I lift a cup of steaming black tea to my lips

A few tables away

An immaculate stranger

With a young face and pure white hair

Lifts the same cup of tea to his

The hot, bitter drink fills my mouth

At the same time as his

Slightly scalding my tongue

Immersing my senses in its pungent aroma

At the same time as his

I feel a strange connection

to every human being around me

And acutely aware of

the power we all wield or withhold

over each other

Where do I go from here



I will build you


higher than you’ve ever been

higher even

than you are

past the atmosphere

and hold you there

I can be perfect for you

as long as you are perfect for me

but when I need more

than you can give

I will fly even higher

and no ropes will hold me

down to earth

until the universe fills me once again

with passion no man can give

will you wait for me

each time to return

from beyond the Milky Way?

or will you let go of my hand

afraid of heights and

frustrated with the galaxies inside me

and crumble to the ground

where you once stood

to spend your life

craving the very heights you fear?


Sometimes I stare
out the window, coffee to my lips
and wonder what the hell I’m doing so far from home
only to then realize
the question is nonsensical

I don’t think I have a home
Not like a refugee
A refugee, by definition, has a home they’ve fled
Perhaps inaccessible, but a home nonetheless
living in their memory, waiting for a return

If I want to return home tomorrow, where do I go?
Do I go to my parents’ house?
Their country is not home to me
Do I go to the place of my birth?
Even more unfamiliar territory
Do I have a home in the sunny apartment where I wake up most mornings
still unfurnished, still suspensefully waiting to see if I’ll finally stay a while?
Of all the far-off places I plan to visit each day
is one of them hiding a home for me
that fifty years hence will have a path well-worn
by feet just my size, from the front door to the garden?

Or am I officially a nomad?

I ponder the notion of ‘home’ constantly now.
The value of stability and routine, if any.

I met a nomad the other day, a real one
He said he cannot stay two months in one place
A few years seems to be my record,
and even that is starting to feel long.

Is there anything inherently wrong in that?
Some say a lack of community,
yet even nomads have community.

Why am I scared by the idea of a house,
a physical, geographical residence?
The idea of nesting, of decorating and furnishing
making it cozy and pretty and too comfortable to leave easily,
leaves me on edge, uneasy.
I’m terrified of growing attached.

What if it means I won’t have the courage to get up and go
if life demands it of me?
What if I lose the house to a catastrophe?
What if I become so ensconced in it
that I lose my taste for adventure and discovery?
What if someone comes along and locks me in,
and I can’t get out?

In such a wide and wild world
how can you be content
spending decades in the same place,
never discovering the vastness
that awaits around myriad corners?

I was born with a yearning to discover
to set off into the great unknown
tame the chaos of its unfamiliarity with my mind
tame the chaos of my mind with its unfamiliarity

Does anyone else feel this way?


the water metaphors have drowned me long enough

maybe it’s time to move to the desert

and find God in the silence

of a thousand miles of sand

and a million glittering stars

where the curtain of the world is left far behind

and life is nothing

but lentils boiling and tea brewing

over hot coals


I do not want to be loved as one loves a bridge
Loved for the ease with which a firm step
Carries the lover over difficulties
To another destination
Perhaps pausing momentarily
To admire the view
Perhaps maintained for its usefulness
But expected to remain unmoved, unchanged
Expected to be thankful for the privilege of being used
And abandoned if it fails

I do not want to be loved as one loves a cat
Loved not for its mind but rather its domesticity
Drawn near or pushed away
Depending on the lover’s mood
Perhaps fed and cuddled
Perhaps cared for and spoiled
But expected to remain indoors
Safe from a world it cannot navigate

I do not want to be loved as one loves a treasure
Loved only for the value it brings the lover
Hidden away in a vault from prying eyes
And guarded jealously
Eliciting anger if some is lost
And disappointment as it is spent

