You do not have to be good, Mary says. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. And what does this soft animal body love? Today, it seemed to love walking. Bundled boy in pushchair—off to the library. The body remembers
This is a reading of ‘The Long Flight Home’, my contribution to Chicken Soup for the Soul’s latest book, ‘Kindness Matters‘ (page 81) Several years ago, on the plane home from Madeira to Bristol, a wordless couple almost made me cry. Their simple gesture made what would have
I softly beating rain,beating music,beating hearton that ordinary October day – sitting with my son, knitting mittensfor the unseen hands.
I don’t want to go there—to the dark. I’ve crossed a threshold—remember the whole-body woosh of energy as it left. But I know it. Notebooks full of rushed wild writing. Words I couldn’t say to anyone because, mostly, they weren’t my stories to tell. I remember the dead,
I started a fire in my dreams last night. It was only small. A few bits of twigs and kindling. Portable. Somehow, I held it in my hands. Carried it with me. Inside and out. I thought it had gone out, but there was still a trail of
the secret is to the secret is to draw yourself a steaming hot bath,so hot it prickles your skin. Add in the Epsom salts and the pink Himalayan.Swirl in some frankincense oil.Light the tea lights and open the skylight a crack.Then shut your eyes and let the hot
I don’t want to build things back the same. It feels as if what we had has been razed to the ground, ripe and ready for rebirth. I’m taking a break from moving as this body wants to move. Listening on loop to the delightful Old Dirty Brasstards’