The Tree of Neglect is sometimes thought to have eyes, and is home to all sorts of abandoned things, caught in the branches.
The car isn’t routinely maintenanced. It is never booked or reserved. Its passengers never disembark. No engineer can remember coupling or decoupling it. I certainly can’t. No conductor ever passes through or punches a ticket. The car is there and not there, depending on the level of your attention. One thing is certain – it’s …
After intensity, especially the kind that’s hostile to oneself or someone else, there can be a kind of zen reboot. You run headlong into the darkness, reckless, lose yourself in it. Then comes the sensei telling you to embrace inner calm, to release everything you’re gripping fiercely, to stretch, to flow, and to let be. …
Tommy knew there was a monster in the bathtub. You could have told Tommy that the bathtub didn’t *exist* more easily than getting him to give up his belief in the monster. The monster wasn’t just real, it was hungry, it was mean, and it wanted Tommy. Tommy was sure of it, more sure than …
Down the hall there stands a wall; its angle wrong, its tilt askew; you’ll hit your head or scuff your shoe; but if you’re dead, you go right through. Jamie was only seven, but even at seven he could see the door was just a distraction – a fabrication for the eyes, which is where …
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