I do not want to be loved as one loves a caged bird
Admired for its exotic beauty
Its ability to repeat what it is told
The charm it brings to the lover’s life
Yet seeing the world through bars
Never feeling the wind in its clipped wings
Chafing at the metal band intended to show ownership
As if one can ‘own’ a living, breathing being!
Condemned to a life of imprisonment
Unable to take flight where it wants, when it needs

I do not want to be loved as one loves a mother
Depending on her for love and comfort and food
Living one’s life freely
And only turning to her in moments of need
Blind to the nights she spends crying
In the darkness of her room

I wish to be loved as one loves the ocean
Loved precisely because she is wild and free
Not for what she can give the lover
But simply because her existence is extraordinary
The lover approaches her with respect and awe
Aware of her power to lift boats safely to shore
Or dash them to pieces
To dazzle the swimmer with the beauty
Above and below her surface
Or to drag him to a silent death
(And if she can do this, can she not do anything?)
Yet the lover does not hate her for her power
Nor her madness
Nor even the capricious days
When the skies turn grey
And the waves crash with extra force
Rather he admires her strength
Admires the depths revealed by the storm
Never seeking to tame her
To change her
To hide her from the world
He only praises her mind
And her ever-changing sunrises and sunsets
And revels in the privilege of watching them

You might say I am not special enough
To deserve such a love
And yet have I not earned it
By extending the same love to others
Sitting back and reveling in observing their humanity
Unconcerned with changing them
Unconcerned with what they can offer me
What material value they can add to my life
Simply admiring them
With all their uniquenesses and flaws
And letting them be wild and free
To thrive in their own way


shards of glass
that’s what it feels like
sticking out of souls
we all have them
some, we’re born with
some, people have stabbed us with
sometimes our own parents
the ones we’re closest to, or
a school bully, or
an ex-lover, or
just another human being
walking by
some we stuck into our own selves
and nurtured their open wounds

some shards are buried deep inside
their edges barely visible
others stick out of us
like a lance
drawing blood
from everyone who tries to get near
to reach out and take you in their arms

the ecstasy of finding someone
whose shards fit around your own
who can embrace you despite them
brushes off the scrapes and scratches
from the glass edges that pierce
just a bit too far
and loves you anyway
claims you anyway
chooses to walk next to you anyway
is difficult to put into words


You speak to me from the heart
There are no layers, no veils
No feints, no thrusts
No pretenses, no bullshit
Transparency, straight as an arrow
Just human souls
Here there is no white or brown, male or female
Foreign or familiar, east or west
Just a straight line between souls, laid bare.

You put yourself on full display
All your weaknesses, your flaws
Your mistakes, your ugly bits
All the ridiculously annoying things you do
and say, and are
You’ve shown me how lonely your soul is
And all the desperate measures you take
to ignore it
All the people in whom
You’ve tried to drown your longing.

You also see me as I am
All my weaknesses, my flaws
My mistakes, my ugly bits
All the ridiculously annoying things I do
and say, and am
You see how lost my soul is
And all the desperate measures I take
to find my way
All the people in whom
I’ve tried to drown my longing.

And yet somehow
You still welcome me into your arms
And tell me: « stay,
be anything you want to be
do anything you want to do
go anywhere you want to go
say anything you want to say
as long as you extend the same courtesy in return
you are safe now. »

How do I trust this?
What will I give up
to hold on to this?


There once came a sadness
A heavy, dragging weight
Slowing my pace
Leaving a lump in my throat
As I walked dusty streets
Kicking rocks with worn-out shoes

Now I whistle a tune
Heart flying free
Like the cranes rising over the riverbed
Over the green trees
And the sheep in the field
Unshackled by appearances

It wasn’t answers I needed
To feel happy again
Only freedom

My own two feet
Can take me anywhere I wish
And so can my mind
So I won’t let this sadness
Overwhelm me anymore


Imagine if you had enough time
to sit down across from every single human being
in the world
that’s ever lived
look into their eyes
hear their stories
told haltingly, proudly, angrily, confidently, quietly, loudly
see their laughter, the crease in their lips when they smile
see their cries,
experience in full color the pain that
sends teardrops creeping down their cheeks
see their innermost soul and deepest secrets
fall in love with the fragility
of every single one of them
stand amazed at your similarities
with every single one
live an entire lifetime
with each and every one
with the best version each could have been
if the circumstances of birth,
the winds of time
had not led them down a sadder path
would you be satisfied?
Or would you still have more questions
would the aching space in your soul
still remain unfilled?


