At the end of the day
and the end of the year

and the end of this life
and all things I know,

I allow trust to replace vision.

The night sky’s deep celestial face emerges
again from behind its sunny blue façade.

What is dream but a midnight
porthole into invisible infinity?

Tonight, the bumblebees that fly

around my vulnerability, stop
and land,

allowing the space to yawn
wide and open.

A cozy tide beckons release

of these weary lids,
dissolving again

into darkness
and the dream.

~ Julia Daye


Are You My Mother: Tribute to Teacher and Land, Both whom I Met when I thought I had Nothing

That first year, my teacher’s guidance resounding in my ears, I danced until I could no longer walk or see straight. I flailed my body through every open space in New York City in feverish exaltation. I could love again, and most importantly, love myself. I no longer needed to clamor for love in so many places and things, for I could embody all I ever wanted with just this flesh, this momentum, this heart, these hands.

I heard my own voice translate the dreamy tenants of my heart, distilling the macramé of city-sound as I awoke in the breast of a still, dark ocean, in a voice deep and roaring, a longing for mother and home.

In stillness, longing thundered through my being. Longing. A longing that had raged in my blood since I was a child; forever reaching, yearning, wailing insatiably for love and solace. Longing called me away from my familiar cityhive, ripped me to pieces for months as I tried and failed miserably to sleep in my own strange bed in Brooklyn. Eventually, I could no longer refuse its direction and breathed farewell to all I knew and loved, blinking a cocktail of confused affection, and drove off westward alone.

I drove, baffled as the ones I left behind. Only by doing could I translate the meaning of this calling. The miles disappeared beneath my tires. All familiars fell away.

“Change is good exercise,” an angel said.

The landscape transformed against the windows, south and west across New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Texas.

And when I crossed the boarder into New Mexico and saw the mountains against the yawning blue sky, I suddenly felt the realization of the gorgeous symbolic significance of these twenty-six years in voracious motherlessness and homelessness that charged this hungry heart forward, searching and searching, to at last lay eyes, soul and body now upon the truest, fiercest, fullest meaning of Mother.

Here, she roared around me, holding me with every breath—with every breath, welding the terrestrial and celestial home in these two feet and red earth, home in this earthen body towering alongside the others in one embodied incarnation of Her strength, home as I heard my voice say, “Thank you Mama, Here I am.”

~ Julia Daye

Stop Overthinking Your Longing

Stand up straight,
stop overthinking your longing.

That hunger is a part of this human body,
written into our blood like
red and blue tattoos.

Reach for the door, say the things;
don’t ask anyone to make it easy for you.

In fact, when someone makes it hard, say,
Thank you mama! You give my longing a direction,
a channel of challenges through which to carry

this innate bundle of heart-feels.
Feed it with addictions

to things and people and behaviors,
but they won’t take away
the loneliness.

is what this life is.

is the contract we made
as water agreeing to stand

in a cloak of flesh
for eighty years

to move
and explore
and carry the unseen

into the light.


~ Julia Daye



In the spinal column of the northern hemisphere,
I am stationed for this unfolding.

One foot on the ground, one with the fairies,
I return my confusion to the devil.

One wishbone, one backbone,
I hear my heart flutter beneath their wings.

~~ Julia Daye

Journey Poem: Taos, New Mexico: This is Gratitude




To the whole of my love
culminating these weeks of travel,

I have arrived

in highs as high as helium balloons
and grief that flooded the whole of my blood.

To those “imperative” life things
that seemed to blow off

the sides of my vehicle like sand—

the treasured books I left behind,
your voice promising to call.

To the road angels whose quiet mountainous majesty
rose and fell with the deepest sky

warmth and hands and no agenda—
One day at a time, clementine…

breathing me here

from mourning
to morning.


~~ Julia Daye

Mission Statement




All who I love have taught me to love
by listening deeply to myself;

this was a new thing for me for a while…

and in that listening,
I heard my spirit rage inside the hours

upon hours of furious overcompensation

and constant recuperation
from our city hive,

hours that outnumbered the

hours we spent
in creative work and love.

A calling to leave,

a calling to arrive; there are few
corners of the universe

where my earthly body

can explore,
and today, I am summoned

to one.

~~ Julia Daye