Every new year some words choose me, like a magic spell to be cast on the year ahead. This year’s ensemble showed up as it’s own little poem of truth: Pure Love Innovates…

Every new year some words choose me, like a magic spell to be cast on the year ahead. This year’s ensemble showed up as it’s own little poem of truth: Pure Love Innovates…
This ain’t just a blog, or a drop in the bucket, this is a sacred feeding-post on the way to more.
Mark Kelley, from CBC, and I talk about “stop doing lists.”
Acrylic nails do not help you be more successful. And my theory is that the world is rife with bottle-blondes who’d look much better as brunettes. Stop paying everyone else before you pay yourself. It will ease your stress and less stress = more time…
Look back on this year and get very clear about what sucked. What didn’t work, got mired with resentment, felt onerous, weighed you deadly down? A note on resentment: you can’t continue to do things you fully resent and think they’re going to transform into enjoyable activities over time. It just doesn’t work that way…
We’re eating chocolate cones outside an ice cream parlor at dusk. Me: “So, pookie, what’s it like being alive? The Kid (without missing a beat): “Oh mama! It’s AAA-MAZ-ing! If I were a telephone, I’d be ringin’ all the time!
On Connect with Mark Kelley, I’m bitchin’ about people bitchin’ about being busy. Watch.
What do you know to be true, unquestionably beyond doubt, certain with every cell of your being, completely, passionately, righteously certain?
Grief is one of the most powerful Goddesses. She swallows your agony and lets it tear her apart. Beautiful birds fly from her belly–each one an insight into life and your power. Grief brings the whole flock to your window and she waits and waits to reveal universal truths to you. She goes to the depths with you. She rises with you…
I’m habitual Purger of Stuff. Can’t stand clutter. Nic nacs give me hives.
An hour or a day or a week of solitude. What was the quality of your breath? The state of your mind? How did you get there?
Crisis! Identity crisis. About a year ago, I completely lost my way, to the point of not knowing who I was anymore…
Kiss some more ass. Offer to work unpaid for two weeks. Give your ideas away for free–chances are you’ll be asked to execute those ideas.
The highlight of the evening had to do a very animated conversation about clits and literature. Not in that order.
So simple and nourishing. It is a book of rare transmission that sparks one’s deeply innate desire to be real.
A Buddhist in Brooklyn on opening your heart and minding your manners.
Howling to the coyotes from the hot tub. New cowboy boots. Stars dangling low from the sky.
Are you, or do you know of anyone who is “technically” unqualified but have managed to rock their career based sheer talent and moxy?