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…listening to the blizzard wind howling and watching the white bag that’s been caught in a high branch in the tree right outside my window for going on two winters. It used to ruin my view, and I used to call it names like “trash.” But at some point along… [Continue Reading]

My friend, Pierre, wrote this poem for me on my birthday. I love it. (by P.C. Billon) Shifting your weight, you’ve made your feet at home In the soft, white sand. You stop, for a moment And let the world continue on its way. The clouds inch their way inland,… [Continue Reading]

In the last few years I been making friends with death—with the idea of death, I should say, for how could I ever know what it is before it actually happens? It’s been about opening to the possibility of death not being so bad after all. This has included opening… [Continue Reading]

There’s a house I love in my neighborhood. Whenever I can, I walk by way of this house. It is a luscious canyon-orange, Victorian with a big porch, upon which a green rocker sits waiting oh-so-patiently. I have never, to this day, seen anyone actually sitting and rocking in that… [Continue Reading]

First rule of holes: When you are in one, stop digging. Molly Ivins I’m in a hole. Embarrassing to say for one who loves sharing things related to finding freedom and joy, but here I am, in a hole. And, mostly I’ve been digging. When I finally stop and just sit here,… [Continue Reading]

It starts where many a movie chase ends: on the rooftop of a tall city building where—in the absence of a cape or spider webbing and having no place left to run—the bad guys and the good guys duke it out. But when I open the door from the stairwell… [Continue Reading]

Young children naturally take on the beliefs of influential adults around them. In Playing Now a young girl speaks with the mythical Great Mother about the meaning of eternity and forever. Something about the idea of heaven and hell just doesn’t sit well with her, giving her a tight feeling… [Continue Reading]

I fell asleepwith a full moonbeaming on my legand I could not sleepwithout writing it downby light of ancient moonand flashlight phone and fanwhirling summer onto goosebumpsand I said It is good—it is good to be alive.