threads of the spiderwoman

I found this essay by my friend, Felicia Miller , who became a Buddhist, in my files the other day, something she wrote and shared with m...

For three weeks the cool moon bound by occult cords moves through the houses of memory and sleep distills night in a bowl But on the night o...

The deep parts of my life pour onward, as if the river shores were opening out. It seems as if things are more like me now th...

All this petty worry while the great cloak of the sky grows dark and intense round every living thing. What is precious inside us ...