My body tends to dream in rhythms highlighted from unique movements made during the day… and so last night I dreamt in Forest.
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The Saturday night darkness set in and a cool desert breeze passed through the house and all peacefulness was halted to attention. Angry yelling streamed in the open bedroom window, footsteps from a chase ensued, and the panic of scared voices echoed off the walls.
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“Befriend a tree,” she said.
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Flannery O’Connor writes, “somewhere is better than anywhere.” And maybe she’s inviting us to remain faithful to the sacrament of the present moment. Somewhere is anywhere in the present.
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Something, some unidentifiable something, is pushing its way through my veins, pulsing throughout my entire body. I am at a loss to describe it or define it, let alone name it…
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I want to tell you about a flea infestation. And then I want to tell you about the hopelessness of relational recovery. But first I want to tell you a story about Howard Thurman…
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I forgot to commemorate, in my own spirit, that it was two or maybe three Easters ago when I gathered up my parents and our friend…
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“What we’re reading or listening to or, rather, what we’re getting into lately is in some sense the most profound question we can ask each other.” (David Dark)…
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The entire world stopped breathing when we learned that the minuscule molecules of saliva can kill us…
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Jesus showed up in a room, packed to the corners with fear…
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I asked but you wouldn’t say or maybe you were hard to hear over the train horn staccatos…
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