THIS GARDEN, LIVING AND DYING

Seeds germinate. Roots push into the muck. They draw sustenance from this muck, and push that up and into stalks and buds. Here, in this garden, my family blossoms. My love blossoms. My beloved blossoms. My life is shaped. And here, too, all of it withers, dies.

PRACTICE, TO BE THE MAN I AM

And, coming up for air, coming through practice, feeling held, I am so grateful for this practice!

TENDERLY, I HOLD IT ALL

Alders, kissed by a moment of April sun, and only for as long it takes me to do a short meditation, opening red buds into a green haze of fresh leaves high in the forest. I sit and see it all, and am on the edge of tears. My heart breaking for joy.

REMEMBERING THE CROOKED WAYS

...my history with women –and especially the women I've loved– is a history of avoiding the wisdom that comes from this surrender. Avoiding. Or, as I am realizing, actively resisting.

SHE NEEDS TO BE FREE

It's easy to say I want the good and the beautiful, but they are sisters to chaos and unhappiness, ugliness and dis-ease.

BEING ALONE, TOGETHER

Without this distance, it I would be in constant commotion. 

I WANT MORE

Patience. Slowing down. Allowing the art of this moment to arrive... in its own time, its own way. There is no hurrying this art.

ALL OF US, BOYS, ON THE THRESHOLD OF HUSBANDRY

As someone who works with couples who want to wed, I also observe that the coming of Spring marks a passage into the "wedding season." Here, in the Northern Hemisphere, it is a good time to reflect on the rituals and ceremonies of the season that relate to weddings and marriages.

I CHOOSE TO SERVE LOVE

The universe is big.

FALLING, I TRUST MYSELF

Every step is a risk.

ENJOY THIS DISTANCE

We dance to improvise a bridge, a merging. This is the art of it all, to persist in this always-failing improvisation.

SHORT: OUR ART

Success, however we define it, is a moment.