I read such woeful words penned by a fallen brother; his message cut me deeply. He prayed to all that’s holy that he might cry again.

There ain’t no precious gold comin’ outa that there mountain, if all I wanna do is sit and dream of what I’ll do when I get some.

“Don’t say anything!” spoke the shadow in the doorway. I was seven years of age. I lay limp upon the couch, still recovering from

I was addressed today in the secret silent language that everyone knows; except for me. It was assumed I’d know exactly

It was in those early days when everything seemed technicolor there was that explosion only inward then nothing

I am that scruffy urchin trembling in the winter chill, with hungry eyes as wide as your fancy dinner plate, staring with an empty longing

Listen. There it is. The hum of perfect silence at the centre of all that is, and isn’t.

I met a man who told me that he’s looking for the way he might become more free, less encumbered in his life. Poor me, poor me, poor me;

Everything he has ever been taught alerts him to avert that dancing f… What is it then that demands he mu… proceed towards his certain fiery… Some deep and ancient voice within

This trembling grief is for a long lost soul, a young, guileless child I once knew as me. I truly believed

A sudden gust of bitter wind from somewhere hot and foul, whooped and howled throughout the scattered waste and scrabble down that God-forsaken alley.

For those who only know oasis it must be difficult to fathom another way of life beyond the wal… amidst the shifting dunes. Those that follow gypsy trails