Every once in a while, a piece of art reaches out and gets a hold of you and doesn’t let go. Like somebody has slipped beneath the veil and spoken directly to your heart, as if this one moment was waiting all along just for you to realize. That’s what good art does. It stems from the mystic, moves to the brain, frees itself through the senses, and then becomes a part of you.

At least, that’s how I felt reading Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar. Read More

It’s not every day that you see Superman. But that’s what happens when you go for a walk. Anything can happen. Randomness just around a corner. Adventure only a footstep away. The best way to move is without direction. Mark Twain might have said that. Maybe not. Either way, you know he was thinking it.

Sidewalks and roads are the rivers of the soul. Our bodies try to keep up with the rambling currents of our minds. They hardly do. Thoughts never stop. They just keep going. On and on and on again. Forever. That’s where we’re aiming. Where we’re all heading. The end of the line, just to begin again. Of course, it’s not about ever getting there. It’s the act of leaving—another word for beginning—that’s important. There’s bravery in steps, even ones that lead backwards, and cowardice in standing around, staying put. Anyone can do that. Even a person with no legs.
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