“Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.”
Matsuo Basho
Light in the Garden of Movement
I love the uncomfortable place I am in. I love the mystery of not knowing how I’ll get to the next pose. I love that I could choose to neglect the garden of movement but that I choose to inhabit the uncomfortable mystery of watering seeds, flexing with the weeds, and waiting to see what wonders flourish. I love the sounds of nearby gardeners working on their own mysteries. Their movement nourishes my own. Their occasional glances over at my garden scatter sunlight on my pursuit.
The Weight of Flight
When there is nostalgia for touching
anything at all
There is coming down for prayer
and wishing you were here
To kneel before this
The one question, the next verse
Ognissanti
I'm not ready for immersion but the feeling of these damp steps beneath me will become a perennial part of my being. I lift heavy hands to mouth thinking only about breaking suddenly into from veganism to vegetarianism. I taste nothing new. The sensation of being relinquished and forgotten here, deep in the fall, will stay with me for years.
Two Hips and A Doorframe
Don’t consider
where the road leads
Just. Let’s. Walk. Together.
Both in and out of time
Your hip is on mine
Bound for Corrosion
Fuse me, the magma in my heart,
To the fire core that birthed this rock
Where once upon a time
Lava loved forth like a fluid firework
Like an unreasonable river
Only to eventually cool solid.
Somewhere Deep: Go To The Edge (Part 4)
The passage is now accompanied by knowing
So I travel downward on the memory of upward perspective
Unclothed of reciprocity, sores from the initial cascade reopen
They know about the inevitable upward climb.
Somewhere Deep: Looking Up (Part 2)
I’m gazing up at them now:
the premeditated,
the unplanned,
each one, a unique trajectory.
Oh, the joy of watching the lovers
who resisted
with all their minds’ power
And plunged anyway
Somewhere Deep: Overcoming The Edge (Part 1)
All at once, I was bathing in a thermal breeze,
Warming numbness with newness,
Drunk on the swirling color
That still rises from somewhere deep
Flurries of carnal exhaust took the shape of nothing
And the color of everything
Ognissanti
I'm not ready for immersion but the feeling of these damp steps beneath me will become a perennial part of my being. I lift heavy hands to mouth thinking only about breaking suddenly into from veganism to vegetarianism. I taste nothing new. The sensation of being relinquished and forgotten here, deep in the fall, will stay with me for years.
Antica Cucina Cooking Tour, 2018
You are a traveler of the road or of the imagination. If you cook and explore food culture, one of two explains You. The idea that a recipe can open up generations of memory and and knowledge excites you - and makes you a good listener. It makes you a traveler.
Dog In a Box
Born in Ponsacco, Marty came to live with me in Lucca at the age of two months. Our home is a dreamy and wonderful town…a jewelry-box-of-a-city surrounded by a Renaissance wall which is actually a tree-lined boulevard filled with bicycles and joggers, walkers and lovers and, every morning, the two of us on our daily outing. Since Lucca is doggie-friendly (he has dinner at Burralli and cappuccino at Tessieri as well as a treat awaiting at the local butcher shop) I have tried my best to take him with me anywhere I go.