My parents Abe and Sara wanted to be radical and change everything. But my rebellion was just being normal. Or at least, that’s what you would think if you saw me.
I never saw any bright, shining lights in the relationships I was surrounded by growing up. But I've read about bashert, the Jewish ideal of finding the person you were meant to marry. It seemed like an interesting idea.
The sacred excavation of helixed antiquity and brand-newness.
My favorite costume at the "Families Belong Together" protest was someone dressed as a dinosaur, with a sign that said: Walls didn't work at Jurassic Park either.
There is an oceanic pain-knowing, a tide no soul should ever be made to swim against.
Is it so bad to have the walls breached?
Without it there could be no growth.
Isolation would set in,
The possible would remain impossible.
And yet, the simple truth, *my* simple truth, is that I honestly don't care if Sinai was a historical fact.
A personal encounter into the world of somatic therapy.
