2018 | Prose

A Dance With Fear ~ Diani Beach, Kenya

After we spoke the other day, I thought about humour. How it helps us overcome conflict, move through suffering. Humour being the other side of any situation.
Then, how much courage it takes to Step Into a situation — where someone else is suffering or feeling pain, with that lightness of heart. Not undermining the challenge they’re facing in any way, but being Big Enough in oneself, to Embrace them — regardless of what shit they’re going through.
Do I have this capacity within myself? 
Am I big enough, strong enough, courageous enough — to Trust that my love for that person is greater than their fear? Whatever their fear may be, even if it’s to do with loving me.
And when the flames have burned to the ground — stand there, unscarred by a shield of humour—the wrath of fear can’t touch this—because I love you anyway.
Because you know what? Me loving you — actually has nothing to do with you. It has all to do with how much courage I have — To love. To give. To truly give. Because I am enough.
With this kind of courage — we can do anything.
Give them a wink and a smile, reach across the walls of their fear. Even if they draw their sword and threaten—don’t you dare come near me. I hate you right now. Don’t you dare overstep my personal boundaries—
Take a step back.
Okay, what?
And then forward.
Is this a dance, now?
And In—
Yes, it is.
And Love always takes the Lead.

LE MOT JUSTE ~ British Columbia, Canada

“What is this?” The Professor muttered upon gazing down at the manuscript. “Funes? I don’t believe I’ve encountered that word before.”

“You wouldn’t have, I made it up. Funes are those tiny silken hairs that grow on a beings’ body; on a child’s head at birth, after losing hair during chemotherapy, or on the belly of a puppy.”

“You see, writing is about finding the perfectly appropriate word for the situation. Flaubert called it Le Mot Juste. It’s an endless quest; an art you will develop over time.”

“Sure – but what if the one you are looking for is sitting right there in the palm of your hand? And we’re all just too preoccupied with searching to see it?”


Some say it’s not what we see, but how we see it.

She sat in the cave where they used to sit, smoke their fires and light their pipes. Where the dreams trembled through the hollows, leaves entered with the wind in autumn and fear and lust smudged the walls at night. The cave. This cave. The cave of her heart. Glowed with wonder.

Peering Through Light

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