Writers


Writers are people who feel deeply. Their skin tingles at a drop of rain, their hands soak up texture like a sponge to moisture. A meaningless moment can be the brink of a story, or a springboard for reckless abandon. And so the mundane becomes the spectacular and the real remains surreal. A writer does not walk but press forward, neither do they desire but hope, breathing the world in more deeply, their lungs filling with inspiration. Yet, on their brow lingers perspiration - a writer's constant companion.


Is this why we are so troubled? Do we feel where others cannot? Do our genes contain more sensory receptors than the rest of the population? Are we translators for the people? If these things are so, then perhaps we did not choose to write, but were born to.

The Fear of the Fire

“I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. I choose to risk my significance; to live so that which comes to me as seed goes to the next as blossom and that which comes to me as blossom, goes on as fruit.”
-Dawna Markova


There is infinity in our waking hearts. Draw me from the dream which traps my eyes. Enlighten the blissful slumber of my youth so I may sleep no more and yet while unsleeping remain young forever, and exceedingly wise from infinite observation and rendering. To loosen the heart until it alights as a torch and flies upon the wing of ultimate Desire, is to choose to risk our own significance. To dare to humble ourselves when we, above all, deserve the credit. To desire to let the Other be first. To remain last and to truly believe that last is never least.


Let us live as seeds and blossoms and fruit, in many harmonies, yet one in sound. Without the one, there is no other. Let seeds be seeds, and they will blossom, let blossoms be blossoms and soon they shall bear fruit. For though the tree has lost its leaves, its fruit will return in season. Do not lose hope, my beloved. Rain will come again.