There’s an emptiness that needs filling
No matter how adamantly I swear there’s not
Can anyone be an island
Isolated from all others
Why do minds crave minds
And bodies crave bodies
I fear dependence
I fear independence
I fear inter-dependence
I fear
What would it be like to live fearless
To be full
To stop chasing an unknown
To stop feeling like
This one life will never be enough


How much life can you pack into a month,

a year

or ten

stuff into it, cramming it down, like a suitcase

that won’t close

bursting at the seams

I’ve packed my life into so many suitcases

so many times

Minimalism was never a choice for me

just a given

You learn to make do

sleeping on hard floors

in busy airports terminals

and empty apartments

starting over for the gazillionth time

with a backpack for a pillow

Wondering if this time,


you’ve found a home


Someone found me
and as we spoke
the questions came tumbling out
they looked at them
and looked back at me
and told me they’re strong enough
to hold me
and all my heavy, exhausting questions
« m3aliche » they said,
« keep your questions
they don’t scare me
I respect them
and I respect you
and I’ll be your home
no matter if or when or where
you find your answers »

With no cage bars in sight

Not one fucking padlock to be seen

Am I just blind, or
did I take a wrong turn somewhere and
end up in heaven?


Well, I never really found a place that I call home

I never stick around quite long enough to make it

I apologize but once again I’m not in love

But it’s not as if I mind that your heart ain’t exactly breaking

I always thought I’d love to live by the sea

To travel the world alone and live more simply

I have no idea what’s happened to that dream

‘Cause there’s nothing really left here to stop me

But if my life is for rent

And I don’t learn to buy

Then I deserve nothing more than I get

‘Cause nothing I have is really mine


I never knew it was possible

to be emotionally sleepy.

I’m exhausted.

So fucking tired,

I just want to sleep.

Close my eyes

and never wake up.

I don’t know who I am

I don’t know what I want

I don’t know what I’m here for

I don’t know what I should do

I don’t know who I should be with

I’m just a soul floating in the void

Desperate for an anchor

Terrified of anchors

Wishing I could stop overthinking everything

Wishing I had more time to overthink everything

Wanting to be with everyone

Wanting to be with no one

Terrified of growing old

and regretting my choices

or my inertia

Full of ambitions

That I don’t want

Go tell me how that makes any sense at all

Is there someone out there who can understand all of this

hold me tight

make me want them more than anything

to the exclusion of all else?

Make me alive again,

aching to take a glorious bite out of the whole world?


GOD I feel like

having a person as a home

could be




You could share everything with them.

You could talk about anything.

You could plan things together.

They would never judge you.

They would never hurt you.

They would never tell you not to do this or that.

But simply advise you when they can.

Be there to support you.

Even if they’re not good at it

But they try..

What would that even feel like??


Here we are again

Flirting with fire.

Soul so exhausted

The body starts screaming

To drown it out.

Body so persistent

The soul can commit suicide

To silence it.

Why must they be enemies

Always at war

Don’t they understand each other

yearning,aching,desperate,screaming want??

To want the unknowable

The unhaveable

Nothing feels real anymore.

The whole world is a mirage.

How can anything I do possibly matter, in any possible way?

It’s difficult to move a single step.

