Steve Roberts
serves fellow explorers
of life’s two most important questions:
What’s going on,
and what’s the healthiest action I can take in this moment?
To this end, Steve champions
the most fear-provoking point of view
the world has ever known:
Everything is a gift,
and the business of life is discovering how come.
He finds the spirit of the universe to be
playful, loving, deep.
Besides laughter and coaching,
his expressions of this spirit include
several hundred essays,
a novel, some 2000 drawings,
countless stone sculptures
built & photographed
on his Vermont mountainside
over a quarter century, and
a portfolio of professional communication
for clients who wanted someone
who could write like a freight train
driven by Mother Teresa.
When we arrived in Santa Fe from Vermont last July and walked into our newly leased home, the heavens celebrated with a hail shower that completely whitened the ground. It was the first and last such shower during the eleven months New Mexico was our home together. (Lissa already a thirty-year New Mexican; I the
When I die, if the gods approve, everyone in my address book will receive this note:
Seventy years ago, E.E. Cummings (1894-1962), also known as e.e. Cummings (in the style of some of his poems), an American artist of diverse genres, was invited by his alma mater, Harvard, to deliver the 1952-53 school year Charles Eliot Norton Lectures, a series of six presentations. In the first lecture, Cummings speaks of his
To a child of my heart, I’m about to pass along a gift given me by the universe nearly a quarter century ago: my cameo ring with the bust of Aristotle. As you may anticipate, it comes with a story.
The plan is to publish a collection of stuff titled We’re All Going to Heaven Whether We Like It or Not. A recent letter is a candidate.
If you could wear just one hat for your whole life, what would it be? A recent experience has helped me discover my answer. There’s a place of residence in Peekskill, NY that caters to artists. The application process for an apartment includes being officially designated an Artist by the City. If for no other
I set out from the eastern wilderness in my periwinkle pickup with the YESS license plate bound for the Land of Angels, should there be such a place. Without realizing it, my destination was automatically plugged into that GPS gizmo we all carry in our heart, the one that, whether we know it or