It isn’t until I rest, in moments like these, that I become acutely aware of this invisible matter so essential to my life. This spaciousness around me moves inside me. Against my exposed skin, the softness lingers. It waits for an invitation, then passes through barriers, delicately taking up residence anywhere I allow it. Against the opening of my nostrils, the coolness comes in, fills my nasal passages and glides into the hollows of my face. This light quality washes over my forehead, around my cheekbones and down my jaw. The openness is irresistible and my teeth separate slightly, naturally depressing my tongue to the bottom of my mouth. The new found space teases the insides of my cheeks and stimulates a small amount of salivation upon my tongue. Then it floats into my mind; the idea that I could consume only this moment, over and over again, for the rest of my life. Keeping my eyes closed, my facial expression lifts as I recognize the partial truth in that sentiment. In many ways, this is all there is. It comes and it goes. The airy quality of this thought easily disintegrates. It expires, along with the warm air that exits my body by way of a deep sigh. Stray strands of hair tickle the skin around my right temple, and my attention is redrawn to the mysterious continuous movement with which I came here to connect.
Visually and audibly, the external world has become muffled. However, some cues are still whispered to me. Each inspiration carries a cue that my body is warming beneath the sun; a hint of heat, a subtle suggestion of sweat. The light perspiration is welcomed and serves me well when the gentle breeze passes over to cool my skin. Again, I draw my focus inward. I tune in to the soft scraping sound against the back of my throat. I am reminded of the ocean’s waves. My consciousness is elevated and transported to a bright, clear day on an awe-inspiring beach. This, however, is no ordinary beach. The waves I watch are not composed of water. The substance beneath my feathery light feet is not sand as I know it. The environment is composed of ethereal material. The waves are weightless, the sand subdued. As I bear witness to this world, the trade winds deliver a message, “Meet me here, every day.” I vow to make every effort to return here, to locate and follow this transient force that constantly wanders within me. It swells and it retreats. One day, I will be taken out with the tide; gusting over the curious waves. One day the breath will go out and not come back again. Today, however, the essential rhythm rolls, back and forth, in and out, on and on.



Even in my solitude, there is so much talking.

I am sure that I have discovered a place to be alone. It is a place I have never seen, but as soon as I get there, I know. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I close the door, lay down on the bare wood floor, and almost complete a full exhale…

[Enter NEW CHARACTER. He raises his hands to his chest, palms forward, shields himself from my palpable reluctance] “I know, I know. Please, just listen. This is important.”

He kneels on the unyielding space before me and begins his pitch. I refuse to hear him. I shake my head side to side and plea, “No, please..”, but his words take shape and I cannot close my eyes to them. His sentences fill the space between us. Some of his words are bolded, some are highlighted. These special words are given leave from their positions. They project forward. They break the flimsy barrier between us. They land on me, and I know, immediately; this is my next teacher.

I am not here to rest. I am here to learn.
There is a place be alone. I am not there yet.


Virginia Woolf did not take pictures of the river. She slipped in,unreflected. She softened her heart upon the riverbed and leaned her ear against the smallest grain of sand.

When you come back, wild-eyed and dripping, everyone will demand to know exactly where you have been.


I’m Ready for EVERYTHING to Happen

Afraid of the dark as a young child, this is the mantra I repeated to soothe myself (more often than I’d like to admit): “Please God, don’t let anything happen to me.” I wasn’t very religious, but I did sleep with a rosary balled up beneath my pillow. I didn’t necessarily believe in god, but I did ask my mom for a framed picture of Jesus to hang on the wall to the right side of my pillow. I must have been directing this request at him.

As a young adult, easily taken over by fear and anxiety, those words would show up uninvited. In many ways, the mantra became a familiar tool to self-soothe and it served me well. From early childhood and beyond, I used it so often that a manmade groove was carved in my mind. Even now, as a non-religious adult, walking the rim in times of uncertainty or discomfort, I unconsciously slip over the edge and fall in with ease, “Please God, don’t let anything happen to me.” It happens so instinctively, it’s almost as if I’m hearing another voice, a different piece of myself asking me for protection.

I’ve never specified that it is the BAD things from which I seek protection. I’ve never asked for the GOOD things to come into my life. I simply ask for NOTHING to happen.

So, maybe I believe in God a little more than I’d like to admit. Obviously someone is listening.



Titles are Boring

This is not going as planned. Then again, I planned for this, by not making a plan.
As long as i continue to put words together in rooms, the probability that one of them might meet his match and fall in love, is on the rise.

I’ll continue to let these words mingle.

Boring get-togethers are much more common than life changing parties. Even though I know the likelihood of another unimpressive showing, I have to remain in attendance. If some epic coming-together-of words were to unfold in my absence, I’d be extremely upset. I hate missing out on the action.

I’ll just keep setting up words, bringing them together in rooms and hoping one of them drinks too much, takes her clothes off, or tells a horribly unrefined story about her daddy issues.