Creative Studio

In retrospect, my earliest religious memories were not benign ones. They were not framed in pithy clichés about love or grace or cuddly predatory animals who lost their desire to eat you. They were framed in warning. I was four years old when I first asked my mum who Satan was. It was a question…

There is a reason love so often becomes the final word. For Christians, for mystics, for those who speak of “spiritual truth” without quite knowing where to place it, love offers something uniquely consoling. It promises an essential coherence underlying the mess of things. It suggests that beneath suffering, contingency, and loss there is a…

Content Note: This essay discusses mental illness, suicidal ideation, and death. Please read with care. I’m Here… For Now “Do you have thoughts about harming yourself, or ending your life?” Her question cut directly to the reason I was there. Shifting in my chair, I searched for words precise enough to answer without exposing too…