Self-exiled on this extraordinary island, barely changed
every year I arrive, I reckon only with the weeds that
overtook the garden.

For too long, Dzi have been relegated to the boho set—strung on cord and leather among dozens of other worldly beads, marketed to the crystal-and-incense crowd.

…when she gazes upon me, and I do mean gazes, she responds as though she’s in the presence of a psychedelic celestial apparition.

For over thirty years, my estranged father lived in Oaxaca, Mexico. This trip of mine was not about that — but really, how could it not be?

Around this time 3 years ago, after a soul-searching trip to Mexico City, I returned to work and quietly formed a plan to blow up my life.