Praise Mama. Grok Earth. Thou art Goddess.
I write this letter to the man I met this past Sunday in front of my Unitarian church while I was holding a homemade sign which read “Black Lives Matter”.
Continue reading “To the Man Who Spit on My Black Lives Matter Sign Sunday”
My seasonal allergies mean that at those times of the year I most want to be surrounded by nature, it is difficult, and sometimes impossible, to do so. This irony is a metaphor for an essential conflict at the core of my psyche, between the desire for communion with nature on the one hand and the desire to transcend nature on the other.
The Allergic Pagan 