Yesterday I wanted to write about the resistance through which I block myself from ______. It's twisted that I couldn't. I couldn't put one word after another just as at times one can't put one foot in front of another ( Read more... )

For most trout fishers, who practise catch-and-release and therefore have nothing to show their friends but maybe a photo, success is experienced in what was once held in their hands for just a few seconds. For a few seconds they felt the taught muscle and saw the bright colors that they had drawn up from down in the river. The big trout is ( Read more... )

Some people find ______ here, some there. There's no shortage of advice from these quarters, all too much, all too specific, all too sure. Others, of course, have no idea what you're talking about when you ask, and some deny the existence of ______ or at least that ______ is impossible to find ( Read more... )

Episcopalian
on the outside,
on the inside
a screaming
snakehandler
and a laughing
Hasid.
I'm part fact,
part fiction.

The Episcopalian in me has failed to convert the Hasid or domesticate the snake handler.

While the Episcopalian sulks, his latent snake handler offers a copperhead, the smiling Hasid invites him to dance.

The self-image of the composed Episcopalian is threatened by the shrieking snake handler and questioned by the high-stepping Hasid.

Saying Morning Prayer, Psalm 139 makes me want to dance with the Hasidim; the first reading, from Second Samuel, makes me want to handle poisonous snakes ( Read more... )

It's funny that I'm an Episcopalian, given that I feel like either a snake handler or a dancing Hasid ( Read more... )