The storm is brewing. I smell it in the air. I am panicking. I fear this tempest might cost my life.

Beloved goddess, sweet holy mother of us all, you who beckon me throughout these hectic days

A subtle movement, a facial expression, a particular posture, the constant hint of danger; as if he were here again,

I come to the village well today, though without a need to drink. My worldly thirst now quenched, with home and hearth supplied. I am here to fill a deeper vessel

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

The old man, who thinks he’s dying, approached me with these words. I am sorry

These words, gently laid upon this page, amount to my sincere prayer they reach within you, and touch your secret self,

I was seven years old. I approached the priest in earnest… “I want to take the lord Jesus in… He instructed me to kneel and pray… A week passed.

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