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've explored many Death Cafés in Manhattan. They were fascinating events filled with warm, open people, and while they didn't answer my spiritual questions, they gave me an idea that just might....
The group I imagined was splendid. But since when is something that seems wondrous actually wondrous and not, you know, a cult, or whatever?
That’s me: a death-obsessed, fearful, life-loving, food-savoring soul who can barely function in this space-filled world. Somehow, I manage to have great adventures.
