To my jumping wooohooo elation, the panel of experts in the genre of intestinal blockage literature selected my entry “Constipated With Love,” as the winner.
I told him words a guidance counselor never wants to hear. Words that brought up his most defeated look, “I want to major in philosophy and English.”
Because I’m a nice guy, and everybody wants to see a bear.
Home to me are those moments outside the plotting struggles we constantly confront just to meet our needs. Home is waking up and not needing to be anywhere and do anything, which frees you to do the everything your heart needs.
I was the touch on the spoon before the mouthful, the moment between the songs, the anticipation between the tracks.
Miracles aren’t often great flashes of light. They’re moments when we somehow break through an old habit, grief, or grudge.
In the woods, everywhere is a toilet
The experience for me was a joyful deep diving, an endeavor of feeling into those deep places within us where Art is born.
If we allow it, this motion will take us past any obstacles into the embodied dreams that intersect the edge of our imagination.
