I write to hear myself feeling.

aerial view

I saw the sands

like water ripples

Solid rock like

creases of skin

And where the water flows

green hairs erupt,

protective like my own.

And I saw our stars come out

at night

we’ve made constellations

poetryMegan Jones
When rest comes

What happens when

the thing we let go of

and the thing we want the most

are the same

What happens when

we transmute restriction

into pleasure

What happens when

we do not go to the edge

because there is no edge

When hope and fear are the same

When my bones ache from

not moving

Now comes the morning.

Now we wake from dreams.

poetryMegan Jones
Summer Relaxation

My intention for this summer is to rest and relax more. Relaxation may be one of the most appropriate responses to our stress, our lack of clarity, and the daily pain of living within a culture plagued by aggression, white supremacy, and capitalism. We don’t need to do more. We need to be more present to this moment. Relaxation can be a portal to freedom. In the words of The Nap Ministry, “Rest is a form or resistance.”

So to celebrate the season I’m offering special 60 minute massage sessions, now through September 23.For $60, your time will include a guided meditation practice and full body relaxation massage.

Schedule your appointment and share this with a dear one!

What To Expect:

These summer special sessions are for 60mins only, are primarily Classical Swedish (full body relaxation massage with oil), and will only be offered now through September 23. Classical Swedish massage is designed to promote relaxation by relieving muscle tension, increasing circulation, boosting your immune system, and ultimately supporting your resilience in daily life. This massage utilizes massage oil for light to medium pressure, and includes movement of joints/stretches when appropriate. You will always be asked if there are areas you do not want contacted and can always opt out of contact at any point during the massage.

If this offering feels supportive to you but $60 is beyond your means this summer, I do offer a few sliding scale sessions each month. Please ask for what you need.

And I’m still offering integrative session during this time. So if you’re looking for more in-depth embodiment support, somatic meditation work, or a longer session time, scheduling that option is still available for you.

Where are you finding or learning relaxation in your daily life? What summer intentions do you have that are nourishing or fueling for your life? I'd love to hear from you!

bodyworkMegan Jones
Watch for what comes back

You came floating down to my feet

from the sky it seemed, flowering tree

growing out of a rock

shed you like tears.

I sent you down the river.

You came circling back,


I didn’t laugh until the second time.

Whatever currents brought us together

it was laughter that sent us

each equally on our way.

You, floating again

to only you know where or to the end.

I, finally at ease watching the

dragonflies dancing

all these leaves and wind making love

the water coming

as if from forever and

heading on that same way.

I go that way too, I come back again.

poetryMegan Jones
To Live

How do you turn pages—

by grabbing
index to edges
slight stick of spit
for grip
for control
through the mechanics of choice

or by reading each sentence
pulling each word out of the page
until the pressure builds
necessitates continuance

or maybe the wind does
all the work
and can it even be called work then

—allowing what may to come
releasing into the chaos of

31poemsMegan Jones
How you are you

There is a science of the heart, is this feeling

pumping, or does the blood move

the heart in rhythm, keeping time,

dancing, maintaining

the logic of

physics, like it’s the same as love. (All facts melt to theory melt

toward questions, better questions, more

words for

–isn’t it too vast and too close to see.

So close one eye, focus or soften or

do nothing at all. You go on anyway.)

And is this constant motion

strength, persistence, or the reaction

made by or for or from

two forces meeting

(like every cell moves by or for or because of

longing. Close the door. Come close.)

And isn’t it more than two,

that mysterious

other in this equation of

Your body.

Your being.

And who is the you.

31poemsMegan Jones
When the green came on

When the green came on, did you notice

How the skin forgets what it was like to be so dry

and the taste of this air forgotten on

how normal it is to be well.

All this time with that ache in my throat,

dry eyes, like I could drink the oceans

thirsty looking for you.

But it comes apart at the turning, suddenly

(though time keeps pace, I just felt the rush like a bend in

reality, what is real anyway. Tell me the truth.)

I can’t remember what it felt like to

be cold to my bones.

Why can’t grief be the same. Or tell me it is,

only the season hasn’t changed yet.

31poemsMegan Jones
What matters most

You are breathing.

Speak to the stream of pain

as you will

in the language of

other universes

other dimensions,

full, velvety voice


Come out from inside of

or back toward

the dream of living

and add more

colors this time.

This story is unprecedented.


your breath writes chapters

turns pages

unfolds or unhinges

like you are happening

not an archetype.

You are breathing.

Breathe with me.

31poemsMegan Jones
When does the day turn


How many hours of this silence does the city feel. When it is deep, dark, predawn and my eyes shift awake from
the contrast. No car sounds. No bird sounds.
Maybe we are the only ones moving, me and some shadow of a startled awake dreamer in another room, across town.

I wash my face again with oil. I slowly pull the window open more. Turn the blankets down, waiting.

Sounds, waves of story, constant and to be stilled. Fan swirl lightly ticking, night bug songs

Echoes of yesterday when it still
feels like today.


Silence like an echo of half the light or less.




Half the light or less.

Lesson from the predawn bed:

Or, how to hold a friend,

when I am gone:


The birds are singing.


Wake up with

that crust covered eyes,

know I’ve cried all night

in my sleep, or, then with

the sinking ache in my chest,

know my heart did beat all night

in my dreams.


And actually we are alive.


Just a few more hours waiting then

listen for the train when it’s leaving.

You can too. Why is loving

sometimes like that

long off song of silence. Waiting.

Send rest.

It is tomorrow now.

31poemsMegan Jones
Who was watching

Time slips and the air shifts,

bridge the gaps, the abyss

between what you know

and whatever you feel.


Trust, like the smell of this flower,

this one,

not memory

not belief


Trust, like how you feel

when your eyes close to sleep

at last,

when your teachers come,

disguised as they will

in your conclusions,


outside of time

and your eyes finally open.


You were made facing your own heart


Megan Jones
In another life

To be a flowing thing

and maybe never bloom

and maybe never kiss the earth


Like waves

a bit more than silence fills

these days


Like waves

every moment rushes up

to my lips


To be a trembling thing

and maybe never know

and maybe never decompose

31poemsMegan Jones
Under blue, for pink

Bands of fabric, light, color


Expanding —filling the horizon,

now the whole sky,

as each street lamp goes out.


—filling the darkness with

pink first.

A joy like that, smooth,

turns the darkness

waking me from this dream

into another


And I’m crying now

as your color drains to hushed blue

like I want to live with your pink

over me.

Maybe you are wiser

knowing we couldn’t stand

beneath such sensation forever.


What then do I do with this sight

now memory,

my sore eyes.

You made Day and who will make Night

31poemsMegan Jones