[Some differences between my experiences (and my spelling) with those of Anne Lamott. Still, great words here.] [Anne Lamott] August, ugh, not my favorite month. If I were God’s West Coast representative, I would not have scheduled it, and gone directly from the heat blasts of July—which we would endure with only once or twice... Continue Reading →
Falling in love with the womb of the world, again
The Road to Santa Marta, by Emile Theresa Smith - Mad Love for the World Daniel Maestre invites me to sit across from him beneath a giant mango tree. The wide branches above shade the whole area beside the kankurua, the sacred house. Three months ago, arsonists destroyed the original kankurua. The new house is... Continue Reading →