Every day I see or hear something that more or less kills me with delight, that leaves me like a needle in the haystack of light.

Like Magellan, let us find our islands To die in, far from home, from anywhere Familiar. Let us risk the wildest places, Lest we go down in comfort, and despair.

It doesn't have to be the blue iris, it could be weeds in a vacant lot, or a few small stones; just pay attention, then patch a few words together and don't try to make them elaborate, this isn't a contest but the doorway into thanks, and a silence in which another voice may speak.

I want to believe I am looking into the white fire of a great mystery.

After a cruel childhood, one must reinvent oneself. Then reimagine the world.

Emerson, I am trying to live, as you said we must, the examined life. But there are days I wish there was less in my head to examine, not to speak of the busy heart.

You must not ever stop being whimsical.