Long-ish Form

Being human is a complicated business. It is not impossibly complicated; we have, after all, been managing for millennia. That said, we’ve been arguing over what “being” human means for almost as long. It is in no way a monolith. The types of experiences we have vary so greatly, and our minds are so bad at processing magnitude, that we can’t fathom what most of those experiences could even be, much less what they are. Of course we share a great deal in common: our hearts whic

Ocean waves,  Smiles that dress up dead eyes,  Oak trees in their death knell at autumn's core,  Bellyaching laughter born of yearning and desire:  Here are only a few of her ten-thousand faces. Grief is a beauty, dressed in steel and lace, oleander bedecking her hair. Her cheeks are full, her arms are strong and supple, her legs corded but soft; she is a master of disguise. Grief wears many faces, for she is the many faced god. We westerners get Grief all wrong.

A Meditation Shape me into an instrument Of  peace; Grant me serenity to accept  What is not mine to change,  To change  what you have given me to shape: Sow love where there is fear, Hope where despair would grow, Forgiveness in the furrows of my wounds. Embroider me with wisdom, Threads from the hem of your  Garment spread over the cold  Immeasurable universe. May I always see the stone beneath my feet;  Eternal Flame, light the lamp I use  To   choose between the roads  Pa