You don’t get Life without some kind of stink as a byproduct. Might as well fertilize a rose garden. Or, in keeping with environmental responsibilities, a mini-forest of drought tolerant trees.
Singing Over the Bones Read More »
If you are to shine like the Sun, you must first learn to be wholly yourself in the dark.
Accept, Release, Renew Read More »
I run blindly, away from The Dark into a thousand points of inky black light, each one a needle splintering my soul. It is too much. All I feel is pain. Mine. Yours Theirs. Ours.
Hope had become the enemy that would see me dead, and expectations evaporated with the loss of both past and future. I was left with nothing but the present moment to cling to.
The Gift of Tragic Loss Read More »
When Wild Woman sings over your bones in this way, you have no choice but to howl for she will destroy whatever she must to free your soul from the shackles you crafted from your dreams. Â
The Return of Wild Woman Read More »
Part 1: Things Fall Apart
Part 2: Thirty Days of Molly
Part 3: Phoenix Rising
Part 4: Daily Offerings to my future self
Six Strings to the Wind Read More »
As musicians in a band use time to synchronize the individual projections of sound, time allows us to synchronize our individual projections of reality. Time is a construct, a fluid multi-dimension, an ocean where the seas of past, present, and future mingle and converge. All we have to do is learn to swim.
Make Time Your Bitch Read More »
