Ego prefers to think it is awake, aware, and awash in truth. It mimics divine rest in chains of servitude, running a religious sweatshop beside the river of good intentions. I do not believe this is who we are, and the words of the 70+ poems herein reflect part of that discovery. I have seen them emerge out of a spiritual struggle with the unfamiliar. Soul-reflection, as a form of solitude, is a lost art in these days of ultra-connectedness, and while...
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Poetry