Recently I had the pleasure of writing an article for the Unusual Buddha. The article concluded with a poem; a poem that I’ve continued to think about and ponder; a poem that has continued to grow in significance and meaning, a poem that has continued to shift importance and pertinence. …
Virginia Wolff says that “A good book is never finished – it goes on whispering to you from the wall.” In my experience, some books whisper with such frequency and fervent intensity, that I’ve had to give up on the idea of them ever residing on the wall. I keep …
I have for so long been so caught up in the closed network of being alone with books that I have forgotten the fact that, even though books can build a natural communion of experience between the writer and the reader, books can be an even broader gateway to belonging, …
Recently I was asked by the lovely folks over at the Tattooed Buddha to contribute to their SnapShots of Meditation series, a project that seeks to show what real-world meditation looks like by highlighting the daily observances carried out by everyday practitioners and their reasons for practicing. It’s always such …
“how you matter is defined by the things that matter to you. You matter as much as the things that matter to you do. And I got so backwards, trying to matter…All this time, there were real things to care about: real, good people who care about me…It’s easy to …
I am only a part-time poet. I love to be lost in lyricism, awash in the wide stretching words of sonnets and verse, but my thoughts tumble out best, and most often, in prose and in essay. Perhaps it’s because my mind is always wildly musing and meandering; fueled by …
Bees are bulimic and we are enabling them. I am not oblivious to the absurdity of that statement. I’m all too aware of the random ridiculousness of the thought, and I’m painfully aware of how ludicrous it is that I’m not only entertaining the idea, but that I’m actively writing …
My morning begins with a search for words, and, perhaps, the words begin their day with a search for me. Some days we find each other like star crossed lovers brought together by the serendipity of persistence and strong coffee. Some days we are a missed connection. There is only …
Call it youthful naivete, call it delusion, call it 37 years of egomaniacal indigestion (fuck if I know), but I’ve always had a sense that I was meant to do something. I’ve been searching for that something. So much so that I’ve begun to think that i am little more …
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 …
