We would never fix the brakes on our cars without help, yet we routinely assume we can fix the far more complicated brakes on our thoughts, speech and deeds.
I act like a nervous lunatic when I encounter people who upset me in the past. Maybe I should calm down and see them as fodder for an adventure.
It’s never too early—or too late—to leave the madness behind.
Who knew you could learn so much from some plants?
What Teshuva is required of a person who has been stolen from?
When we idealize people, we give them power over us. They are big and we are small.
Why would someone do something so destructive to another, with seemingly no benefit whatsoever to herself?
A poem that squeezes humor and even transcendence out of my obsessiveness, ineptitude, and rotten choices. I'm guessing many can relate in various ways.
I open the hallway closet and choose my weapon. I go for the broom and dustpan. I drag the broom...
