A traditional Italian dinner.
Experiences in adult potty training, a reflection on the little moments that shape us.
Visits home, and learning to become a conscious contributor to the places I travel.
Continued from - "I Am a Writer" And so I was in Europe, my first time, arrived by epic adventure across an ocean, and all I could do was huddle against the damp Irish chill in my father’s down sleeping bag, glued to Caribbean weather reports on the screen of my tiny iPad. I couldn’t … Continue reading Dwelling in Ireland
Continued from Back to the Center I was tripping giddy on that post Vipassana high, rolling in the luxury of the simplest pleasures. Like talking. After ten days of silence, laughing felt like an uncontrollable rush. After ten days observing subtle sensations, driving I-5 was a thrilling roller coaster. After sitting so straight and still, … Continue reading Into Silence
God I was nervous when I got into this course. I was nervous to even apply for this course. That’s why I chose one with a wait list, so it wouldn’t be certain. But I must have known I was more ready than last year, because this time I put myself on a short wait list. … Continue reading Back to the Center…Vipassana
“A story is a meaningful pattern of events. Through finding a story’s shape within your life’s shape, you could know what your life means.” Continued from - "Valli's World, Collooney Ireland" It was 4:45. Something woke me. I think my phone buzzed, and now I had to pee. I ducked out of the mosquito net … Continue reading I Am A Writer
Exploring a hidden Irish glen. (Backtrack to Europe exploration.)
I am developing a roll of forgotten snapshots. I am tracing a dark line over the faded route we took when I was eight, connecting dots of scattered memories that still flash up through layers of time. It’s taken me years to return to this place. It is a good story, one I will write … Continue reading Trapped in Paradise
Just an hour from Union Island, smashing upwind, motoring at three knots, we pulled into the open bay at Mayreau. The flocks of boat boys in their brightly painted launches circled and touched down for just a second, much less insistent than in Chatham Bay. Their easy attitude left me wanting to buy something from … Continue reading Frank the Security Guard