it turns out
that
the quality of our rest
determines
the quality of our action
I promise, Coach is gonna put you in the game.
What kind of freedom?
What if we didn't ask
this moment
to support the weight of all of our previous moments
or
to create expectations for our future moments.
What freedom!
If you can imagine that kind of Happiness, it already belongs to you.
Scientific Method
I never let
the fact that I am almost always wrong
stop me
from creating new theories everyday.
Reintegration
I didn’t realize how hard I was working, trying to be only the parts of myself I like best.
Turns out there’s lots more parts.
Saturday Afternoon
I wonder why I chose this time to be alone,
if all I planned to do
was,
check the internet to see if I matter.
Grief is having its way with me.
Sacred and Mundane
I have so much. And I want so much more.
Trust Her
Call yourself into alignment and everything else will follow.
Roy
I could actually see my seat, 16C, just past the old man’s long right ear whenever he bobbed to the left. Soon I’d be able to unload the backpack that was currently joining forces with my bra strap to cut a groove into my left shoulder. I’d be able to sit down, put my face in my book, and disappear for a few hours into the kind of silence I can almost never find during the semester. But not yet.
Read moreThank you for showing me how to use discipline to grow my practice.
I have a "Best of Linda" loop playing in my mind 80% of the time.
Bless you
“Bless you,” he said, and his eyes filled again and overflowed, and the tears meandered through the crosshatches of the skin around his eyes.
Read moreLet Go
Picking Apples
It hadn’t been her idea to go apple picking at Hillside Orchard at 4 am. That part of the blame definitely belonged to him. It wasn’t really a crime, he’d said. Apples can’t really belong to anyone, can they? And the time was perfect, he reasoned, since he finished his shift at the Circle K at 3:30. His ease and his confidence – unburdened as he was with any kind of moral compass – gave his ideas an old-timey wholesome brand of wonder that was impossible to resist. Pick apples? Sure. 4 am? It’s just a time. Right?
Read moreEvery road leads to the garden.
Bendición
I had resigned myself to a very hot seven days, had cut my hair to boy length even, but was still unprepared for the push of heat as Dad and I walked out of the San Juan Airport to meet his younger brother. Severo greeted us warmly, throwing an arm around Dad and hugging me to his side again and again as we made our awkward way through the breezeway and the parking lot to the tiny Hyundai that would be our transport for the next seven days. “¡Que gorda eres! Aren’t you fat!” he laughed luxuriously, repeating, “Isn’t she fat, Chilo?” and clapping Dad on the shoulder with generous warmth and affection that I had rarely seen from my mother’s side of the family. The only family I had known until that day, my mother’s family communicated most often through sarcasm, impenetrable silences and merciless grudge-holding. I had come to Puerto Rico to meet the rest of my family.
Read more