these writings were created using the writing from the soul process.
i consider my books artifacts from my spiritual practice.
They weren’t originally written for an audience, but to help me understand and integrate some of what is baffling about being a human alive at this time. It helped me to write them, and my hope is that they might inspire you to deepen your own spiritual and creative explorations — maybe even make a book of your own. You can support me and independent booksellers by purchasing through my bookshop, or buy from your local bookstore through Indiebound.
N O V E L
lineage of the treesNAUTILUS BOOK AWARD WINNER!
"Haunting and stunning." —Midwest Book Review "An intricate and captivating dual narrative that keeps returning to the magic of trees." —Kirkus Reviews The last time Lata saw her Aunt Charlotte, she was standing in the attic window waving, a solid wall of fire behind her. Was it a suicide? An act of cruelty and madness? Or a form of fierce love? The story takes us back to find clues in Charlotte’s childhood and in the events leading up to the fire. We learn of Charlotte's deep connection to her Aunt Marie, who introduced her to the power of plants and trees to heal. We learn of her relationship to Jesse, who she meets in the stretch of city forest that she calls home. We learn of her fierce desire to protect the trees and the spirits who live among them — and the lineage of those who are called to open themselves fully to love, whatever the cost.
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P O E T R Y
CARTOON KALI
This book came out of a long period of solitary retreat and pilgrimage in India, Italy and Indonesia. The complexity of the collective issues we continue to face provided fuel for me to question my conditioning and deeply reflect on love and fear, the darkness hidden in my unconscious, the nature of self and of reality — and I found it helpful to record snippets of these reflections as poems. |
P I C T U R E B O O K
the big and the smallI wrote this story in one sitting in an attempt to see a way forward at a time when one way of life was ending and another had yet to begin. The truth is, we are always in transition whether we recognize it or not, but there are moments when the reality of this is laid bare and it can be frightening. This is the first picture book I have done, using my own scribble drawings. While we usually associate illustrated “Once upon a time” stories with children, I think this is a big mistake. Such stories speak the language of the unconscious in archetypes and pictures, and hold a great power for adults, being closer to dreams than to literature. |
these essays began as freewrites.
In fact, everything I've published began as a freewrite, usually without the intention to make a piece at all.
memory & imagination write the stories of our lives.Yesterday morning, I scooped up an old journal from the closet floor with the laundry and put it in the washer by mistake. Later, I found parts of it plastered to the washer wall by the spin cycle. I peeled it off, still mostly intact, words faded. That journal held the decision to choose the spiritual path I took in these last 20 years: living simply.
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Dropping out
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HOW PEOPLE
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Lessons from my dare devil solitary retreat.
I just emerged from a long period of retreat where I spent much of my time in solitude — reading, reflecting, experimenting with various forms of prayer, and just sitting. The last three months of this period I spent in a simple guest house on a relatively quiet lane in Ubud, Bali, where I was given a bed, a chair on a terrace and a simple breakfast.
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She could only say one word—And it was enough.I met a woman who had a stroke and lost her ability to speak. She had only one word left, and that word was "love." I liked to watch her say it. She would roll that word around in her mouth like a raspberry, eyes lit with pleasure, and say it slowly, as though tasting every letter. A monogamous relationship with one word, and she got to have "love."
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Meeting the primordial feminine in West Bengal.I don't remember how I first heard about Tarapith. Perhaps it was in a book I read, but as soon as it entered my awareness, I knew I would go there. A temple in rural West Bengal, the Tara worshiped there does what seems at first impossible: she is both destroyer and loving mother, hungry for blood and eager to help. How could this be? I needed to find out.
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