Just off the avenue I call the countryside because it has so many trees and behind these branches are benches circling a fountain that bubbles elegantly during summer months.
I spent many months sitting by that fountain, slowly brushing away, like an archeologist, the rubble of life events the Buddha said we would all suffer.
I don't sit there as much anymore, but the gently undigging never ends, nor should it. After all, every morning, Florence sat down to practice. Every night, we brushed our teeth. Every day, everyone gets to start anew.
When walking that daily Exodus into the birthright of Resurrection, a prayer is offered: take away what I don't need anymore so I may travel without burden to the life I was born to live.
MY PRIVATE CONEY presents IT WAS HER NEW YORK, the short stories that accompany the work-in-progress video and photo collection of the same name (myprivateconey.com - media link - IT WAS HER NEW YORK). The stories and the media explore the tender rubble that holds both my mother, Florence's and New York's soul as one disappears into old age and the other into gentrification. All are real observations and/or experiences with very little tall-tale telling.
Except when it makes the story better.
Please visit myprivateconey.com for additional information and sample works.