This world's logistics overwhelm me. Appointments, lunch dates: aaaah! But usually, I get by. Me being me, it all feels kind of mystical.
Choices of all kinds fill our lives. Maybe they're meaningless; maybe they're everything. I tend towards an intermediate approach....
NYC is glorious: the street life, the food, the energy. But Boston is much cheaper and carries much less stress. The dilemma is intense and even spiritual.
My writing tends towards intimate self-disclosure. It's exhilarating, terrifying, and dangerous for me. I hope it promotes growth and change.
An astonishing fire blazes within. You must spill forth this light, or be consumed from inside. This is the sacred act of spark extraction. This is returning to the knowing in your bones.
There seems to be some heavy congestion between our heads and hearts.
A stranger on a rooftop teaches Elizabeth how to keep Shabbat and keep her sanity.
I was made for breaking. I am built from the raw material of utter destruction, every fissure
bursting with crumpled petition.
Some people are just scary and terrifying and we should never, ever, ever try to talk to them. That is not at all what this post is about.
My spiritual quest is kind of skewed since I so want our world and lives to have mystical significance. I wrote a poem about it all.
