november falls and like deep magick,it smells of cold amber, cold enoughto hold us to absolute honestyi walk sharpened by desire to followred hawk and wolf for half a moonalong the tender edges, where something else begins sometimes trees grow far too wide to hide...
“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 Love is a kiss on the wrist. There is a certain level of vulnerability in...
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 don’t feel it’s appropriate to talk to someone about their karma. In fact, I think...
