Yea, that’s right, I said it. Now, this article’s title may come as a shock to those who regularly read my work — after all, I consider myself a spiritual person, and the majority of what I write on this platform involves mysticism and philosophy in some shape or form…

From my book, “The King.” Two: Empowerment and responsibility When we think of empowerment, we think of power. It’s an important distinction however, that not everyone who has power is empowered, but everyone who is empowered does in fact wield a great deal of it. This is the case in…

A Poem About Twin Flames “Burning.” I lit a match and watched you burn, Never ending stories. I fanned the flame that engulfed our home, Fairy tales are never boring. Listless nights, stuck in time, A passion reimagined in a moment. Here you are, another half, Something I have stolen. …

A Poem About Childhood. “DIG" Back when my eyes were still open wide, I came upon a small hole in the summertime, I believe around the age of nine. My friends played and laughed behind me, completely unaware that this lonely hole had transfixed my stare. At some point I…

All that’s important is how you feel about yourself. As the title suggests, somewhat harshly, it doesn’t matter what kind of dynamic or spiritual label you find yourself in. I wish it did — it would sure make life easier — but alas, it doesn’t. (Oops.) This is because the…

A chapter from my book, “The King.” This book is modeled and inspired by Niccolo Machiavelli’s, “The Prince.” It is a spiritual self-help book, written with a sense of humor. I shall post a chapter every Tuesday. Enjoy. One: What does it mean to be ‘King?’ To be a king…

Maybe Not Knowing Everything is the Best Thing. Who needs all this suffering anyway? How many times do we get up, scratch our heads and wonder, “What the hell am I going to do about X?” How many days are we clueless and stressed? …

A poem for beauty. A storm torments the house she sits in, Her heart in turmoil. A butterfly could land on her shoulders, And she would still call herself, "broken." Her eyes could melt the snow but Instead she closes them, years staining her cheeks. …

No, I won’t censor myself. You’d say it in your head anyway. Every day, I take the subway, walk around the city, and observe people’s sad, often pathetic faces. I smile to myself. Not because I am happy they are depressed or unhappy, but because it reminds me that when…