Articles about Posts
“…I began changing my spiritual blueprints, confident that, in time, a shiny “new build” reality would materialize.”
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Written as part of a Method Writing Class with Jules Swales. Inspired by Rainer Maria Rilke’s Duino Elegies, Number 1.
“Birth certificates are death sentences. Signed, sealed, delivered. In between, the River I must roll, must roll, must roll.”
Yearning was written as part of a Method Writing Class with Jules Swales. Inspired by Rainer Maria Rilke’s Eighth Elegy in the Duino Elegies. “Nowhere, beloved, will satiation be found but within. In the heart’s cavern only, seen by none, celebrated by none, adored by none, the grail hides, a tabernacle clothed in invisibility.”
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“Nothing to do. Nothing to think. Nothing but relax. Wait for death’s scoop into heaven’s magic, the best, most free, most silent, most pregnant years of a life brimmed with work and responsibility.”
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I love two men. Thank goodness that on the earthly plane, these loves were sequential. On the spiritual side they are simultaneous. My first love, tall dark and handsome, swept me off my feet when I was 24. He scooped me onto the back of a motorcycle and showed me through sensual, passionate presence how…
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On a walk among luminaria, I found evergreen magic. In the city block of my Phoenix neighborhood, on Christmas Eve and Christmas night we observe a tradition of lighting luminaria, votive candles in white sacks, placed along the edges of our sidewalks. I took a walk in the dark of Christmas evening to enjoy both…
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Christmas presents, gifts of light, can arrive at any time of the year. They can even unwrap in a university classroom in July on a campus shimmering in summer heat. Before the age of 30, I yearned to belong. I didn’t seem to fit anywhere. I was too quiet. Too shy. Too intense. Too emotional.…
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Author’s note: Fiction is a mysterious mix of truth and imagination. I offer this fictional story in memory of my Grandma Sandel whose presence at my high school Christmas concerts meant everything to me. A silvery ribbon of soprano, my voice hung in the still air of the high school auditorium. A spotlight illuminated a…
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Our expressions were quizzical. We stared at an 11X14 white paper that had six squares on it, each drawn to look like a television screen. My late husband, Jim, and I were in Cincinnati attending a Reality Therapy workshop with trainer Bob Wubbolding. We had been instructed to create a story board – a visual…
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St. Hedwig’s Church was poised, expectant, still. My family, Ma, Dad, me, Laura, Carol, Michael, and James, filed into the church in a Polish neighborhood of Detroit for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. My father chose a pew near the high altar, and we scooted into the row between the creaky wooden benches, the rock-hard…
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