I collect things, in my walking. Stones for their shape and weight. The knots of trees, kept whole while the rest of the wood washed away. Feathers, pebbles, a weathered Help Wanted sign. They sit with rosaries I’ve collected in travels, baby buddha statues, the Amazing Grace music box. I carry or keep the things …
Step three is that deepening practice of awareness and acceptance, of taking life as it comes to you, and accepting yourself as you are. Listening to that boy the other day, I was reminded of how hard that acceptance can be. How hard our lives are. It is possible for me to fall into disillusionment …
A young man sat around a table of old men and two women with cigarette rasped voices. I was there, too. The young man was loud. I think he had to be. I think when we are afraid to say, we have to focus our effort so hard it comes out more loudly and more …
I’m not the kind of girl who takes everything with poise and grace. I’ve very little capacity for thinking everything happens for a purpose. Nor am I much in the way of holding to a monotheistic god or an afterlife. The two go together. It’s because of my big dissatisfaction, I think, the little pangs …
