When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, …
The Open Window I see curtains blow over the bed; A white silky marionette stage. In through the window my dreams danced And I followed them to this place Where breeze and composure join at the hip And imagination beams back to the sun.
An exploration and reflection on presence, suffering, and states of attachment; through the lenses of words and photograph.
Thirty-one years ago today I took up the practice of sobriety. A road that continually empties and refills from Grace. All of which seems to work best when I interfere the least.
What is an employee of the month recognition? Something I learned while photographing members of the produce department at The Common Market Co-op in Frederick Maryland was that a recognition program can be good for business, the wellbeing of its people, and can create a regenerative process that enables two-way conversations with customers.
No living human has pardon from vulnerability. What if our key weaknesses are our strengths? The key is learning when we resist and or shut down.
I am circling around God, around the ancient tower, and I have been circling for a thousand years, and I still don’t know if I am a falcon, or a storm, or a great song. ~ Rainer Maria Rilke Book of Hours When we know our place within the Timeline, are our battles with others…
We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. ~ T.S. Eliot in Four Quartets
The stranger within my body A binding tether to the complication That is the burden of pursued happiness Contrived knitting; a self inflicted design When the truth is simple; The way out is through And Joy unleashed percolates Like yellow shadowed rain drops On the pond encircled by steady daffodils.
The wind knocks the white dogwood petals to the ground The way an old-school nun would rap the knuckles of a small school-boy The blooms a month early – frosted pre-dawn light This moment neither feeds narrative nor puts it asunder. No Blame is held up as sacrament at Any or All. There is just…