I’m fascinated by the ancient ways
our fragile, tender hearts learn 
to heal, twisting and reshaping 
through storms and ages 
like noble, gnarled bristlecone pines —
that grief is both the bedrock
binding our roots to the Earth, 
and the mountain lifting us 
toward the light of a dying star.

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I’m sorry I went missing. I need to begin by writing that to you all. It has weighed heavily on my heart that I have not offered any writing in some time, and even more so that I’ve missed out on the brilliant writing others have shared in the last few months. Life has gotten in the way, and an enormous amount of my time and energy has gone into making sure that I can emotionally navigate the rapids I’ve been paddling down.

Today I missed a special monthly session with . These sessions have been my only time to write for myself and are deeply meaningful to me. The silver lining for missing it was that I had some time to be open with you all – and Elena’s prompt this month was perfect. She asked us, “How am I being the person I need to be, rather than the person others need me to be?” At a moment where I have been deeply and emotionally challenged, this prompt is food for my aching soul.

I don’t know how to make sense of the world we are living in. I will never understand greed, power, exploitation, or selfishness. I am a simple man who loves trees and dogs, and all the beautiful life this incredible planet nourishes. For the last decade I have lost myself to the chaos makers, wishing to spread insights and truths. But my truth is, I’m exhausted. I’ve lost loved ones to death and politics, and I’ve now left behind a life of personal dreams to help others face this collective nightmare. In four months I will graduate from grad school with a degree in clinical psychology and not soon after I will sit quietly in rooms with broken hearts and we will learn to love, laugh, cry, and trust together again.

When I joined Substack a few years ago, I simply wanted to share poetry and insights. Around the same time a friend had also joined to write about politics and I naively said that I wanted this space to be politics-free for me – I felt like our world had enough noise already. I also naively believed the darkest times were behind us and that persevering through pestilence and pride may have illuminated a new path forward. Alas, we are a nearsighted species and too many of my family and neighbors could not see far enough into the past, nor far enough into the future, to recognize the dangers of anointing a mentally ill man to the highest seat of power in the world. Now more children are being bombed in the schools and being exploited, abused, and poisoned by the very people who claimed they would save them.

This world is too heavy for my heart, so I needed to step away and let it spin without me. While kind people were being abducted and murdered in American streets by masked, militant, federal agents, I was mourning the loss of my best friend and a true soul mate. As many of you know, we adopted Tala in January of 2017. My post Love is a Stray recounts our beginnings, and now I struggle to recount our final days together.

To say she was my whole world is an understatement. For two months I got drunk on hope, and for the last three I’ve suffered the most grueling hangover of my life. I’ve put on a happy face, but when no one was around I’ve cried my heart out each and every day. It’s been 81 days since I kissed her goodbye and felt her heart stop forever – I will never be the same.

I foolishly believed the infection we had fought off before could be beaten back again – and I was wrong. She and I slept on the couch for two months, close enough to get outside if she needed to. On those nights I would look up at the stars, and in them I saw Jupiter, the planet of expansion, passing between Gemini and Canis Minor. It made me think of my two most recent losses, my father and our beloved dog, Bodhi. I ignored Jupiter’s meaning, and chose to believe they were looking out for us. That they too could somehow stop fate from having her divine moment. In the weeks after Tala passed I noticed that as the seasonal stars shifted in the night sky, just below Canis Minor sat Canis Major. We never see the full picture until we are ready.

After her passing I wrote this tribute — and it will never be enough:

Dearest Tala,

Two weeks without you by my side. You’re still the first person I think of when I wake in the morning from the reprieve of my dreams and the last before I rest my tired head at the end of another day without you. I see glimpses of you in the places you dwelled, patiently waiting for the love you knew so well.

From the very moment I laid eyes on you I knew. It was love at first sight. We are two souls who have danced this dance before and will dance it again throughout eternity. The love you shared with me was more than any broken man deserved and every single day you made me feel full and whole.

I miss the flat slope of your forehead, your charcoal nose, and the honey-amber shine of your feisty eyes. I miss the golden highlights in your brown coat and the spanner of your elegant tail. I miss the way you would slide in beside me and rest your head upon my knee, or the way you fit perfectly in the big spoon running from my knees to my chin. I miss how you’d insist on belly rubs with the nudge of your nose or the threat of scratching our couch with a raised paw and the fiercest side-eye. I will remember our endless first car ride, and our very last I hoped would never end. How you were there through the hardest years of my life and a constant container of love and comfort. I miss how you and Bodhi would wrestle and run and how you took in Otis when he was so young. I miss the way you smelled like baked cookies and snored us to sleep each night. But most of all I miss your howl, how you shuffled your paws in moments of joy, and the tick-tack of your claws as you made your way to our bedroom each night. You were my everything. Unforgettable and irreplaceable.

