On the sidewalk, I place the books and my purse in my bicycle basket. I take my small key and unlock my old blue bike from the tree where it leans. I sit on the seat and ride for home and as if my pockets are full of hummingbird feathers, I feel the warmth of my paper asylum fall from me to the wind.
Monday, October 28, 2013
My Paper Asylum
On the sidewalk, I place the books and my purse in my bicycle basket. I take my small key and unlock my old blue bike from the tree where it leans. I sit on the seat and ride for home and as if my pockets are full of hummingbird feathers, I feel the warmth of my paper asylum fall from me to the wind.
Writing Now
Writing is one way to connect with Spirit. Therefore, for me, it has become less of a production and more of a messy correspondence.
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The word loses its meaning once repeated across this page a s every job I have ever had has lost its meaning once repea...
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To celebrate my 41st birthday, I attend a silent retreat. I go alone to be alone. It is a time for being with being. It is a time for deep ...