some friends are you

On the quiet medicine of friendship.

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Emma Kunz, untitled, undated.

Continuing our month of quiet practice with guest teachers and me. Below, welcoming

Laura McKowen

, author of

Love Story

and one of my best friends, with an audio meditation and original piece from Laura.

And 20% off subscriptions this month, in honor of my birthday.

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As I enter my fifty-fifth year on Earth this week, in nature with dear friends, hanging closely, sinking in, tenderizing my heart. Time in the sun, walking, sitting, a visit from my son with longer-than-ever hugs. Time with my publisher who told me how proud she is of my work on next year’s book-to-come, we both cried in recognition.

Committing to writing, silence, study, art and service. Within days of crystallizing and voicing this, I've been asked to participate in an art show at Folklore in Santa Fe for the holidays... Wow. Some new trust is emerging.

In the midst of our early days of sobriety is when we find one another, Laura sober from alcohol, me from both alcohol and marijuana. Drawn to one another’s minds, we sit together for intervals and forge a bond that comes to its fullest expression in moments of dire sorrow and pain—death, breakup, breakdown—we have been there for one another. It’s a beautiful thing, to have one of those friendships that doesn’t ask for anything but presence.

We see one another deeply even though we aren’t physically together often, and her wide open heart seems to burst my own open in recognition when we speak. Do you have anyone like this, with whom you’ve kept up a friendship via voice notes, phone calls?

Now we’ve co-created Threshold along with

Kemi Nekvapil

, our best excuse to come together annually and serve our peers with what we’re learning. See you in 2025 for that. When I told Laura I was crafting a four-week birthday journey with friends here on Substack, I asked if she’d like to write something, anything that feels relevant right now pertaining to quiet, practice, friendship.

When I read the poem she sent back, I cried, considering: What is home, what is friendship, what is the act of listening?

Before I share Laura’s piece, along with the poem I wrote for her in Softening Time, you’re invited to join me in supporting Gerard’s House, our local grief center for children and families, in honor of my birthday.

Those who’ve lost someone to death, incarceration or otherwise can come, sit at Gerard’s House in circle for a number of weeks, to be heard and seen. Gerard’s House is place of bearing witness. I’ve taken their thirty-hour training, and will be working there over the coming years. Any amount means a lot for this project, and I’ll match as many donations as possible as my birthday gift to myself.

Thank you—donate here.

Welcome to Softening Time on Substack. Thank you for being here.
20% off paid subscriptions in October for my birthday.

All subscriptions are donated. If you choose a paid subscription, you’ll access the entire archives (almost three years!), and are invited to comment on all posts (I respond personally). If you have financial restriction, send a note to me—scholarship subscriptions are available. Don’t hesitate to ask.

Our next Live Gathering for paid subscribers will happen on November 13th; details to follow.
Starting in 2025, paid subscribers will meet monthly.

Below, our two poems and a reading of this piece followed by a short meditation on the quiet medicine of friendship.