Tag Archives: self
You are here, she said, to take a tentative chance on the infinite, to teethe, lovingly, on the numinous zipper of a star or two, to gamble away innocence with a fortune teller’s palm, grinning stigmata, and not a single … Continue reading
There is no story greater than the one you don’t tell yourself, silence and lighted space inviting wonder and mystery to pool at the center of who you are beyond facile descriptions and prior claims.
I can go on. Sometimes you fall off the edge of a sentence and find another one waiting for you there, like the billowcushy arms of a cloud-woman, or keenly lighted wraith, and you can go on, holding hands with … Continue reading
I’d like to be the kind of person my soul knows I am.
Sometimes, even the light, in its radiant parry and thrust, needs to be laid down, in order to receive, openly, the starried lull of brokenness.
You are only as free as your last thought. Think again.
There are chambers inside myself I have yet to discover or visit, for example, that one room rumored to contain a monk in tattered robes hunched over a yellow table benignly autistic in his relations to text and verses which … Continue reading
It is hard to believe, but after years and years of clawing with bitten nails, and digging with torn palms, in the heart of a stone she found the babybluest wisps of cloud, soft nimbus music, to which she tendered … Continue reading
The greatest lies I learned as a child seperated my soul from its choir, a violent breaching that took the littlest me to the far ends of my self, where I found, in dwelling, Beauty, untrammeled, opening her palm to … Continue reading