I once read that my name means “wise.”

Which I find rather humorous

because foolish things have always

been more of an interest to me.

 

Like napping.

Talking to trees.

Following the moon.

 

Finding this world completely absurd and unquestionably beautiful. 

 

Believing that hot coffee and time in nature can heal pretty much anything that ails us.

 

Forever frustrated that my spoken words fall short of everything my insides are aching to say.

 

And so I write.

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But as the Buddha said “a fool who knows he is a fool is wise indeed.”

I find strange comfort in paradox.

Creating bridges between worlds

with poetry.

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Forever being dazzled.

Praying to stay a fool.

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