Paradise is a state of being, more than just the name of a suburb or a home.

Support and encouragement are found in the most unlikely places.

The hospital room was as cold as dead skin, the hallway crowded with lost souls and reeking of illness.

Are Latino-Americans white? Black? Other? Illegal aliens from Mars? Or are we the very face of America?

We travel with the same clan over and over again, from one life to the next, until some ultimate purpose is fulfilled and we no longer need to return.

This thing I am feeling, I’m almost certain, is the closest I’ll ever come to standing somewhere in between truth and reconciliation.

When we illuminate the road back to our ancestors, they have a way of reaching out, of manifesting themselves...sometimes even physically.