The way out of a tiresome tour bus and onto the pilgrim road is an odd, unpredictable combination of grace and a mind willing to leave preconceived frames at home.
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A Streak of Sadness
“I believe the right books find us at the right time,” a former professor of mine likes to say. It’s true. The right books find us at the right time and they speak to us in the right ways. Some books sit with us for years, bringing wisdom in each new season until they become old friends. Some books wait on our shelves until we finally notice them, which always turns out to be when we need them most. Other books strike like lightning.
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“A Longer Ladder Yet to Climb:” De-creating the Self in Dante’s Inferno
What if the biggest obstacle that stood between you and who you were made to be was…yourself?
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Wellspring: A Mother-Artist Project
To flourish creatively, mother artists need moments of rest, contemplation, community, and freedom, supported within their process.
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The Wait
Something is going on under a blanket of dead leaves and snow when we no longer expect anything. The false sense of fulness is being done away with, done to death by the cold hard season. Sorrow’s flower is in full, ice-crystal-fringed blossom. Perhaps it is not so much barren as bare. Spare.
