. I have never been on this land. A few days ago, driving past this cemetery, the need to go there was so intense it felt like magnets pulling me there.

I drive and stop where I am told to stop. I pull to the side of the grass and walk. There are a lot of Celtic crosses, artwork and design. This is my ancestry, part of it. Immediately, I take photos. The carvings, the messages, enthrall me and the time people took to pay homage to those they loved.

Artists created statues of angels and birds, of intricate scrolls and mandalas. I am blown away. I keep walking and kneel before a most divine angel.  I take several shots of her wings, her face, and her gentle outstretched palms in supplication. I turn to see Mother Mary, humble with her head down, palms out. I keep walking and see row upon row of trees.

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Wandering around, I find rocks, feathers and pine cones. I crouch down low and listen to the birds singing -  drowning out the crows that attempt to add dissent to the chorus. The wind blows my hair around my face and I am fully awake and alive staring up and into trees. I place my palms lightly upon bark as I pass by each tree and find an accepting tree to place my spine against. I look to my right and stare up and down row upon row of intrinsic artwork, ages of lives and love carved into stone and marble.

Kneeling down in reverence and awe to those before me on this strange Earth, I know now why I have been guided to this healing place.

I find absolute refuge beneath a huge pine tree in the shade. I sit cross-legged in the grass, place both palms upon the tree, and ask, what do I need to do?

Immediately, I am answered.

Several things are answered, pleasing answers to issues that plague my mind and soul. I smile and move on and see a single tree far in the distance. I have no desire to walk to this tree because it sits in the blazing sun, yet I go, my legs decide for me. I walk around and around the tree in wonder and I am always "looking up" and when I look down, there are three feathers, barred, black, brown, white, tall and thin. Cooper's Hawk I believe. Strong medicine.

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Overcome with gratefulness for the significance of the feathers, for this is exact, necessary and on purpose, I look to my left, see a multicolored rock glinting in the sun with minerals, and place that in my palm. It feels good and right there.

There are no coincidences

Wandering back to my shelter, the pine, I sit and listen to birds and wind, to the beauty of nature, to existence itself rumbling within and around me. Freely, open and accepting of all that is, I know I am in another world, standing and praying on holy ground.

All of my angst and worry leaves me.

The night before, I wrote a poem about existence. The birds above me sing divinely and I record that poem as I walk up and down row upon row of life. My hair whips in the wind, nature is alive and on fire and the spirits of those around me guide and teach me. They tell me to keep going and that everything is fine. They tell me that I am loved and watched over. They tell me not to worry so much. They tell me that life, my dear soul, life is good.

This is what I shared with them and what I share here, with you:

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