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From Rilke’s Book of Hours
I love the dark hours of my being. My mind deepens into them. There I can find, as in old letters, the days of my life, already lived, and held like a legend, and understood. Then the knowing comes: I can open to another life that’s wide and timeless. So I am sometimes like a… Read more
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Cooking Poetry
There is poetry in cooking, and there is cooking in writing poetry. Both require science, art, observation. Both require an approach that is – to some extent – a combination of military thinking and creative thinking. A sense of when to obey the laws, bend the laws, break them, rewrite them, be served by them.… Read more
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Towards The Fire
When things unravel with such fury, we conclude that something should be held responsible. We look for a place to lay our blame, though the source of our pain often has the power to be a catalyst for growth, a facilitator of movement in stagnant waters. If we can un-stick ourselves from the quicksand of… Read more
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Reception
Friends, I toss myself aside for you. I become available for you. I eat, drink, mumble, run hands through hair for you, scramble down the gulch for you, carry wood, fold socks, scrub pots, ever-fearless, requiring nothing. These are not the days of time’s inhalation pulling way up under the world’s collarbones, stitching together the… Read more