Arnold Mindell died on June 10th.

I never met him. I never registered for any of his workshops. Never talked to him or wrote him. Don’t know much about him other than what he and his wife have written about themselves and their work.

He made me nervous.

He came out of some long-ago cereal box or illegal chocking-hazard chocolate egg and tarted traveling with us when my husband and I were still career building and child-free. For twenty-five years or more he has lain in a coin dish or stood resolutely on a windowsill next to a few pretty rocks. He keeps sticking to us, moving with us from home to home.

“a picture of myself, living in two different ages simultaneously, and being two different persons”

Do not grieve. Misfortune will happen to the wisest of men.

Exploring emergent creativity and adjacent possibility

I can't remember my mother's birthday.
On one hand this is not a big deal. We were never a huge birthday or holiday family. When my own comes around I often think of it as a Tuesday or a Thursday rather than as a birth-a-versary…

Sometimes nowadays, people refer to me as a “teacher” – not a schoolteacher, but some kind of “teacher” of adults. But it seems to me that to see oneself as a teacher, in the strange spaces that I work in – focused on mortality, spirituality, dreams, psychology, mysticism and liberation is utterly audacious.

I am absolutely telling a shaggy dog tale - because I think that our wish for stories to proceed in a straight line and end with a satisfying climax has little to do with living, and that our notions about what parts of a story are relevant or not are skewed. Sometimes the most important part of a story lies in the details we dismiss as unimportant. Sometimes a story has greater power if we consider it an unfolding process that we are immersed in, that will emerge, recede, and reveal itself to us over time without a button at the end.

A New year’s memorial and a new day

Eras come to close and new eras are born, but leave their symbols behind, waiting for us to recognized them, waiting to be reactivated and called forth when they are needed, and when we are curious enough to notice them.

the is the story of a dead cat..

I almost always, in one way or another, undertake any persistent compelling leading that comes to me – no matter how ridiculous it may seem to others.