waiting in the night

Everyone was thirsty, but no one wanted to walk down the long corridor toward the kitchen, not even Marie. The fridge was only a few terrifying feet away and inside was cool water that would easily quench their thirst. But it was a dark night. The blackout was disorienting and lasted far longer than anyone had expected. The new moon blackened the sky, leaving not even the slightest sliver of light upon the trees nor through corridor windows. No one saw the other’s tear stained face, fear filling their heart and freezing their legs in place. Marie was the first to cry, but she cried in petrified silence while frozen in place. Although no one wanted to move, the night was young and the kitchen was an adventure existing in the near future, hoping for someone to find the courage to walk through darkness toward the waiting fridge.



the color of me

We imagine many kinds of worlds. We’ve even lived through decades of black & white television where our world was reflected back to us without color. Some have claimed they only dream in black and white. Whereas I have always dreamed in full color. Even in my subconscious mind during sleep, I did not allow myself to view the world in any other way but how I see it when I am awake.

If I were to imagine a single thing—in a world of black and white—that I would want to remain in color, it would be me. I love my brown skin, my pink red lips and brown eyes with a pale blue ring around my iris. I would hope that every piece of black and white clothes that touched my body would materialize into full color for whatever amount of time I wore it. If I were in full color, it wouldn’t matter that the world was black and white, because each thing I touched would become full color in that moment.

But if forced to decide on one single color, I would pick blue. I’d love to be blue. Blue feels like the color of birth, of life. Blue is calming. To make myself blue, in a world of black and white, is a soothing notion. I would be the object filled with life and a color that reflects the world.

me locs_color_black_white



still death

We often talk about still life in art. But there is something else

There is still death

A dry brown leaf sits on my porch remembering green life

Veins run through what was once a vibrant part of a collective

They carried life blood now drained and dry, brittle and broken

This leaf is not still life. It is still death

Death unmoved by time, stopped at the moment the camera flashed


refraction: light passing through life


Through light we see life
Through life we see illusions that dance inside our dreams
Through our dreams we live what was
Through our illusions we live what could be

Light envelopes reality
Light sees life and continues
Light sees life and unfolds
Light reveals


it is done

I remember the first time I realized that I was not immortal. I couldn’t have been more than 10 years old. It was a strange revelation that didn’t really frighten me at the time, but somehow made me acutely aware of my existence. Everything looked brighter and more alive. I paid closer attention to my body and sentience. At the time, I didn’t have the words to describe what I was feeling, but as I look back on it, I remember my actions and can now put words to what I was feeling. I was awake.

In later years, still before I became a teenager, a tinge of fear creeped in. Greater realization surfaced and I knew that one day I would die. Twelve years old and I knew, with certainty, that I would one day not be here. I didn’t know what that truly meant at the time. The immediate feeling was that I would be gone, without memory, emotion, thoughts or words, a space of nothingness. Then the typical defense mechanism to ward off this fear was to attach myself to my family’s belief system, Christianity. I realized that this attachment was out of fear of being extinguished and fear of a thing no one really knew anything about.

Now, I have released myself from all afterlife belief systems created by religions. I claim no labels for how I believe. I simply live in the realm of possibility and let my mortality sink in, guiding me to a place of peace and acceptance of that which I know nothing about, death. I’ve learned that no matter what I believe, that belief won’t change what will be or what is. The truth of death lies beyond my beliefs and faith and ideas and notions. Whether I believe there is a god or no god won’t matter. Truth will be whatever it is. So I examine and accept all possibilities as they surface. Primarily, I ask the question, what if evolution and creation are both wrong? And the way in which we got here, in this place called Earth, is something beyond anything our human minds can imagine or conceptualize.


One thousand years ago, religious men, scientists and doctors were sure of this or that idea or theory about the world and the human body. A thousand years later people look at those men as ignorant and not having the resources or ability to understand the “truths” we’ve now discovered. A thousand years from now, a group of people will look back at us, shaking their heads and wondering why we were so ignorant and lacking knowledge of “truth” about the world and self. We sit in our moment in time and think we know because we have our gadgets and toys that tell us this or that, or we have our faith. Every age has its gadgets and toys, yet, new discoveries dismiss previous discoveries, or hone them, bringing clarity to what was once believed to be true.

In the end, we know very little about life and even less about death. I try to remain humble and make no claims about what is or might be, or even what isn’t. I don’t know and there is no way for me to know. Any “knowing” I claim is merely belief brought on by faith and fear. Faith and fear don’t define truth. Truth is what it is.

The other side of death truly is a mystery. No one can prove to anyone else what it will be. All claims are claims of faith or science of the current times (which could become science of the past in a thousand years). I’ve come to accept this and leave myself open to all possibilities, including those possibilities I have yet to imagine. I leave room for it all. Because when all is said and done, I might find myself at the other side of death and neither creation nor evolution will be standing there waiting for me as the answer. But something else, hopefully more beautiful than either.


pandora: on the inside

This is an interesting writing prompt that is easy for me to imagine. I would spend a day inside the movie Avatar.

While there, everything wonderful, amazing and adventurous happens. No outsiders have even imagined Pandora exists. I’d live the life of the Na’vi, in whatever way they live, for the entire day.



the night sky

The night is beautiful here. The moon seems to be full and only a few sparse clouds speckle the sky.

If not tonight, tomorrow night, go outside and look up at the night sky. Let the many millions of stars slowly come into view. Notice how the longer you stand outside in complete darkness, the more stars you begin to see. Imagine that each star is the center of a solar system. Let the wonder of this possibility wash over you.

You are a grain of sand in the beach of the cosmos. Be humbled by how amazing it is that you are here, at this moment, in this solar system.

book snob

Hands down, I would say I’m snobbish about books. I rarely loan my books to others. When I do, I must be sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the person will in fact read it. Otherwise, they are welcome to buy their own book and read it at their leisure. But I expect any book I loan out to be read within a reasonable time, or promptly returned. I know, I’m bad. Don’t judge me and don’t laugh at me. I know some of you are laughing anyway as you read this. That’s ok, I can take it.

Books are so near and dear to me. They are friends come to tea. I love to be surrounded by books because it is like being surrounded by my ancestors who are filled with knowledge and wisdom. I can honestly say that books are the only thing I’m a huge snob about. However, if I know that someone is a die hard reader, they will always have freedom to roam my library, which is now over 5,000 books strong.

Maybe I need books anonymous?

Naaahhh! I’ll stay addicted to my books.



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