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The vicar general, shying away from ‘paganism’ hangs back and sits under a tree reading the guidebook. I am able to approach the Buddhas barefoot and undisturbed, my feet in wet grass, wet sand. – Thomas Merton describing his visit to the sleeping Budhas in the...
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(Storm Sleeper by Glen Strock) God sleeps, yes, but not like we do. God sleeps like the rich, dark, patient earth surrounding the yearning seed. God sleeps, yes, but not like we do. God sleeps like a mountain tall, majestic, home to streams that run,...
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He didn’t see it, but felt it through the darkness of his mother’s womb, the flame that baptized drawn close enough to singe his foot, which caused him to leap. The wild fire caught and grew, ruining him for a life of conformity. So he moved to the wilderness...
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She stands, arms outstretched under fluorescent lights, holding up the empty shorts, the t-shirts and tanks. Her mother-eyes focus on what is not there, gauging the cloth’s ability to hold, to hug, the ones she loves. Her gaze is fixed just past the things she...
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The paper seed packet read, “Mesclun Mix” and pictured a leafy assortment of lettuces. The seeds themselves were miniscule, small balls the size of a pin’s head, little shards and spikes in a variety of colors. I shook them loose into the ground,...
