Last night when we were half way across the Atlantic, flying over seamounts outside of St. John, Newfoundland, I cast the I-Ching with my Kindle (how new age of me) and got the hexagram for Joy.
I’d asked about the purpose of this trip.
How perfect. Joy. … More Barcelona, baby
Frida’s gift to me – all these decades later – is to offer me the freedom to be as weird as I want to be. No one else can live this life for me. No one can take these chances.
Why not savor our own strange blend of beauty and artistry and soul? … More Life As Art: Yes, I am as Strange as You
Cricket song matters. Two new tigers born into this world matter. Their birth gives me hope. It matters. Each squalling baby matters. (Whether human or animal.) Each story matters. Acting as witnesses and scribes to our time on earth matters. Sure, we may be nothing but a bright flash or a speck of energy in the … More Life as Art: What Matters?
“Poetry is a kind of witchcraft. We have the power to manifest, to call forth, to make what didn’t happen, happen. I think of the griots who delivered stories from town to town, the soothsayers and playwrights and brujas, all the ceremonies and dedications and incantations and proclamations, everything that starts with the word. And … More Everything Starts With The Word
