You get one or two good ideas of your own, and that’s it. That’s all you get to work with, and you can either beat your ass like some self-flagellating monk to make something with that idea, or you can leave it alone and keep on copying.
Bury Me Naked
When I die, bury me naked. Or burn me. I’ll leave the choice between casket or urn to my loved ones, so long as they keep clothing out of it.
Distinctly Northwest: Liturgies of Nature and Holy Mystery
Whatever their religious background, their arrival is met by a carefully choreographed adventure into the sacred. Through poetry, the beauty of art, meditations, movement, ritual, and silence, the divine life is evoked.
Condom Nation
Those who drive sex education policies, it would seem, care more about ideology than accuracy—more about ideology, in fact, than effectiveness, teen moms, or lifelong diseases, either.
Blackberries: A Love Song
Blackberry ice cream is as holy as library reading logs or PVC swordfights.
Cross-Country Snow
Then I pointed my skis over the edge and leaned forward so my weight eased me into the wide couloir, and it felt like I was plummeting and the snow exploding around me like a warzone.