0n the death of Seamus Heaney I am trying to write a poem because I am sad– and because summer is ending- and because a poet I love has died.
When I was a kid- my grade eight math teacher told our class about a mail-order scam where someone would put an ad in the classifieds–offering an ancient secret to becoming rich and famous. All you
“There are only three kinds of business in the universe: mine, yours, and God’s.” ~ Byron Katie Today, I had the urge to write about something that I was outraged about. I
I dream of a little cage, on the edge of a cliff, where I pretend to live contentedly, rather than learn to swim across the turbulent waters below. Lulled by
Making art teaches me– that life is too precious to rush. I don’t want to miss any miracles. And there are always miracles unfolding. It takes time to truly become
Sometimes I get scared. Overwhelmed Shut down. Oh– these endless yammering clamouring thoughts. Inner turmoil. Craziness. What’s wrong with me? It’s just the old wounds weeping. Just the old anguish
Another post from my journal a few years ago. Sometimes I think that the lessons of my life have been delivered in a series of disasters and catastrophes. It is
