My Writing

Do you think you can escape death? Intellectually, we know we will die. But we put off fully facing this because, for most of our lives, it is more of an abstract idea than a reality. I find it helpful to listen to people for whom death is not an abstraction. I learn so much from them. One dear woman told me that as her body declines, she notices her heart's capacity to love is increasing. I love that. The Nine Contemplations, written in the 11th century by the Buddhist monk

I recently told my death story while being interviewed by the Elisabeth Kubler Ross Foundation. It was the first time I told the entire story. By young adulthood, I had gone through expected deaths; that of my grandparents and an uncle. But I was not prepared for violent, sudden death. My twenties would teach me a lot. When I was in college, a woman lefty, feminist community was stabbed to death as she lay sleeping, by a misogynist psycho. Our Take Back the Night March that

“I am looking forward to letting go. Of my body; of my stuff; of my friends and family." These words were said by my 89-year old student recently in my course, Spiritual Dimensions of Nearing Death. We had been exploring the time right before death, the time of death, and after death. We had been focusing on letting go of our fears and accepting death. We had been doing visualizations and guided meditations that helped us peer in to death. We had opened to the possibilities,

I love the word 'delight'. Do you? For me, it conjures up the joy of pleasure in our senses, a moment of unabashed happiness, a lovely occurrence of pure glee. A delicious morsel on the tongue, a beautiful view of the sun setting over the ocean, an exquisite, dulcet sound, a sweet touch that is savored, the smell of a newborn's head. Ahh, delight. Could 'delight' refer to a lack of light? The prefix "de-" generally means "down," "away from," "off," or "removal". Such as Defr

I have really strong thigh muscles. And a pretty strong core. I am reasonably content when I look in the mirror and flex my biceps. But my muscle of hope needs strengthening. It is sagging. It is covered up by despair, rage, and fear. Several times each day I have to remember to use it so that it can become more robust. I scour the news for random acts of generosity, for positive acts of protest, for people standing up for what is right. I go to arts events- poetry, painting