Your heart is a secret…

Poetry is an invitation to meditate upon the experience of mystery and the mystery of experience. The task of the poet is to make the mysteriousness of experience palpably vivid in a way that does not resolve the mystery but, instead reveals the mystery as more profoundly mysterious than we …

Starting over…

Some cycles are helpful. Some are important. Some are simply self-destructive. From the outside looking in it can be easy to assess which is which, but when you’re caught in the incessant restlessness of constantly “pushing”, the insidious can seem inconspicuous. Sometimes it’s easy to mistake the cycle of self-delusion …

Between success and fiasco…

I’ve got a fever. That’s probably the worst possible way to start a blog post in the midst of a global pandemic.  I suppose it’d be like announcing that your lymph-nodes were strangely swollen during the Bubonic Plague. For the record, I don’t have a literal fever. I’m speaking metaphorically. …

Hope is not a feeling…

When I write I do so with a blissful, and sometimes not so blissful, ignorance; a kind of sacred unknowing. I grasp at the ineffable aliveness that undulates underneath my experience of some aspect of the world and I try to give it words. It’s not an endeavor aimed at …

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