Every time I see the bumper sticker that says “We think we’re humans having spiritual experiences, but we’re really spirits having human experiences,” I (a) think it’s true and (b) want to ram the car.

There is nothing as sweet as a comeback, when you are down and out, about to lose, and out of time.

I was raised in a family where none of us ever raised a voice, so there was no room to express feelings of rage or even unabashed joy - a little bashed joy, here or there, or being mildly disgruntled.

Because this business of becoming conscious, of being a writer, is ultimately about asking yourself, How alive am I willing to be?

I like to read away as much of the afternoon as possible, until real life rears its ugly head.

Rest and laughter are the most spiritual and subversive acts of all. Laugh, rest, slow down.

All I ever wanted since I arrived here on Earth were the things that turned out to be within reach. The same things I needed as a baby - to go from cold to warm, lonely to held, the vessel to the giver, empty to full. You can change the world with a hot bath, if you sink into it from a place of knowing that you are worth profound care, even when you're dirty and rattled. Who knew?