15 4 / 2014

"i break the law because i’ve never broken a heart, and i want to know what it feels like to be the brick not the window pane"


08 4 / 2014

somewhere between the vague and the specific, there are some beautiful things in the buddings of unfolding…

05 4 / 2014


i sit alone in my living room,
the day after that magical gathering on that magical island,
searching for something non-existent on Facebook after loved ones have left,
and it’s the worst place i could be;
it is nowhere.

when we’re with people,
really, deeply, with them,
we’re not with only them,
we are with everything —
music, stars, wind, water, sunrise, blades of glass, indifferent alpacas…

there’s this pervasive thread in our social consciousness,
that co-dependence is so dangerous that we ought to stop trying
to rediscover our interdependence with everything;
but that thread is weak
like the american dream.

we can only be present or elsewhere,
we can assert this beautiful connection with all,
or else live a false life without breath or being or humanity;
we must act, but we can never try.

i kissed a man last night for the first time,
i asked first;
it was important and unremarkable,
like sinking your feet into solid earth to regain your bearings in a new land.

once we’ve tasted such divine connection,
we try everything to hold on, to make it last,
to force it to permeate our concrete jungles and billboard economies,
everything that will never work,
because we are still trying.

even this connection we believe exists elsewhere,
well tell stories about it
and the magical lands and peoples it resides with;
but we can sit mindfully and thoughtlessly at any time of any day,
we can de-fiction those stories into each waking breath and act.

the power of manifestation is not ineffable;
with the intention of each act
we can choose to become more like a person who will live out our dreams;
the deed and doer are co-arising,
just the same as matter and spirit.

we do not need stories to live lives of magic,
our imagination lives and breathes right here,
this very moment;
hold it dear and close and without attachment,
and feel how inseparable from your life it will become
when you let go of trying to hold on.

03 4 / 2014

refusing to nap is exhausting

02 4 / 2014

Patient: the AmericasMRI of malignant tumour growth thru 2013

Patient: the Americas
MRI of malignant tumour growth thru 2013

(Source: stoilz, via roxanna-banana)

31 3 / 2014

when you begin humbling the ego
and allowing jealously to transform into compersion,
every pleasure becomes your own,
longing dissolves into bliss,
loneliness subsumed by joy,
and you fall in love every single day
all the while holding on to every love you’ve built
along the way


30 3 / 2014

home, now

30 3 / 2014


when i wake,
if i’ve treated myself lovingly the night before,
i yawn restfully, stretch my sleepy slothy arms in 13 different directions,
two blinds closed, curtain drawn over the french doors that guard my 7’ x 15’ rectangle of personal solace, and warm beautiful sunlight from the third window and bathroom skylight radiating my body out of its cozy nest

i gaze at the joy i’ve build in front of me:
big framed mirror atop a big white dresser coloured with cloth and lavender and photos and “Free Hugs” patches waiting and waiting to be sewn,
and open those few feet of blind to experience the full depth of the day’s light from all five of my room’s sun holes

my teeth and face are slowly, but intentionally, cleaned,
bladder emptied,
face considered in the bathroom mirror with a constantly evolving mix of humility, love and acknowledged beauty,
before i pick up those few scattered articles of clothing on the small swath of bare carpet, place one or two on my body, and the rest back to their respective dresser drawers, comfy clothes bin, or airing-out hang

after a grounding sigh and heart-space reconnection, i’ll emerge,
to a living room empty or
roommates cooking breakfast or
roommate reading on the couch or
seagulls squawking about the beauty of the day

as though it’s a new occurrence each day,
i’ll boil the kettle, take my drops of vitamin D,
and steep my nettle-peppermint-raspberry leaf tea while mixing a little jar of warm water with some liquid herb concoction that’s supposed to give me adrenal support and enjoying it on the balcony to gain a deeper sense of the day i’ve just been giving (the placebo of morning ritual is delicious if its medical effects are ambiguous)


today, right now, i am writing,
for the second time in a day,
first cup of throat-soothing tea almost finished,
the usual tea sitting in its hour-long steep

clothes from various days and activities are strewn about the carpet next to my bed,
and i awoke with neither blinds nor curtain drawn,
and a stomach pain from the previous days stuffing of my gut with some glutinous things,

i had too much food to cook for how many folks will be around to eat,
and too many papers to mark for how much time i’d like to spend with and between each student’s-insight-turned-printed-page

but the sun is vying to be the majority vote on the day’s weather,
and i haven’t taken that extra scenic route along the oceanside to the neighbourhood cafe for over a month;
i’ve a sister to wish a belated yesterday birthday to,
and friends to corral into my kitchen by dinnertime, hopefully

there is a pain in my chest new this month,
a humble pang of loneliness,
of wanting, slightly, my arms around another breathing being for an hour or a night,
of wanting an intimacy different from sharing food and touch and words with loved friends
(but is that ‘other’ intimacy really any different, better, lesser?)

i am not lonely,
but find myself with an energy i know how to give out,
but see not a clear outlet for it;
though i know it’s meant to push myself into my next adventure,
not a lover to climax or friend to bliss

so, i’ll eat the first half of the freezer’s last steak,
wander above some crashing waves,
and wonder how much of my energy i’ll keep for myself,
this time

30 3 / 2014

you’ll never find someone or something just like that ever again,
and that’s the entire point of growing and moving on;

you can stall your present in a fictitious story of the past and a longing for its repetition, or you can choose to be grateful for how opened your imagination of the future can become

repetition can be sacred, but don’t allow it to occlude the beauty of evolution


23 3 / 2014

when you pull something so delicious out of the oven, you even surprise yourself