November 12, 2018

I wonder where you are tonight. Each of you. You who I lived with for twenty years. You who I grew up with. You who I almost loved.   Are you searching for a sweater as the sun goes down? Are you running from the law? Or from yourself as we did so long ago?   I feel you dancing with each other in the basement of my heart. When I call, you hush each other till I’m drawn into… Read more

November 5, 2018

Often, the delicate grows within the harsh, the way the milky sweetness grows inside a coconut. Yet all of it is wasted, if the sweetness never comes out. Many of us hide the sweetness or save it for an emergency. But long before the wars erupt, before the prejudice hardens, before the fear makes us recoil from each other, we have this choice. To let the sweetness out.   A Question to Walk With: Describe a something delicate within you… Read more

October 28, 2018

When on the go, there are more places to go. When stopped, I’m surprised that everything that matters is where I am. Still I go and stop, fall down and get up, love and get hurt. Though I see all for a second and nothing for a long time, I believe in all. Though I wanted everything quickly, I now want everything to slow. Now I wonder about the majesties that no one ever sees: the glitter of quartz in… Read more

October 22, 2018

All the meditative traditions encourage us to be still and to drop our thoughts and feelings, so we can breathe our way below all trouble into the flow of life-force that carries us. This is wise counsel. It gives us perspective and sometimes peace. But being a poet, I enter that Universal space and just take notes. I lean into the stillness with an open heart and listen to everything, including my thoughts and feelings and the entanglements of life…. Read more

October 15, 2018

As a broken door lets in the light, a broken heart lets in the world.   No one likes this, but we can’t grow without it.   And no matter how we try, we can’t hold on to everything.   For the mind is a net and all nets have holes.   But you mustn’t worry, because the heart is a sponge.   Still, it’s easier to fall in love than to stay in love.   Easier to have a… Read more

October 8, 2018

He was thirteen before he knew what a hand drill was. His father saved and bought him one for 75 cents. Before that, he made holes in wood by twisting coal-fired nails into the grain. It was his job to throw wood in the fire after school. When red hot, he’d pinch a nail with a pair of pliers and twist it through the wood, which went soft and dark until there was an opening. Now his skin is thin… Read more

October 1, 2018

Maybe all my sufferings have been carving me into a statue of Ganesh that someone will find in the next life in a small store in New York, when they rush in to get out of the rain. Maybe all I’ve been through will draw them to pick me up and touch my long trunk or one of my four, giving hands. And though they can’t afford to take me home, they might circle the store three times before putting… Read more

September 24, 2018

The first big storm of winter cancelled all the flights. Like refugees, we lined up for word of any way out. I felt you struggling 140 miles away. In your grief, you’d been alone too long. I had to get to you. By the time I reached the counter, no more rental cars. I called around and found a service to drive me through the drifting dark. You’d left the lights on but he couldn’t get up our driveway. He… Read more

September 17, 2018

Everywhere I go, I meet people who’ve traveled on. Like the young man who grew up outside of Dubai. He now drives a taxi in Seattle and tells me that all roads lead to each other. And the mother of three whose father raised cattle in Nebraska. She now owns an apartment building in Austin. She tells me that when she closes her eyes, the openness of all those acres returns to her. Wherever I go, I listen to their… Read more

September 10, 2018

The old painter tells me that he loves to drive through small towns, so he can sketch the light and strike up conversations with the young woman who pumps his gas and the lobster fisherman who lets him bait his traps. He loves to meet life as it bubbles up between troubles. Last summer, he wanted to meet that poet from Nebraska, the one who speaks so simply of all that matters. He didn’t want to bother him, just to… Read more

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