"NO BOX CAN DEFINE HER"

~HUFFINGTON POST

Every mood, every moment, every state of mind carries meaning and deserves to be heard, undertood, supported and accepted. What you feel is not random — it asks for expression and to be understood. Healing unfolds through connection and the willingness to meet reality as it is. As. It. Is...and also released and loved into strength and wisdom. Here, in this space, your voice is the devotional tool contributing to the conent of your experience: language, music, stories, thoughts, belief, cries, poetry and all the ways your body speaks to You. This is presence work made practiable, tangable and portable which together to heal the wounds that keep you from connecting with your authentic, sacred voice. I'll guide you through what feels dark or unclear, walk next to you with what feels dangerous, unmanagable or confounding until you find ease.  You may not believe in Big Love.

That’s alright.

It believes in you.

GO TO COUNSELLING THERAPY PAGE
I'll guide you to amazing places

Something in you already knows the way. Not as certainty, but as a quiet orientation — a pull toward what is truer, kinder, more alive. This work listens for that signal. Through words, sounds, and attentive presence to your nervous system we pick up what has been fragmented and work together until it begins to organize itself again.


Nothing is forced.


Nothing is rushed.



You are met where you are, and accompanied as what has always been within you remembers how to speak.

Connect

Loving Attention

By Mira Black • July 2, 2026
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Me Wanting

By Mira Black • June 12, 2026
Dedicated my mated Soul waiting for me across the veil.

Touched Everywhere

By Mira Black • June 12, 2026
Do not call me unattached because I have learned not to beg at every closing door. This heart has not become clean. It has become weathered. There are names I no longer say out loud that still change the temperature of my body. There are hands I have released that still arrive in dreams as if the soul keeps its own appointment book. I know how to pray without building a prison around the Beloved. I know how to open and still let the river move on. This did not come from holiness. It came from loss. From repetition. From standing in the aftermath with my nervous system on fire like a city skyline bright with lightning I have mistaken longing for prophecy. I have called absence care. I have watched my body reach for what my spirit had already surrendered. So no, I am not untouched. I am touched everywhere. By grief. By beauty. By the unbearable intimacy of being human with no guarantee that love will stay where I place it. Still, I refuse the immaculate heart. Let me be marked. Let tenderness leave evidence. Let love ruin the small false self that thought safety meant never opening again. At three in the morning when memory walks through me wearing someone else’s voice, I do not call it weakness. I call it proof. Something entered. Something mattered. Something sacred found a door in me and left it open. ~MIRA #brave #canadian #poet

To Love.

By Mira Black • June 12, 2026
#griefjourney

Do You Hear God?

By Mira Black • June 12, 2026
 Do you ever hear God? I mean truly hear the voice of silence louder than the ruckus across the street. Like thunder Like proof Like God is simply sitting next to you? Do you ever hear God whispering more loudly than the storm? Sometimes the depth of love inside your own heart shining, breaking opening, folding, smashing, like a lake against the rocks under the full moon torrents days before the rain? Do you ever hear God say your name? Not the one you were born with, nor the one your parents claimed. The other one. The secret one. The name only your Soul remembers when the world stops. Please tell me when you notice magic rising suddenly to kiss you for no reason except that you are here. I used to hear God. I used to feel warmth gather around me like I was the most cherished daughter, swimming in clear water, certain of the song singing to the wind. I used to know the words by heart. When magpies landed at my door, I knew they were for me. A certain melody mystical messengers made for me from my Beloved. I knew the veil was thin enough to let the dead kiss me sometimes. I knew the world was speaking in riddles and rhymes I could understand. Some call darkness failure demanding light when I am also mud, blood, hunger, river, ash, and a new moon sky. I have listened too long to people who fight over God as if God is a house only they can afford. And when I ask them about God, they laugh like I have said something only children do. When I ask them about God, they turn away afraid of demons, while I burst into a million pieces of light, realizing I’d been listening to God all along. ~ MIRA
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