Recently, a fellow writer friend and I were discussing suffering. And if it’s something we seek or that seeks us. If we are prone to dark thoughts or generally of a sunny disposition. If we are drawn to Dostoevsky or Austen. Having studied Russian for more years than I can remember, I’m definitely in the Dostoevsky camp. But suffering? My friend then reminded me of Dostoevsky’s quote from “Notes from the Underground,” suffering is the sole origin of consciousness. And conscio

in israel was a covid year, 2020 i think, back when you had to quarantine for two weeks, we came to see my son, my poor teenage daughter and i stuck together in a glass apartment that collected noise and sunlight, and looking back now i’m surprised we didn’t kill each other, or go mad or both, she had the nearly windowless bomb shelter for a bedroom and i had the one in the back with a bathtub it was too hot to use, the apartment drenched in grey— walls, floor, appliances and

On a recent rode trip my husband and I listened to an audiobook of “King Lear”. What struck us most about the reading was not only the tragedy of Shakespeare’s play, but how differently we read the play now, in mid-life compared to our first read as teenagers. The play didn’t change. Lear is still Lear. And all the supporting characters play out their roles as we knew they would, but we approached this read (which was actually an amazing recording with Paul Scofield as Lear)

it’s a fuzzy grey morning with streaks of pink, and a moon still sleeping and racing waves, from sea to shore i want to remember this moment i dig my toes into high tide sand and make my way toward the waves, i step slowly into the sea that splashes my legs and kisses my knees, i am here, i am held, i have come to release and i breathe and imagine letting go of the masks and the roles and the stories i told and all the prices i paid to belong and be seen, i release even

I recently did a writing course where the teacher began each session with this question by Bill Plotkin, Do you love yourself enough to listen with the ears of your heart to the other voices of yourself speaking? What a beautiful invitation. That, I think speaks to this very big week—Jewish New Year, the Anniversary of 9/11, and less significant, but still observed in the US—Labor Day. Whenever we have these big time markers—birthdays, new years and anniversaries, we often re

Nothing here below is profane for those who know how to see. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin double espresso in hand i snatch the last seat on the last morning of our last day here, then another goodbye and hello and mattress, firm, soft, queen or king, pillows made for stiff necks i am become a nomad, shedding skin, new name new place, where are you from? everywhere i sit alongside a window, the late morning late summer sun awakening, i gaze out at michigan avenue and grant

Lying in a hospital bed a few weeks ago as with my insides on fire and awaiting a diagnosis and a shot of the strongest drug imaginable, I had a lot of time to reflect on what had brought me to this moment and this place. I wondered if I’d missed any signs. The answer is yes. In the end the doctors diagnosed me with a bunch of virus-related intestinal conditions, but, my non-medical assessment is that the severity of my condition was the result of a failure to listen to my bo

The day's coming when I will no longer consider my presence inexpiable. Franz Wright i hang up the phone, fire burning in that space just below that bone, where that cluster of nerves radiates like rays of the sun, my own personal oracle of delphi, minus apollo and laurel leaves, more like molten steel, no hiding here i touch that space, cradle my bosom like i cradled my babies and wonder when or if ever i will receive clemency or maybe mercy, or maybe clarity how

I was at the grocery store yesterday and the cashier had a Dolly Parton t-shirt on. I put my hand on my chest and said, so sad, and she did the same. We shared a moment of silence. I grew up humming the music of Hank Williams and Loretta Lynn and Johnny Cash and of course Dolly Parton. 9 to 5 is one of my alltime favorite movies and I followed of her charitable endeavors, from funding disaster relief and children’s hospitals to donating books to underprivileged children. And

lake michigan What shall we find when we return? Friends changed, houses moved, Trees perhaps, with new leaves. Robert Bly we linger over a late lunch, around the corner from the hospital where our son was born, we decide to walk north along the lake to the place, a knee, a ring, a beginning twenty-nine years before we start down michigan avenue, past our favorite date place, cassoulet, baked whole garlic bulb, grilled scallops, now a bank, we pass a street where we thi

