ByMichelle Adam
My summer, 17 years ago: weathered New England roads; a two-hundred-year-old-plus farmhouse that was once an old milk farm; an elder poet, Jean, who held poetry workshops every Monday for the past 25 summers; her granddaughter, Emily, and Emily’s mother, Cassie, who spent weekends with us; Jean’s cat, Tristan, handsome, black, and both elegant and…
ByMichelle Adam
Jean sat in her favorite chair in the kitchen by the screen of an open window. She blew her cigarette smoke out past the tiny metal mesh, which temporarily protected her New England farmhouse from a few select mosquitoes of early summer. My new near-80-year-old poet and housemate seemed to love looking out the window,…
ByMichelle Adam
I arrived with my friends Carl and Molly at the colonial farmhouse that would be my summer home—my three months with God, the earth, and my broken body and spirit. The old, dark brown house stood only inches away from the cracked, New England road that epitomized what I loved about this part of the…
ByMichelle Adam
There is Divine Order, I say, with a capital “D” and “O”. I’ve come to witness this clearly during my lifetime. Call it Nature. Call it the Law of Attraction. Call it this world-wide web of energies that makes up this matrix we call life. There are laws that govern life that are beyond that which…
ByMichelle Adam
“There is no beginning, no end,” I wrote in my journal at my parents’ house in New Jersey 17 years ago. Why? Because I had moved there to heal my hip, and expected to stay for no more than a year before continuing on my life’s path. “So much time has passed. It’s all become…
ByMichelle Adam
Two weeks ago, I returned from late fall in Buenos Aires, Argentina, to my small casita inside the intense heat of New Mexico. Quiet. No city noise. All the rich moments of being with family and friends in honor of my recently deceased father, and sharing my novel Child of Duende with so many inspired…
ByMichelle Adam
I’m sharing a poem from many springs ago, as I prepare for this spring’s surprises…a grieving of the old…a rebirth: Spring locks her jaws into the hard earth, a pitter patter of rain seeking refuge inside. The windows shut, now open, the moon peers through rows of empty branches, Seeing something I don’t— tulips growing…
ByMichelle Adam
I remember now where I was on the eve of the millennium. Do you? I was in Taos, New Mexico, in the mountains somewhere far away from civilization as the entire world braced itself for what we called “Y2K” (when all computers would possibly shut down, and the world as we knew it). As we all…
ByMichelle Adam
The tiny white bird that had appeared as an angel had definitely been an omen. Peace and healing had flown into my life on its blue-tipped wings after two-plus years of healing from physical pain at my parent’s house in New Jersey. It was time for me to learn about the medicine of spirit that would…
ByMichelle Adam
“I lay out big like New Mexico tonight, the stars speckling the skies in every direction,” I wrote after relaxing outside my parents’ home under New Jersey skies. “It makes me aware of how amazing it is to be walking on this earth. What a gift it is to be inside this wonder—to know that every day…
ByMichelle Adam
I want to challenge you—yes, you, reader of this blog—to ask yourself: “What is my hunger?” Last week, I wrote about hunger, about my hunger of almost 20 years ago, and my current hunger. As I perused my journal last week, as I do every time I write this, I came across a piece of…
ByMichelle Adam
Imagine yourself stuck, with little capacity to move, with nowhere to go, nothing to accomplish. Just you. Alone. Would you be able to be still? Would you be still enough inside to feel your spiritual hunger? Almost twenty years ago, while living in my parents’ home in New Jersey, that was my story. But being…