So often it happens that after having written the first draft of a poem or a story I leave it alone. When I return to it after a few days, or a week, even a month I surprise myself. How did I come up with that idea? How did I write it? Did I write it?Then I realize that when I wrote it I was not alone. My inspiration, my muse, my spirit within – whom I have been referring to as the Authentic Self – was one with me. Writing Mindfully Who writes the stuff to which I sign my name?Who whispers behind the mask?What gushes forth during moments of quietudethen sidles back swiftly wherever it comes from? Sliding down my arm to my fingertips,I transcribe fiery truth.Enraptured, I write until my wrist hurts.I......

# 1 We have been told that our brain has “Left” hemisphere and “Right” hemisphere, and each one of us is either dominated by the “Right hemisphere” or the “Left”? However, the recent research using brain scanning technology has revealed that brain’s two hemispheres work together intricately. They are codependent.  It is still true that the right brain is more creative and artistic and the left more technical and logical. But the processing of reading, math and language is understood to take place in both hemispheres. And more importantly for us to know that regular meditation practice connects and coordinates the two hemispheres. And the more they connect the more optimally we perform on any given task. # 2 Oral world existed before writing was invented. Verbal thought lived in the inner contemplation......

Dear Readers, Here are two poems for you to enjoy. The first one is about my struggle to paint the red Sedona mountains and the other is Valarie CoX’s excellent humorous poem about “Cookie Thief.” Grandeur Revealed (Sedona) 2021Charcoal lines on a blank canvas,trying to evoke the images that dazzled me once. How do I recapture? Flame-red sentinel against the azure expanse,twisted trees, majestic canyons,sculptor’s statues or creator’s carvings? Grandeur magnetizes but the dread cements. I soak the bristles with sunlight,so heavy it is ready to drip.Where do I begin?  Close your eyes and see. Under crystal blue domewooly sunSage-scented mesas rising like flames orange dusted pathways, terrifying gorges.Intoxicating heatwaves inebriating me. I stretch the neck of my lilliputian bodyand feel miniscule I view the colossal against the crystal dome. Thirsty canvass absorbs dripping strokes sublime and dreadful coalesce. I......