Work…

Nothing just happens. Neither merit nor value appear out of thin air. Nothing of worth simply grows on trees. Even a tree works to make a harvest,to produce fruit. It endures heat, and drought, and weather, and winter. It makes something out of water, earth, and air. A tree Persists. …

How to use the space…

Something unseen slips. Shifts. Cracks. A zone of fractures. A fault. A displacement. A discontinuity. Something slow becomes something seismic. Everything quakes. Everything breaks. Docility gives way to catastrophe. And we are left alone in the wake. Sifting through the wreckage, the remnants, the residue. Wandering the vacancies and apparitions. …

Exodus…

The pen is mightier than the sword they say, but I write with the hope that swords will rust, or be made into plowshares. That we’ll till the earth. Share a harvest. That a portion of every field we’ll leave un-reaped. That there’ll be something left for the orphan, the …

Happiness isn’t grand…

Happiness isn’t grand. It’s a language I can’t speak, in a city I can’t find my way round, in a country I’ve immigrated to illegally.  I’ve crossed what feels like an ocean with something that feels like hope, only to become wretched and tempest tossed on shore. Orphaned by the …

The Doubters…

If we were honest with ourselves we’d admit there’s room to doubt everything. With the exception of the way we block grocery aisles reading nutritional facts and product labels, it’s the doubters that keep us moving forward. The ones who refuse to settle for anything surface level. Those who will …

Beginning again…

A beginning doesn’t always happen first. Sometimes it’s a response. Sometimes its what comes next. What follows after. An exertion of forces interacting, equal and opposed. An action or reaction, when something gets pushed or moved. Sometimes it’s an opening in the thick of an unfolding. A moment in the …

A ceremony of starting anew…

I’m a lot of different things, but mostly bad at all of them. A minimalist, with an addiction to buying books. A kind of Buddhist, or at least Buddh-ish, struggling with acceptance, mindfulness, and letting go. I’m a writer that’s rarely been published and almost never paid. Sometimes I wonder …

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