From nowhere we come; into nowhere we go. What is life?  It is the flash of a firefly in the night.  It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime.  It is as the little shadow that runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

Crowfoot, Blackfoot Tribe, last words



I know that I am only going to a graveyard, but it’s a most precious graveyard.

Dostoyevski, The Brothers Karamazov. V, 3.



Tell ye your children of it, and let your children tell their children, and their children another generation.

 Joel 1: 3.



This music comforts my solitude.
It takes me to my father’s house
in Boston, to my ancestors….

Where are they?
Where are the songs of mothers
comforting their babies?
Where are the stories of the elders,
the whispers of love, the battle cries?
Where did they go?


Embrace of the Serpent (2015)