So ends one of the most beautiful chapters of my life. Your spirit was too large for even that beautiful body and your heart so strong it would allow you to suffer just to be with me. So my final act of love was to break my own heart. I told you I would do anything for you, and now I have. Rest well. We have other lives to live and dance and howl in. See you when I see you, please enjoy each day to the fullest, and come visit me in my dreams.

You are loved. You are love.

Always,

Your dad

I’m sharing all this because Elena asked if I was being the person that I need to be, rather than the person others need me to be. My truth is, yes. I’ve been showing up for myself more and others less recently. I’ve struggled with that balance, but I know in my heart I cannot support anyone else if I’m not allowing myself to fully heal first. I have written poems about my best girl and she speaks to me in the wind. I will share those stories soon. In the meantime, please know that I have not abandoned this beautiful space – I just needed some time to be the person I needed to be for myself.

More soon. Love Always,

Troy

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Mom said you’d be seventy-two today
and it made me think of how seventy-two you
would look and sound and feel in this morning.
How your baby blue eyes would shine between
the soft creases of crow’s feet and lived-lines,
and your grey hair would halo your smiling face
as you sipped your sweetened coffee and doted
on your children, and their children too.
I can feel you, brightly shining, gently laughing,
loving us all as deeply as you always have.
And so I celebrate you still, fourteen years after
the universe asked you to return to her,
and I pray those wings you were given to fly
have carried you peacefully, joyfully through
the great wonder and mystery of it all.

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Yesterday I cried for a man
who falsely believed
I should be stoned to death
for loving my husband.
I felt deep empathy and pain
for the family of a man
who falsely believed empathy
was not strength, but weakness.
I held in my heart his wife and his daughters,
for whom his words made the world
ever more repressive and unsafe.

Yesterday I cried for my country
where a preacher of vitriol was silenced
by the very thing he deemed worthy.
I do not know where these dark shadows lead,
but I see clearly who is casting them,
and it is not those of us with empathy,
or compassion for the marginalized.
The darkest clouds are gathering,
the reign will now fall upon the most vulnerable.
Remember to love your neighbor as yourself,
and beware of wolves in sheep’s clothing.

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When my heart thaws
from the bitterness, the cold 
indifference our society has fostered,
may this glacier of love
flood the lives of each being
it touches on its return to the sea,
and remind them of their power
to reshape this world simply
by letting go of everything
we falsely believe defines us 
and rediscovering the essence
of what we always were 
and what we will always be.

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I looked up yesterday
and learned you were gone…
I looked up this morning
to discover you still live,
stacked upon my highest shelf,
between giants, amongst the stars,
shining brighter than ever.

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There is no truth to be found
in a world of businessmen, 
only in the souls of outcasts
who’ve endured absurdity,
fires, floods, famine, and fools,
and still find ways to offer kindness
to the very merchants of their pain.

Forgiveness, our wisest elder,
why must we always wrestle
in darkness rather than light?
Why must we always sit silently
hidden amongst what remains?
Should our betrayers not see
open wounds, shattered bones,
soot stains in cheek creases,
our weary hands trembling
as we caress and care for what’s left 
of our broken, bleeding hearts?

The old sage rattles in the wind,
trusting in the phases of the moon,
the order of the four seasons,
the seeds in his eternal heart,
the sun to awaken our world,
the sky to reflect wisdom back
into the hearts of the misguided,
so hope may lasso the wind again
and plant herself deeply within 
the heart and souls of this broken land.

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I placed my indoor plants outside
so they too could feel cool rain
upon their tender leaves,

       to taste clouds within their soil,

       to feel the breeze brush their necks
       and teach their roots
       how to dance with Earth.

How had I denied them 
   these moments of life,
              and for so long?

What else have I withheld
from those I love?
       Their lives held captive 
       by my desires -- without understanding 
       the subtle difference
       between existing and living
       may simply be feeling
       sunlight on our faces
       the moment a storm passes.

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It’s always where she is,
what she does, also 
what she doesn’t do even
now that her nest is empty, 
but always welcoming — anytime, 
anywhere she and I are.

