Tag Archives: inner awareness

Hearing Bells

In days of old when we sat in awe around the lighted tree, my father told us that if we heard a bell ringing, it meant an angel was present. We had to be very quiet, and then unbeknownst to … Continue reading

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Aligning with Enchantment

The man and the bear are drinking Amstel Light, which to me meant, I’m-still-light. I drank in the fact that I was still light. I gave it to the man to share with the bear. Continue reading

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Connections Never Die

Dedicated to the one who once drew me, and I drew back, in my drawings… Continue reading

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On Seeking

The search began when I sat at this desk one morning in 1976… Continue reading

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To Look Within

I write my life to know my life. When I write my life, the inner truth comes out. It’s like when I draw, a barrier disappears. Or fades to the background. And suddenly I’m in touch with this other vibratory field. This other awareness that rises to the surface and makes itself known. Continue reading

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The Truth About Acting

What I learned as an actor should be shouted from the rooftops by every single one of us who has ever trod the boards – that along with the heartbreak that so often comes with a life in the theater, comes the knowledge that we all have in us the possibility of every human thought that has ever been considered. We don’t have to act on it, but we can act it. Play it. Because we know how to play. We know how to imagine “what if.” Continue reading

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Letting It Come Through

I can now paint and draw small, sketchbook-size pictures of the world around me because now I see how focusing on the small particulars of the outer visible world, can also reflect a deeper insight to the world within. Continue reading

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The Cabin in the Clearing

Whenever I looked out the window I saw two scenes, the one from the present, and this other one, so obviously from the past. From Brooklyn as it once was. Continue reading

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The Thing Is To Draw…

Who the figure was doesn’t matter. She was, and is, Ma, Mary, Mater. Mamm and Ama, Muder and Moeder, Mati and Moer, Madre and Mai and Mama. And in Vietnamese, she is called Me. But what’s in a name… The thing is to draw. To paint. To feel. And to paint and draw what you feel. In the moment. Expressing what you cannot say in words… Continue reading

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The Earrings

It was a tiny shop. There was no one there but a woman in a sari standing behind the glass counter. She smiled at me as I came in. Or rather, her face lit up, causing me to wonder if I had been the only customer that day. I smiled back. She wasn’t young, somewhere in her forties I would have thought. Her long sleek black hair fell in a thick braid down her back. I pointed to the earrings in the window and asked if she could bring them in for me to see. Continue reading

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