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Fly Free, Mom

It occurs to me that this blog is sometimes like a journal for me, although it's a very different thing than my actual journal. My next thought is often--Is this kind of post appropriate? And then, What does appropriate mean here? And then on to: Is anyone even interested? I don't actually think these are questions for me to ask, really--like, they're none of my business and out of my lane. I

Not Secure.

I'm looking at it right now: preceding my website,, in the search bar, is this phrase: Not Secure. Well. Thank you very much. As if I needed a reminder of all these things: I'm insecure. Like, I want people to like me. Still. Sometimes. Yah, I know already. There IS no actual security. My website could disappear at any moment, just like I could. Not website, my persona, my form, everything

Merry Christmas: the Retrospective

It's Christmas morning, which inspires a New-Year's-like (except that New Year's always feels bleak to me and this feels, well, warmer), a kind of a retrospective, in a sense. As usual, I've got at least three inspirations nipping at the corners of my awareness that want to get themselves down on paper; I'll let them sort themselves out... More and more, lately, I see things from a mile-high perspective. And usually what

Why Do “The Work” on the Identity?

Why do "the work" of working with the identity, if the identity itself is just a misunderstanding? Let's appear to answer this question. *** Well, first of all, one doesn't typically appear (we'll talk about the illusion of this in a moment) to pull their awareness out of the mire of identity without working with it, although there appear to, of course, be many famous exceptions. And while there is no non-awareness

How the Experience of All Pain Transmutes into Love

Sometimes the pain is so deep, isn't it? But when "you" realize the pain is actually Love, everything changes. *** It is easier for the mind to judge, to stay distracted and disconnected in the pain of the limited self rather than to merge with the reality of the Truth of the Beauty and Perfection that is Now, while simultaneously being aware that Now will never be again--that the small self


This is the second time I’ve written about and with full-on laryngitis. It’s a scream (no laughs deserved there), watching what happens internally when this uniquely human mode of expression, verbal language, is blocked. In a sense (if it's possible to put on pause for awhile the inherent inconveniences and frustrations of sudden almost missing-a-limb-level deprivation), one re-emerges into awareness of the rich, wild realm of non-human existence--into close(r) alignment with

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