Thursday, June 9, 2016

Baby Breyl

Baby Breyl

I treasure her….
 My first grand love…
She is soft and new and whole and good.
                                                   Her lips lap her mother’s nipple
Drinking of milk and sustenance and the very essence of life
 But also
Tender love.  Holy Love.  A mother’s love.
They are both innocent as they start this journey together…

Tiny fingers pull up into large hands
Hands weathered by time,
Weathered by experience,
.Old Dan tucker… melodically rings through the air
 She glides through
My husband’s well worn knees and bounces up again.
An ancient ritual her mother has known her whole life…..  now circles back.

I hug her closely to my breast
Dancing with her as I sing.
Hearts pounding in sync.
Souls entwining.
My little lamb and I 
Float across the floor together
Gliding, circling, celebrating....
Euphoria in full bloom......

Dana Mc Daniel Seale
Manhattan, NY
October 2012

Two Become One

Becoming One

I inhale the breeze as it blows through me…
Sipping, cleansing, renewing my soul.
Drinking in the raw joy of simplicity
Life slips past me as I study the waves----
Tumbling, rolling, harvesting
Sea glass, sand dollars,
Fragments of conch
And delicate china from the sea.
I am lost
in the wind
and the water
and sand
and sun…..
Healing seeps into the core of me, the soul of me, the timeless spirit of me.
I stumble upon
The skeletons of two trees that have rolled ashore together at high tide.
Their long skinny torsos are welded together at the roots.
They tell a story….
even in their death…
of a life so tightly woven at the foundation
That even now, though they breathe no more,
The winds, the waves, and the storms have not been able to separate them.
Two unique trees united by their need
To survive,
To draw from the soil they shared
To dig deep
And to hold tight when the winds of life threatened them.
So woven are the roots into one enormous ball that the tale of their lives
Is an easy one to decipher.
Every spring was celebrated together.
Every storm was fought as one.
Winters were survived at each other’s side
Wind breaks and shades were gifts they gave to one other.
So unified
So separate
So interwoven
So independent
Large roots, skinny roots, curly roots, straight roots, long roots, short roots…
A thousand stories weave together…
To become one.

Dana McDaniel Seale

Path to Life

Path to Life

There is a way that is filled with glory and fame
Paved with shine and glitz
But I say to you
The alley of humility…
With the stench of poverty
The hopelessness of cravings that never go away
The isolation of loneliness
The fear of rejection
Lean in.
Hear the stories.
Tell  your own….
Walk with them,
Heart to heart
Shoulder to shoulder
Hold the light high for their paths
Love them.
Serve them. 
And then gently, ever so gently,
Lead them
Out of their prisons.
Out of their desperations
Out of their dead end paths.
Welcome them
Into a kingdom of love
Into a family that cares
Into eternal hope.
And then know that you have done
What you have come to do
This is the everlasting path
That leads to life.
This is the road back home.

Dana McDaniel Seale

September 15, 2015

Sunday, June 5, 2016

Avondale on Hudson....A Sacred Passage

Avondale on Hudson
A Sacred Passage

Light filters silently around me
Sifting through
Spindly branches
Leaves bright with chartreuse
And marigolds that golden the air with soft velvet ruffles.
Softest beams weave in and out of long trailing tree limbs and dapple dalmation onto the slatted gray table before me.
Roughened by time and weathered by rain and snow and winds the table made of timber is aged yet solid.
With it linger a fragrant essence of memories
of gathered laughter,
Restful moments of contemplation
and joyful circles of friends
It is late May and these upper New York woods are rebounding from the harsh trauma of snowy winter
They surround me with resilience….
Green with vigor….
Lush with  families of hopeful younger saplings
A pot of fresh basil, a planter of pink geraniums and a large lemon on a small tree Gift this cottage hidden in the woods with wholeness and a wafting fragrance of Fresh beginnings and newness of life and
The stunning grace of raw beauty.
Below me a brook washes through the crevices of rocks and moss and roots clinging to banks and trunks and shifting silt.
It sings as it runs…..and in the softest of ways…..peace seeps into my spirit and soul.
Life lives here in this cottage in the woods.
I study the hope that surrounds me in this sanctuary of life.
Despite the snow, the winds, the floods,
These sacred elders of the plant kingdom resurrect each spring with life
And breath and arms wide open…..
They have been created to stand tall
Hosting families of birds and a thousand other creatures too hidden to see.
They have come before me, these trees of old
And they will remain to tell their story long after mine is over.
I am honored to share this space at
60 Near Road with them.
This moment of eternity,
This celebration of graduation
This merging of two families who share the goodness of the one they both love….dearly
A soul full of light and goodness and sensitivity
A soul who fears the darkness
Courageously treads it anyway.
Intentionally reaching ever reaching deeply into her spirit,
God’s spirit,
And the spirit of others.
Ever reaching for the hands of those she loves
Asking them to go with her.
To help her to see what she cannot see.
To help her to be brave
And to press ever forward,
She was created with roots that run deep,
That drink from streams of living water and cling to good soil.
She was created to stand tall
With a strong will
For the tearing down of strongholds of injustice.
And she will….
Use that will to pierce the darkness with great light.
This is a sacred passage, at a sacred moment, in a sacred place.
She has weathered the winter and spring has come again.

Dana Seale
Avondale on Hudson

May 29, 2016

Wednesday, January 5, 2011


Is measured not by weights or scales
Or numbers we can see,
But rather by subjective hearts
And wishes just to be
A little better than the rest
Of others who seem far more blessed.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Herald of Spring

Metaphors are written into the wind, the forests, the seasons, the oceans, the sunsets, the rivers, the stars...... What a gift to be able to capture them, contemplate them, and celebrate them!

From my frost covered window
I watch a lonesome bird contemplate
His reflection in an icy puddle.
Thin feathers, hardly a heavy jacket for this biting day,
Shield his naked soul from the death of winter.
Why has he lingered?
Gone are his fellow choir members.
Gone is the summer symphony.
He solos forgotten melodies into the silence of a snowy day
He chants carols from a spindly branch that wheezes as it bows..
I study this solitary bugler in awe.
He is a fighter
Not a comfort lover.
An independent thinker.
Not a follower.
He is one who chooses the path of most resistance,
One made strong by his very choices.
Undaunted by stormy threats and the howling mockery of the wind,
He announces life in the midst of death.
An unrelenting watchman on a wall,
He is the herald of spring time.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Spell Breaker

Some truths are timeless, I find that this is one of them.


An abyss of eternal span
Is centered in the dark of man.
It haunts his soul and echoes through
The wall-less wall and view-less view.

It taunts the very core of him
Until he fills the pit with sin
And then, it echoes louder still
Appealing to his heart and will.

But nothing of a mortal span
Can fill the dark that lurks in man.
For man can not so break the spell
That’s bound his soul down into hell.

And yet a blade that rips the night
Is wielded by the prince of light
Who knows no fear of mortal chains
Nor cowers from the dark domains.

For he has written life on death
And placed in man eternal breath
And in the hollow of the span
Has spoken truth back into man.