a world where stars live in the ocean those are the boundaries of his Possible where blue and blue meet in boundless bardo and just when I saw it taking shape in the distance his…
Browsing Category prose & ramble
incubation
How to hatch an inspiration. Sit on it, but notice it flaring up every time you go for a walk in the woods. Note that you hike faster and arrive sooner. Try to write…
on the peripheries of death
Chipmunks and small birds flit beyond the shoulder of death. My father would interrupt my clumsy cobbling of life-memory-love professions with a chuckle and point to the antics of the tiny, striped, tumbling acrobatics in…
my own footsteps
When I was 7, I’d rally a small neighborhood troop, To carve a tunnel through the blackberry bramble. Lift the warmed wooden lids off garden snake traps. Part overhead golden grasses in search of field…
seeking a mindful minute
I’m remembering, The unwritten life is fast food eaten standing up. A mindless conveyor motion of bits to mouth. Yet the primary ingredient of memory, I’m certain, is reflection. And the unwritten is the unreflected….
retired is my aching
Past are the afternoons scribbling in journals on wooden docks floating between home and away. Silenced are the nagging questions of my 20’s as to my exact being, purpose, and fate. Retreated has the wave…
birthmark of bravery
A black cat leads us in kora. And we follow in dumb curiosity. Underestimating the confidence in that stride, The intentionality of that tail, Not until three rotations does it dawn on us, That…
something feels fleeting
Something feels fleeting. The deaths and beginnings. Watching the sun set from above. While samsara cycles below. Who am I to steal a seat in God’s balcony? Who am I entitled to so many reincarnations…
the marrow of feeling
I used to write exclusively in run-ons. Adding dashes and dots till my sentences collapsed in exhaust. My egoism wore life like a garish hat. I hate the photos. And the internet’s curse of living…
fine with my simple life
Often a cup a coffee, less likely one of wine, but even better than Joe, a little Kerouac, Eggers or Robins churns my mind with caffeinated flow. It is the first time I have opened…