Isn’t that the nature of mothers and sons —

My father spoke of his so tenderly
in his final days, knowing 
even the brokenness of his childhood 
could never overshadow the light of their love.
In his final hours he gently whispered, “home.”
He called for her throughout the longest night 
creating a most perfect mantra: 

home
home
home 
 hom 
 hom
 hom
  om 
  om 
  om

In the silence he found her
as the sun rose upon a new day,
just as we all will one day too —
for unconditional love is a compass set 
to guide our hearts back home.

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In such a loud world
silence is a poem
to the very heart 
of those who chose to listen
and wish to hear earth
language in its purest form. 

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I’ll never understand
how faced with a choice
between elephants or trillionaires,
people with children
kept choosing the latter.

How they chose not to see
Heaven and Eden 
are this very place, 
where every mother
lays eyes upon the promise
of their newborn's face
and simply wishes for them
good health and happiness.

I pray they not wait
until all that is beautiful 
in our exhausted world
is turned to ash and ivory
to discover this truth:

We are all miracles
sharing this singular planet.

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If you’re reading this from an email and it speaks to your heart, feel free to give it a like or share. And if you wish to talk about what it made you feel, add your thoughts in the comments.

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Give their conversation a listen. I promise it’s worth your time.

The absence of Bodhi has been heavier, and the pain deeper, than I had ever imagined it would be. I had a bit of a cavalier attitude in the lead up to letting him go, which was perhaps an excellent coping mechanism, but also stemmed from how well I felt I had adjusted to the passing of my father five years ago. It turns out mourning is different for each loss and for each soul who experiences it.

In the immediate weeks after Bodhi moved on, we noticed how our other two dogs, Tala and Otis, were in deep mourning as well. Otis was withdrawn, refusing to eat for several days, and constantly watching the door for his best friend to return. Tala would often whimper as she moped around the house and we quickly realized how much she was relying on Bodhi to help her navigate this world with her quickly declining eyesight. Although we have begun to move ahead with our new normal, the truth is that none of us have been the same. We miss our best boy.

One evening while watching TV with Tala beside me, she found herself inside a vivid dream where her legs began galloping and every so often a muffled bark or cry would escape into the night. She’d had these types of dreams in the past, but I mostly remember them happening in the months after she first came to us. During those times I had created stories in my mind about how she was either remembering something scary, or was missing her puppies — all ten of which had been adopted out before she came into our lives. This would always break my heart, so I would go sit beside her, pet her, whisper how much I loved her and let her know she was safe with us.

On this night though I had a different thought as I watched her running beside me in her sleep. As I reached over to soothe her I realized that she might be dreaming of Bodhi. It hit me how in that liminal space she might possibly have her vision again, that she might actually be able to see Bodhi, that the three of them might be running and playing as they once did, and that if I woke her now she would lose him all over again. Having wished to be visited by Bodhi in my dreams, I realized in that moment that I needed to let Tala have hers.

I hope they found each other there.

The second thought I had came just last week. Jeff and I were missing Bodhi deeply and talking about how fun it would be to know what our dogs were thinking when they watched us. And then I asked myself, “If you were granted just one moment inside Bodhi’s mind, what would it be?” My initial thought was the day we first met him at his adoption event. Then I wondered if it would be soothing to know if he knew how much we loved him in the final moments of his passing. But soon I realized the very moment of his life I really wished to experience.

Bodhi and his brother, Bijou, were abandoned in a field as puppies. Their would-be, do-gooder rescuers tried to foster them, but couldn’t handle their rambunctious energy and abandoned them again at a kennel. A few weeks later, LA Animal Rescue stepped in to care for them and find them homes. Finally, on Nirvana Day 2015, we met Bodhi at one of their adoption events. The next morning, freshly bathed and looking as handsome as ever, he was delivered to a house with two dads who instantly fell in love with him. We knew what our intentions were for our lives together, but for Bodhi we were probably just another temporary place to sleep.

If I could be granted one glimpse into one moment in Bodhi’s memories it would be the one in which it finally dawned on him that we were never ever going to abandon him. The moment, sometime in the months after he arrived to our home, when he finally understood that we were his forever dads and that he was never going to be left behind again. The moment he realized that we were his family.

The moment he knew what unconditional love felt like.

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It is said the very moment we try 
to name a bird a bird, 
we lose the immeasurables 
of our vast, profound universe. 

