mjae

Pulled in many directions by the demands of our days, we light this chalice to remind us of the still point deep inside. Made unsteady by th...

Amidst the swirl of life’s challenges, fears, and even moments of crisis, [We] make time to gaze at the night sky to see the vastness there,...

When they sing it is a kind of love, a pure-toned, full-bodied ringing born of friction. You could say it’s just a wingstroke that makes a p...

Anoche cuando dormía soñé ¡bendita ilusión! que una fontana fluía dentro de mi corazón. Dí: ¿por qué acequia escondida, agua, vienes hasta ...

 Something like:  "Sin is anything that divides us from our better selves, estranges us from our neighbors, or severs us from the groun...

 January 2000 I. Brown grows between my legs -- I am no longer a mother. Self can be constructed     deconstructed -- I can create and destr...

Long before the pandemic, the trees knew how to guard one place with roots and shade. Moss found how to hug a stone for life. Every stream w...

We all have the same little bones in our foot twenty-six with funny names like navicular. Together they build something strong— our foot arc...

Such has been the patient sufferance... We’re a mother’s bread, instant potatoes, milk at a checkout line; her three children pleading for b...

I had always imagined a hummingbird huddled      beneath a broad leaf           or a stout branch cringing from soaking rain drops      unti...

Water We tell the children tales of thunderstorms. Each May we drop rose petals into trickling acequia, invoke San Ysidro for good harvest, ...

If you are going to meditate by candlelight, do not hurry to light the candle. The glow may concentrate your energies, but it will       cos...

Down near the bottom of the crossed-out list of things you have to do today, between "green thread" and "broccoli," you ...

I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs to let you by. Or how strangers still say “b...

to love life, to love it even when you have no stomach for it and everything you’ve held dear crumbles like burnt paper in your hands, your ...

After a long numbness, I wake and suddenly I’m noticing everything, all of it piercing me with its beautiful, radical trust: the carpenter b...

Some days--dishes piled in the sink, books littering the coffee table-- are harder than others. Today, my head is packed with cockroaches, d...

Perhaps you’ve held this image in your head since you were young – the meteor blazing towards earth, the seismic shock of impact, a lethal r...

The present has arrived and you are in it. Your heart is pumping. Your breath moves in and out of your lungs without anyone's help or p...

I have been spending a lot of time lately thinking about witness, about how witness is itself a kind of poetics, or poesis, which means maki...