The right to radical rest is a hill I will die on. Yet. Does that also apply now?

When is my tapping out of social media complacency, and when is it self-preservation?

In which I try to stay present.

And it’s not (just) that water is a good thing.

Distrust everything if you have to. But trust the hours.

Ah, the cheesiness of my imagery.

When it comes to war, discrimination, and poverty, what does it mean to go back to the beginning and start again?

The birds have disappeared. And I am not surprised.

We all need community, connection, and collective care, all of which aren’t what marriage — as we usually understand it — is about.

In which I almost become an oil-trader.

The changes I seek are not to go back but to move forward, towards a place where our inventiveness is used for love.

I have a tendency to want to explore every little path that crosses mine, and I have gone down a fair number of them.

Sustainability requires us to branch out, with knowledge and values that are rooted in our communities.

The words of a favorite poem by Marge Piercy ring in my head: “I find it easy to admire in trees what depresses me in people.” But maybe this is what we need.

We can choose to honor the memory in our bones that says: we are all made of stardust and water.

I am sitting with the enormity of my grief for humanity this morning. We are enough. And I love us.

I know, because I am more than half a century old, that it is ok, even necessary, to have feelings. And yet I am exhausted.

If you think you can force yourself into a pose from one day to another, you’ll be sorely disappointed (and both sore and disappointed).

The quest for money and material wealth has normalized a pronounced lack of empathy.

Spaciousness requires literal space.