The Painter

I sit across from the blank canvas imagining all the things I can fill it up with. Abstract shapes take form in my head and disappear before they make it out to the flat white surface. The round pointed brush in my hand, sometimes gently taps the side of the mixing plate, and sometimes rests on one edge of the canvas, waiting for its appointed task to begin...

The Monk

Our master says he was nothing without his master, and that his master was nothing without his master, and that master, two generations removed was also nothing without his master, and so on so that the chain of masters of this monastery continued ad infinitum to the very first master (may God always keep his soul close to Him) the one who was in direct communion with God Himself.

Ruhani – A Short Story

Many years ago there used to flow a river through this small town. An ancient river, holy and sacred for us for many generations. People called her “Ruhani.” When I was small, my grandfather used to tell me all about this mighty river. Her majestic volume, her pure blue glistening water, her impulsive flow—very rapid… Continue reading Ruhani – A Short Story