Category: Essays
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Therapy Practice = Spiritual Practice
Is sorrow the true wild? And if it is-and if we join them-your wild to mine-what’s that? For joining, too, is a kind of annihilation. What if we joined our sorrows, I’m saying. I’m saying: What if that is joy? -Excerpt from Ross Gay’s Book of Delights Earlier this year, I was on my porch swing…
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Monarch Morning
Today in the garden of my mind, exist a plethora of ideas for writing, yet I am having difficulty navigating the energy necessary to release them into the world. Some are still in the caterpillar stages, voraciously chomping little bits as they go from small black dots to fat, juicy bands of bright green and…
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The Bird’s Nest
A client of mine best engages in therapy while sitting at the table making layered paper cutout scenes or ink and watercolor pictures – hands flying freely, with what appears to be no concentration or plan, creating intricate and delightful images while delving into the realms of identity, purpose, values, attachment patterns, and childhood adverse…
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Dream Visit to the Dying
My mother and I left Haight Ashbury on a grey, cold morning in January of 1973. We took the Amtrak train across the country headed for Indiana with not much more than the clothes we were wearing. We left in desperation, only intending to stay for the winter while my mother re-grouped. I was almost…
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Navigating developmental transitions, experiences of episodic grief
Author note: This essay is from 7 years ago, sitting unread by anyone since July 2012. Last week my tango instructor pulled me aside to dance. He had noticed something. We began with familiar steps and then he added more challenging moves. After a few minutes, he stopped and said quietly, “What I notice is that you…
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The Land of Make Believe
A place to escape; a place lost, & magically rediscovered; a place of expanded understandings In 2nd grade The Land of Make Believe, an antique mounted poster dated 1930, was gifted to me by my father. He sent this treasure from California to Indiana in a big box with a few other things. My mother…