memory Archives | Page 2 of 4

Once upon a Time: the Fiction of ‘Me’.

Am I a complex interplay of unique energies interacting with one another like an immense orchestra that -- when playing together in the exactly right way (either by some inexplicable miracle or by some beautiful design) -- create in a single moment one pure strand of vibration that perfectly ...

you & me

A Dream of Infinite Futures and Limitless Life.

The dream represents a return to a kind of magical, childlike thinking, when the future felt infinite and life almost limitless in its possibilities.

yoga

Unconditional Faith: Ending the Guilty Pleasure Myth.

When I hear the word Faith, I associate it with elements of my Catholic upbringing. There is perhaps even a little undercurrent of judgment. Faith is lazy, blind, disconnected. I see a room full of believers waiting for someone else to tell them what's so. But when I really look at this ...

you & me

Dear Dad: An Open Letter.

You’ve always been the ultimate practical joker… waiting in a dark bedroom with one of your dinner plate-sized hands over the light switch... hiding behind doors and scaring the shit out of us... banging your hand on the side of any vehicle, making us think we'd backed into something... driving ...

art

All Roads Lead to Dot’s House: Why Creativity Sometimes Needs Broken Promises.

If we’d always kept our word, we would have missed out on countless afternoons of fun and quality time with Dot. And now that she’s gone, I am so very grateful we broke promises and didn’t keep to our word.

you & me

You Might not Think of Me, but I Dream of You.

You were brilliant, caring, smart, handsome... I could not say a bad word against you. And that's what was so confusing. I walked out of a perfectly perfect relationship.

poetry

She Wishes for Things. {poetry}

And she wishes to mother her babies again, so delicious they were, and their scent, the way they smelled, like innocence, with her cheek up against, their silky, smooth cheeks so to breathe them in, to feel a tiny, flailing fist against her skin, and little eyes looking up, to feel them ...

world

Where Do I Go To Escape?

We all have those places we run to, the places we retreat to, in the recesses of our minds, in the dark corners, under the covers or out in a sunlit field. I asked myself, as I ask you, where is your space? What do you claim as your calm, your quiet, your escape? Where is that safe space in ...

poetry

Matins And Mantras. {poetry}

I am the owl sitting Shiva above someone’s rusted-hinge heart, the Om-ing bassline just under the frost-hooked ground.

poetry

A Holy Rhythm. {poetry}

To age he finally cries Cruelly, he limps atop time, crippled only in the throes of its touch Fighting and fleeing the throngs that have descended into its cold and callused crypt

memory

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