top of page

The Birthplace of Sadness

Where is sadness birthed? I mean, from what eternal wellspring does it rush to me in unexpected, assaulting moments? Is there some mystical river, or pit, or ocean fissure which pulses hot with the weight of it?

Or is it a contagion, each of us infected carriers with varied levels of symptoms?

Or even still, a persistent house guest with whom we occasionally are required to sit, with tea, at the breakfast table?

Sometimes I carry you lightly, like the tiny hairs on my forearm — ever present, but rarely felt.

Other times you rise hot within, like charged magma, quickly inflaming my words, my dignity, my loved ones.

Yet you will always be part of me. Ethereal, but embodied — perhaps encoded in my very DNA.

18 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

At the end of the Earth will we not want to scream, that we bore witness to the thrashing beauty of all things? Earth scorched, flooded, tempested, frozen… that we saw the eagle fly the iridescent, ve

The weightiness of beauty, Like a millstone that threatens to pull you down…unto breathless death. A single pulsating star visible in the Apparition of distant mountain peaks Now, presently being gift

Have you ever felt your heartbeat in your toes? Wrinkled them under the sheets to intensify the 3…4…5…6…? Have you ever stared at someone in the dark waiting for them to awaken to you? Life moves

bottom of page