There are days when worlds seem to be in collision and you’re caught in the crashing debris (back to Gravity again:). But I’m not talking about that vast space overhead, I’m talking about that vast space within.  After dreamlike drifting through the fascinating ‘void’, where everything is possible and you’re in the flow... suddenly hulking elements of your psyche seem to loom at the curvature of space/time and threaten your demolition.  Yikes.  

From the shaggy front lines of hipster culture, we bring you a light-hearted documentary on BEquinox, a regional Burning Man event held in Joshua Tree, CA. Though smaller in scale, it has the same wild mix of people and shenanigans, and the same blissed-out vibe as Burning Man. More than a few Boomers.

There is a place we can go, when we allow our minds to go silent, a place full of delight and joy.  I have glimpsed it before, mostly walking in nature.  But in this case, residing for four days in the foothills of the Sierras, it comes to me in spades.  Because here, beneath cobalt blue skies and between bosomy hills draped in dry yellow grasses and peppered with pines and manzanitas, is where my Zen retreat is taking place.

I soon learn this state of joy can happen anywhere, even facing a blank white wall.  For there is an essential joy residing in our natures as well as in nature herself.  That joy is waiting patiently beneath...

Somewhere in my forties, raising a kid at home and trying to keep an art career afloat, I came to the sobering realization that life is 90 percent maintenance. Now this is a percentage that varies of course, depending on the size and density of the flack field one is traversing, but I would peg that amount at rarely under 85 percent.

In my parenting era I found myself hamstrung between my career goals and the obvious stay-at-home mom stuff like shopping and cooking, tackling school issues and supervising homework, setting up play dates and music lessons and, of course, chauffeuring.  On top of that, I was...

Jung said that our Home is a reflection of our inner self. The Editor of Realize Magazine takes a look at this, examining the deeper meanings of Home.

Your average American lives in a bubble. A solipsistic bubble. I know because, until I went to Malaysia, I was that American. However, having seen the wild level of modernization and population growth in Kuala Lumpur (not to mention Singapore) I now have a revised identity. This trip opened a new wing in my temporal lobe - one where my position in the world as an American is no longer the slam dunk head of the class, but now just another contender competing with the denizens of an ambitious and talented hemisphere looking for their piece of the action.

How many times can you lose your mother? This phrase repeats itself in my head.  It is not a metaphorical question. My mother has had Alzheimer's for almost 15 years.  

My own journey alongside her illness has led me through strange territory.  Mostly unguided, mostly alone.  The one phrase I encountered in my occasional inquiry into the nature of the disease still resonates - that for those closest to the individual, there is a phenomenon which is akin to a succession of little deaths and, for each one, an attendant period of mourning.