Earlier this week I saw an exhibition entitled “Dancing the Revolution: From Dancehall to Reggaeton” which traces the impact of Carribean sound and movement. Two things struck me about this exhibition. The first was spiritual component of dance in Carribean culture. Going to a dancehall, for instance, is called going to church because the act of dancing is seen as transformative in the way that spiritual possession can be experienced in the Voodoo and Santeria practices in Cu

i don't believe in coincidence, so when the bathroom at our first pitstop up to my husband's childhood camp is playing i will survive i take it as a sign and hear the song out and stare at my unrecognizable face in the mirror, i've aged decades, the burning sensation will continue the doctors said when they discharged me, but i think more is burning than tissue what's it all about alphie, i hum on the way back to the car, we drive for another three or four hours, i slip i

A friend asked me the other day if I ever get writer's block. And I didn't quite know how to answer. Because I never have the feeling that I must write but can't for whatever reason. I don't have publisher deadlines or a book to complete. Yes, I can have moments of feeling meh and low energy and not in any kind of creative vibe. But block? Not really. Because poetry is my way of finding my place in and making sense of this world. One of my daughters says I externalize my inne

i'm at the mall getting my computer looked at, battery low and chatting with the expert donning a cream-colored cowboy hat and southern drawl, he sees my san diego sweatshirt and asks if i'm from out of town too complicated to say i left during a war, with a toothbrush and bottle of water, that everything i wear is borrowed from my mom, so i say i'm visiting family i'm moving to l.a. in a few months he says and tells me about just getting out of the army and wanting t

i'm in the checkout line when i hear the checker say shit under her breath and grab some paper towels and a plastic bag to wrap up the exploded kimchi oh sorry, i say, as she wipes the orange pungent garlicky sauce off her hands do you want to run and get another one? she asks and i think about it and say nah, maybe it's a sign i shouldn't get it she nods her head and says, i hear ya they're everywhere, those signs, i say but are we looking? and i nod and she no

the mats are purple, the light is dimmed, candles line the room, my space has a number eighteen, the auspicious jewish number, maybe it is a sign the class is called zen or glow or something that says settle in, fall in, breathe, rest i am still finding my way in we start with some stretches, some cats some cows, upward dogs, downwards ones too the music is jazzy and i like the vibe in this dark womb space the woman in front of me has a t-shirt with medusa on th

we are looking both ways, uncertain if we're on the correct side toward hyde park? says a lady with a carryon next to her knee, the underside of her forearm extended yes, i say you're in the right place she responds, eyes a bit red i notice a tattoo on that underside arm and say i love your tattoo! origami? crane? she says yes to the origami but the bird is a duck, and i apologize and she says it's ok they're both birds and since the train is taking forever i as

i am learning i can not. Lucille Clifton i drag myself in, all clenching, tight fists in ligaments, i want not to feel this, my body wants not to feel so hard where is the soft ground to collapse? i know how to clench to lock knees, touch toes and disconnect from pulled muscles in thighs and hamstrings i know how to whisper in my own ear, stop being so sensitive, it's not that big of a deal, this will only make you stronger i know how to appear firm and flexible,

it's grey when we start up the mountain, and early, but we want to catch the moon at its fullest moon in aquarius, i tell her on the way we talk about the power of manifesting, intention and belief, about in betweens and liminal spaces and beginnings, isn't life a series of beginnings? i follow her lead as she bounds up the mountain as if her legs were made for this, at ease with the climb and altitude, with slipperiness and steep rocks i trail behind, my pace cauti

it's gloomy texts my daughter when i send a selfie of me at the sea, oh no, i say and send another a papa and son jumping in waves both squealing, a dance of cranes dipping toes, like mine, massages by foam the waves are majestic today i say and send the imagine dragons song i'm playing on repeat, the line i'm an apostrophe gets me the little curve at the top of a word, a turn inward, i am all alone this morning, and not the wind pushes my back, the sand, born f