She says, “Open your bag,” and plunders the grapefruit box. Six or seven grapefruit go right on top the banana. Another line of cans. “No thank you, no thank you, no thank you,” I say to the diced tomatoes, wheat pasta and khaki frosted cupcakes. “No sweets?”
THE THIRD THING There’s Fact, there’s fiction, and there is the third thing Manifesting in real time. Dreams. Confusing the black with the white. There’s right, there’s wrong, and then--the gray area Doubling down on a choice. Walking a tightrope, feeling the way. There’s good, there’s evil, there’s lost, there’s found, but then there’s… Continue reading Beyond the Dual
It's not a glamorous place to become a healer/poet. It’s neither east, nor west in the lower peninsula. Even to say peninsula gives you the idea of water nearby, but Eaton County, Michigan isn’t the place to find much of that. It’s undulating country sides-- ‘hilly’ may be too extreme a description. To the settlers… Continue reading Eaton County Mammal
Behind the entry bench, the van gogh blue umbrella wedged at a 35 degree angle hadn't been wrap-snapped first. This would bother me, were it not wet and needing to freely drip on the hardwood floor by the baseboards. This would bother me, but for the carelessly lain pink scarf inadvertantly pooling, sopping beyond its mohair fringe. This would… Continue reading ocd vestibule
The creation and the embodiment of energy, what they’ve invested in, valued, now mingling impossibly here...
Straddling two worlds before a big move...
What is it like to be both the healer, and the one in pain? I'll bet you know.