This world's logistics overwhelm me. Appointments, lunch dates: aaaah! But usually, I get by. Me being me, it all feels kind of mystical.
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 are times when your heart continuing to beat has to be enough.
Simply being unapologetically Jewish is a political act.
I had slammed a door on the purest part of my soul. And for what? Like a baby crying out for its mother, I had denied its outstretched arms, turned the key, and plugged my ears to the cries.
Intimate sharing is wonderful to a point, but dangerous and even bone-chilling beyond that point. The implications are deep and potentially mystical.
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.
I gave birth to a rich afterlife realm. Judgment, adventure, insight, amazement... it's all there.
What is age? What is truth? What is time? If I feel like I’m 18, or 28, or whatever, why can’t I be?