What word could ever fully describe 
a miracle so magnificent, so bold 
as to deny even Earth’s demands 
while they swoop and dive, 
sing and fly, across time, 
through space, upon an invisible sky?

How much is lost when we try 
to describe the wing of a wonder 
who has risen from, no for,
this beautiful lived moment, 
just as you and I, to experience 
what it is to both live and to die?

Why diminish any soul 
who has found a way to rise 
from absolutely nothing 
into everything —
existing on a dying branch 
of another noble, fleeting,
indefinable, supreme being.

And so I sit in my silence, watching
how effortlessly he moves,
flitting between shadows, 
flirting with beams of light,
while silently preying
from a favored alter, within 
a stained-glass cathedral
preparing for the fall. 

Not a moment wasted,
taking only what’s needed,
offering in exchange 
a flourish of crimson awe
to help settle the soul 
of a long suffering poet, 
eager too for weightlessness
in a world pressed hard 
upon shoulders which cannot,
should not, carry burdens 
for those who knew better, 
but simply didn’t care.

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I’m taken by the elegant ways
clouds dance amongst forest crowns, 
redwoods scribble love poems 
in the morning fog, the river sings 
praise songs to a beloved mountain, 
great heron paints the world
a sudden flash of improbable blue,
how this peace may move 
through my soul and to you.

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The band on the Titanic
chose beauty and kindness
as their final actions.
They weren’t deluded.
They weren’t fools.
They were good men
who somehow understood 
every moment mattered.

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I sat on the beach, alone
on the coast of Santa Barbara,
a gentle waft of methane
tickled my senses —
a dark message from the rigs
standing like sentries just offshore.

Grains of sand fell through
my fingers like lost time,
and Mother spoke to me
with the absolute clarity of stars 
on windy winter night,
“If you don’t speak for me, just who will?”

The earth inside me quaked:
shifting dunes swallowed unworthiness
whole, as the seat of my soul
was thrust upon the sky
and I was told in uncertain terms,
“It is time to be the mountain.”

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Oh, to be free
of every last thing 
overlasting
the very last 
everything 
withholding 
liberation,
emancipation 
for me,
who is also you,
and all that is us
drifting through eternity
amongst stars
amidst dust.

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I snapped a shot of this flying loomerie on a cold April day in 2023. I was deep in the bay of Monterey, thinking nothing of their plight, but taken by the elegant beauty of their flight and the gentle angle of the springtime light. The moment passed as quickly as it formed, like clouds on the windiest day, and I once again found myself staring into the abyss in search of supreme beings.

This trip was for my forty-fifth birthday, and I had come to see the unpredictable transient orcas which never came to be for me. Much to my chagrin, orcas don’t live for my whimsy, but instead have complex and exciting lives out in the sea hunting grey whale calves and their own mysteries.

When the day was over, I scrolled through my shots and this one jumped out at me. I didn’t know what kind of seabirds they were but loved their formation and how their bodies looked more like penguins than albatross. How did those dumplings ever take to the skies? That evening, I looked them up and discovered there is a beautiful being on our planet called the common murre.

“Oh, it’s common…,” I thought. What a bummer. And here I thought I saw something special — something rare. I dismissed my spiritual experience for a word some two-hundred-year-old ghost had tacked onto the name of a miraculous being who can live in places I wouldn’t survive a day in and had flown this planet eons before neanderthals took their first steps.

A few days ago, I read in the scientific journal Science about a mass extinction event of common murres which occurred in 2015. It turns out the northern Pacific Ocean had warmed too much, killed off their primary food sources, and a decade later their population has still not come close to recovering. Over 4 million common murres died in what is now known as the largest mass extinction event in recorded history – so far.

Climate change is the simmering pot we all share, my friends. Despite what oligarchs and their politicians want to dissuade us from believing, these deaths were hastened by anthropogenic climate change. In other words, the planet is being warmed because of the choices made by the common human.

In my lifetime alone, a short forty-seven years, 73% of our wildlife has been killed off through the actions, choices, and exploitation wrought by human beings. A child born today has barely 25% of the wildlife left that I had as a child. Think about that. Please think about how you can change this trend each day in your life, with each purchase you make.

Everything has a true cost. Find something beautiful and fight for it before it’s gone.

I went in search of orcas for that birthday, but instead was gifted with the insight of murres. Like canaries in the coalmines, they had a message for me to share with you. The common murre is far less common as they once were, and if we don’t adapt and focus on environmental conservation, the common human also faces rapid decline and utter annihilation.

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