mysticism
-
The first thing she noticed was that animals stopped being afraid of her. It happened gradually. A blackbird remained on the cemetery wall when she passed beneath it. A fox stood at the edge of the woods one morning and watched her without running. Even the old neighborhood cat, a scarred thing that trusted nobody…
-
New Orleans is different before dawn. The drunks have mostly surrendered. The tourists are asleep beneath hotel sheets they will complain about at checkout. And the dead finally have the streets to themselves. I had one thing left to do before I left. The cemetery gates were still locked when I arrived, which felt appropriate.…
-
By the time she found the old tattoo artist, the waiting list had become a legend. Some said he had retired years ago. Others swore he simply stopped accepting people who wanted decoration instead of direction. He never asked what someone wanted. He asked why. There was a difference. The walls around his chair were…
-
“I wish I could tell you she was a hippie.” The Mind sighed and stretched itself across the corners of consciousness where it spent most of its time organizing thoughts into neat little piles. “But she wasn’t.” The Ego laughed. “Thank God for that. She would have been unbearable.” The Spirit smiled quietly from somewhere…
-
I remember the quiet before they named me. Not silence, exactly.More like listening earth.Like the world holding its breath before the light turns. My mother understood this before I did.She did not teach me words.She taught me seasons. She taught me how to feel the moment when darkness reaches its limit.How to recognize the pause…