And yet simultaneously

It’s difficult not to flee the world over

And run from all the grasping arms

Holding you back

Holding you down

Forcing a monotonous


of propriety

down your throat

I want to swim naked in the ocean

I want to get drunk on a thousand wines

I want a total stranger to make love to me

I want to take psychedelics and lose my mind

I want to tattoo ancient symbols on my forehead and chin

Just to be a thousand percent sure

That I don’t want these things

That the answers aren’t lying somewhere behind

A veil of forbidden pleasure and pain

That’s how maddening these questions are


Have I exhausted all writing about the questions?

It’s interesting to think I might.

Day follows day follows absurd day

The questions never leave

I eat, I sleep, I sit in silence

The container needs sunlight and fresh air and strenuous, purposeful work

My heart should be pounding, my lungs gasping for air

Yet I continue to let heart weaken, muscles wither, flesh bloat

Wrapped up as I am in the incorporeal

The only answer I’ve found for anything is Rumi’s love

It doesn’t fit all the questions, or any of them perhaps

But stretch anything enough and it will either grow to fit, or burst

So I go on stretching, extending it with every neuron

Discarding image after image of the Uncreated

In the hopes of capturing the Imageless

Are beauty and light useful measures of the Unknowable?

They say ‘God is light’

Yet we haven’t figured light out yet

Is it a wave? A particle? Something else?

Perhaps the light all around us is, in fact, the Divine Itself

In some unfathomable way

Anything is possible

How ironic that there is no light inside of our bodies

Unless we are torn apart

I can sense a Presence

But I’m still far too tied up and tied down to reach out

and touch Them

merge with Them

and what a path it is

littered with souls yet so lonely

screaming with noise yet so quiet

paradoxes have become my daily bread


Life is naught
But standing round
The gaping maw of death

Watching it beckon us
One by one
Single file

And each time a loved one’s
Time draws near
We peer into the blackness
Of that maw

Telling each other stories of
The unknown that lies beyond
its merciless throat

Glibly saying « see you on the other side »
in the desperate hope
of softening the ripping-apart

Oh how I wish someone
Could make the journey there and back again
And calm our anxious souls with tales of certainty


Do you know why people gravitate to fundamentalism?

To dogmatism and orthodoxy, with a small ‘o’?

Because it answers all the questions,

and in turn takes all the pain away.

« God has a reason »

is far more palatable, even beautiful at times

than « God has forgotten us »

or « we are utterly alone in the universe ».

« All things work together for good » in the end

is far more relieving than

« there is no light at the end of the tunnel »

« all of this is meaningless and will never be made right »

It lets you breathe, in,

and out,


and out,

instead of being suffocated by the futility of it all.

I’m hollow and aching, I fill my mind and days with tiny, miniscule things

but the black hole is always hiding just behind them

waiting for me to trip up.

God, if you’re listening, I don’t know what to say to you anymore

I’m no good at one-sided discussions.

I miss how the idea of you used to comfort me,

wiped away every tear and soothed every pain,

and I don’t know how to return to that

now that my brain seems to have made everything up.

« What the hell kind of universe is this, »

« there had better be a damn good explanation for all of this »

that’s what I want to say

but my upbringing keeps me silent, fearfully respectful,

just in case.

But presumably you know that,

so I’ll be sitting here, waiting for the answers.

Take your time.

If it doesn’t come on this side of life,

then so be it.

You know I tried.

In the meantime,

I’m going to love the hell out of everyone

savor the forest air,

cook good food

give what I can

cuddle with animals

feed the birds

and hug the hell out of my family

and I swear to you if you take them from me

I won’t recover

My soul will be destroyed

So take us all at once

That’s the only thing I have left to ask


okay, here’s the deal
raw material has to have an origin
the origin has to have an origin
and that one has to have an origin
til you get to the unoriginated

the unoriginated either cares
or doesn’t

I want one that does
I want one that makes everything okay in the end
every. thing.

and even if I’m not allowed answers here and now
I want there to be answers after death

so I will believe they do, they will, and there will be

I will believe the unoriginated is aware of me and listening when I speak

I will believe the unoriginated is love and beauty and light

that is all.