If you have something to say...
Say it on the Huffington Post
If you have something to say...
Say it on the Huffington Post
Something remarkable happened to me this year: I started loving everyone. The hundreds of people I know and the billions I don't.
The entire direction of human civilization is wrong, as we have placed economic principles before humanitarian values and in so doing have placed the very survival of the human race at risk.
A historic tension in American society is between the every-man-for-himself mentality versus the we-are-in-this-together mindset.
Where there is fear, there is a mentality of lack, an impoverishment of mind, body and Spirit breeding disconnection, isolation and aggression. But, where there is Love, there is Life.
Do you have a fear of public speaking? I do. (Yikes!) Even though I am a writer and reporter and have spent plenty of time on stage, I am still carrying around the fear of public speaking.
According to a growing number of experts, a human's need -- and search -- for safety starts at conception.
What is it like to be holding on to something you have been meaning to say, but were never able to do so?
Don't be caught unprepared as Mother Nature Cranks up the Heat! The summer is prime time to turn an eye towards improving both your own and your pets' health.
In a country that's supposedly so past race, it's quite amusing to watch folks completely trip over it.
Slowly, my perspective started shifting. Instead of looking at how I could manipulate situations to my benefit, my mind was busy trying to think of ways I could make someone's day better.
It makes sense that the world as we know it is falling apart; how else would we finally be able create a world we've always wanted, a world of true creative freedom.
It seems to me that we as a nation are moving dangerously close to Marie Antoinette's attitude about the suffering of our people.
There is only one place to practice compassion: the one you're in. You can never leave this place, but you can turn it inside out.
A Brooklyn street poet named Robert Samuel Snyderman spends his days sitting on a white bucket with a powder blue typewriter, offering to channel his muse for a small donation.
We're deeply attached to our neighborhoods. Yet the things that happen in our backyards are seldom reported in the news.
I grew up in Manhattan on the Upper East Side where the homeless (a term unused back then) were oddities in the 1960's and 1970's, and quickly carted off lest the neighborhood be "sullied."
