by Hiro Boga | Creativity, Poetry
She hangs like a crooked brooch in a perfect, sable sky. Your fingers itch to straighten her, just so — a little more to the left, a little higher in the upper right-hand corner. Yes. But then, there’s her disappointing light, that shade of curdled cream, so...
by Hiro Boga | Community, Inner Journeys
A while ago I attended a performance at my local theater, by Tibetan monks from the Drepung Loseling Monastery. Established in the early fifteenth century, Loseling was once the largest monastery in Tibet, home to more than 10,000 monks. After the Chinese invasion of...
