Living on Earth has always been a dangerous way to spend your time.

People help you or you help them and when we offer or receive help, we take in each other. And then we are saved.

Without using the word, everyone started forgiving each other again. Just like that, from the no of all nothingness: you have a big tense mess and out of it comes some joy. It must be magic.

A big heart is both a clunky and a delicate thing; it doesn't protect itself and it doesn't hide. It stands out, like a baby's fontanel, where you can see the soul pulse through.

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

When we search for something larger than our own selves to hook into, we can come through whatever life throws at us.

Here are the two best prayers I know: 'Help me, help me, help me' and 'Thank you, thank you, thank you.