Lovers
Who is this person? The one in my mind, Awake or asleep, So gentle, so warm, The one who touches me Completely, For the first time. The mind falls silent, Bowing to heart’s Whispered reply.
Jerome Parent
One thing I know about happiness is that it comes from the narrative of our life. The story we tell ourselves. But too often, we let others write that story for us. Unhappiness and discontent inevitably follow. The only person who can write the story of your life properly is you. In order to change our narrative to an authentic one, one we write ourselves, we must change our perspective, and thus our perceptions of our world. This is not a new idea. Plato explained it in “Allegory of the Cave” over 2,300 years ago. A small change in perception can mean a huge change in what we see. And changing how we see lets us write a new narrative. The Dalai Lama also explores this idea of the relationship between perception and a good life in his book The Art of Happiness (99¢ in the remainder bin . . . maybe you can buy happiness after all!).
Boob Tube Junkie
I carefully arranged Blackie, my stuffed dog, on the sky blue table top. I made sure he had a good view of the 13 inch Philco TV. Blackie was my constant companion and every night I rubbed his velvet ears against my cheek as I sucked my thumb and went to sleep. I sat down
There’s No Tool Like an Old Tool
“Here,” said Ray, handing me the screwdriver and taking the flashlight. “You’re smaller than me. Maybe you can fit in there.” He shone the light down on the small block Chevy 283. “I need you to get that screwdriver right there and see if you can beak the seal.” We were standing in a parking
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Desert Snow
Charlie Peterson looked at his watch and then at the departure board of Phoenix’s Sky Harbor Airport. Another 45 minutes he thought as the Christmas Muzak and flight information droned over the loudspeaker. He adjusted his thick, wire-frame glasses and tried to get comfortable in the plastic chair. He peeked at his wife. She was
Wayward Son, Chapter 12
The End There are as many lessons and stories that came out of Vietnam as there are soldiers who went there. It remains a signature moment for my life. Until 9/11, America declined to send troops all over the world for insignificant political reasons. Now that lesson seems to have been forgotten. But I learned
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Wayward Son, Chapter 11
Shattered For the Romans, death required crossing the River Styx. It is as good a metaphor as any. I can say that dying isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It is just one more river to cross. I had worried for the entire year I was in Vietnam about dying. Then I went and
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