“Positano bites deep. It is a dream place that isn’t quite real when you are there and becomes beckoningly real after you have gone.” ~ John Steinbeck The Beloved’s Wrist The inside of the forearm always remains so tender – despite age...
it is vulnerable to be seen especially when trembling i say to the lamppost as it sees me be seen and the distance as if in a dream opens – you are there you watch me watching you watch it is the possibility of dreams that gives my heart no rest and sometimes i...
Here I am, with Van Gogh’s “Starry Night Over the Rhône.” I’ve always loved art, though I admit that I usually stroll through the gallery rooms rather quickly. It’s a seeking. A restless seeking until the moment something grabs me, and I am consumed by it. Today, I...
“Why do people suffer? Is it karma? What is the purpose of suffering?” people sometimes ask me. And I ask myself that too. I never liked talking about this and I rarely use that word. Yes, we know it has many layers – present, past lives, ancestral and...
As I pass through the backyard heading home I see a little sparrow lying on the walkway. Not moving. I kneel next to it as my heart sinks hoping it’d move and fly away; hoping it isn’t dead but may be it is just … resting? But still, the sparrow is not moving. I look...
