The cobbles of the roadway wind from the heights down to the Saint Lawrence, through the old Centre Ville, where the money of past generations found their comforts, and the history of a nation come and gone remains on the tongue, in the food, in the grey and red blocks of granite in the walls. …
Invisible, the wind came off the high mountain peaks, cold and crisp as water from the glacier, and poured down the divide and over the foothills in torrents, mingling as it went with the desert air east of the range, stirring up dust devils and clouds, raising the earth from the earth and carrying it …
There is nothing in midnight but a fleck of ink on the otherwise empty face of the clock, or an electrical pulse which dis-integrates into a soft dash of light in an otherwise seamless river of life. We make the marks against which we measure our lives and call them time: they do not exist …
A moment arrives and a moment passes, water through your fingers. Beautiful water: touch a drop to your lips, your thirst is lessened; touch a drop to your eyes, they are cleared; touch a drop to your forehead, you are baptized; touch a drop to the soil, the flower grows. From the electric arc of …
Three nights later, and I still have not returned to an east coastal sleep pattern. While it is "only" five time zones away, the body and the mind take in so much information in such travel that the consequences are deeper and broader than the meager mind would care to admit. Some years ago I …
Like a curtain being pulled back, revealing landscape which has not been previously witnessed, stepping from a boat into the waters above a reef and turning your eyes toward the ocean's bottom opens a window on a world which could not have been imagined had it not been seen. Had it not been seen, the …
Above the slopes of the eastern mountain, the moon rises; it is nearing its seven-day size, waxing to half light, half darkness. The light of the sun as it sets strikes the dusty surface and, without atmosphere to impede, reflects back to our earth, in a delicate choreography which changes each minute and each day. …
I took some time to gear myself up a bit, and swam out to the lava point at White Rock Beach. I had been practicing snorkeling in the shallows — never having been a water person, further and deeper can bring me closer to the edge of comfort, and unfamiliarity with the techniques and the …
Some two thousand five hundred miles from the coast of California, a "hot spot" in the floor of the Pacific ocean has jetted matter from the heart of earth toward the sky. It passes through cooling waters, and becomes a cone that, over the millennia, breaks the waves and rises thousands of feet above the …
"I've never considered myself a spiritual person, but the first time I stopped the boat above a singing male, and dropped the hydrophone in the water…" Then there is a pause for words, which are not available. This is the well from which the poets draw water, the place beyond words, where words alone are …
There was a time when I was young, I must have been 3 or 4 years old, when my parents would take us to the inland sea. We lived in Michigan, on the Upper Peninsula, a short detour north, as it happened, in the long run of our lives; we lived in a rambler whose …
For those of you who have been following Manny and my trajectory from Massachusetts to India and back again, and are not rooted somewhere half-way 'round the world, I'd like to invite you to join us for an evening of pictures and stories. This Saturday, January 20th, at 7:15pm at the Yoga Center of Newburyport, we will …