
March 12, 2019
I was reading an article that rebuked people for their “buffet Buddhism”. Which was interesting in light of the fact […]
Writer and Teaching Artist
I was reading an article that rebuked people for their “buffet Buddhism”. Which was interesting in light of the fact […]
Over the past 8 years, I’ve become an early riser. Last summer a friend of mine playfully scolded me for […]
Sunday rant on a Saturday: I am on my browser, using my home wifi. I am patiently sitting through an […]
Dear DLD, Yeah, so I’m going to do it: “I had this weird dream”. A stressful dream anchored in S.’s […]
Dear HXH. Playing with form again. Perhaps not the most productive way for me to work these days, but an […]
Dear Di, I want a knight just like the one in your photo. I would put him in the corner […]
No such thing as a new beginning, but perhaps a turning, a point on the spiral to take in the […]
The world is never, really quiet. There are waves in the darkness that beat a rhythm through our very cells.
Dance.
An electric light at dawn, anticipating the lengthening night.
This little window of autumnal sunrises before dark creeps over my mornings.
and giving in… It has been a summer of quiet. Avoiding the noise. Relinquishing the pressure of “content”, in terms […]
The last morning of a summer
of unexpected ease.
An arch of light on the horizon.
Summer is leaving the lake now. There is a quieting all along the trail.
Footfall and breath, and an absence of birdsong.
The sky was still dark at 4.45 when I woke to meditate. White by the time we hit the trail. These last mornings running in the half-light before the cows are taken in, and all the geese have flown south, I breathe it all in.
Now, while the world is wet and the fallen pine needles still green.
Not dreaming, but stepping on egg shells this morning.
It's been a week since I heard the cuckoo, though the songbirds are still here, getting on with the effort of living before they leave us to another season of darkness and crows.
Where the trees stop and give way to the plowed fields, the stench of manure is a slap to the senses. This is what life tastes like. Want it or not.
February 19th, 2018 The lamps along the trail were out this morning, and the light from the torch strapped onto […]