Welcome to my little internet home. I hope you’re well. Please, feel free to look around. Scroll down for a handpicked selection of poems, essays, sketches, and more. Or select a specific category from the menu in the upper right.
Maybe the steam is a small tax,
The cost of this drink’s warmth.
Maybe the steam is a prayer.
Maybe it is His share.
Maybe it is the drink’s quest,
Venturing out of the cup,
Heaven bound, pouring up.
Perhaps by cultivating curiosity, we can open ourselves to awe. By asking questions without demanding answers, by being present to mystery, we might find wonder, even in the ordinary.
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When the trees were small –
The trees that grow all through
The patio at the Tower Cafe,
Where we had breakfast Sunday,
Where you had the most delightful French toast –
The trees, now tall, when they were small,
The cafe’s keeper gave them faith.
“Whichever way you grow,”
The keeper said, “it will be okay.”
Faith, that is why they were allowed to stay.
Faith is why they were allowed to become
The beautiful cafe patio protectors they became.
What if happy memories aren’t just nostalgic but essential for our wellbeing? The Brothers Karamazov, Harry Potter, and psychological research, all suggest recalling a happy memory as a powerful tool.
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This idea fascinates me. It is one I believe is true, yet cannot prove. It is the idea that only when we are in our deepest suffering and worst despair can we receive this certain divine gift. Despair is a window through which divine light shines.
Continue reading…There’s something beautiful, something like solidarity, about lamentations. I used to hide my own. Men, it is often believed, must not show pain.
Continue…Till We Have Faces, cognitive biases, scapegoating, inquisitiveness, mindfulness, and the pure victim, holy victim, spotless victim.
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