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Does the World Need More Paintings? No. But it might need yours…
I have no conscious memory as a ballerina in a past life. But the dream of dancing en pointe showed me that I knew how to do it. Whether or not my physical brain remembered, there was a memory in my light body. Perhaps a cellular memory of another time, another place. Continue reading
When my mother died twenty-eight years ago I was living two blocks from the explosion on Thursday in the East Village. On Thursday afternoon, while fires raged and the first building collapsed, I was dreaming about my mother. I had been up since 4am, and had taken a nap. I dreamed I was on my way to visit my mother in Illinois, and when I stopped to change buses, I saw my mother selling tickets. She had long yellow hair. Continue reading