The anniversary of my death

In the last few years I been making friends with death—with the idea of death, I should say, for how could I ever know what it is before it actually happens? It’s been about opening to the possibility of death not being so bad after all. This has included opening my...

The house of bottles

There’s a house I love in my neighborhood. Whenever I can, I walk by way of this house. It is a luscious canyon-orange, Victorian with a big porch, upon which a green rocker sits waiting oh-so-patiently. I have never, to this day, seen anyone actually sitting and...

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