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Conversations with Dead People: A Series – Home

Post Series: Conversations with Dead People

“True art is characterized by an irresistible urge in the creative artist.”
                        ~Albert Einstein 

Conversations with Dead People is a series of stories which show up in my meditative practice, Contemplative Writing. With this practice I sit with pen and paper, twenty minutes, and write to a prompt from a meditative space. I share these stories with minimal edits to share the depth, the directness, the deep body sense, I experience with my teachers.

Albert Einstein pops into my writing often, we hang out, giving us both a direct chance to explore the illusion of time. Albert feeds me tremendous encouragement to trust the irresistible urge I have to grieve, and heal, through death.

We also meet Thomas Merton, Georgia O’Keeffe, Carl Jung, and more through this weekly blog, Conversations with Dead People: A Series. Please join us each week.

~Kristina Amelong

Pen to Paper, 20 Minute Writing

Albert Einstein and I are driving home from my dermatology appointment. The skin on my left arm, a nick scooped out for biopsy, is on my heart. My arm hurts. I’m scared. I exit the highway, stopping at a massive intersection, and reach over to squeeze Albert’s hand. A young woman, her parka hood covering her hair but not the shame on her face, holds a sign reading “Homeless,” and shivers against the stoplight. There are more words on the sign, but they are too small and far away to read. Her body is not – yet she seems about to fall over from the cold, or is it the gravity of grief that pushes her down?

She shivers, the heavy snow covering her dark, curly hair and the fur around her face. I squeeze Albert’s hand more tightly. I want to give the woman what she needs, but instead, shame surges – a deep sense of giving up before I’ve even begun with her.

           The stoplight turns green and I drive along. Still, I bring my need to nurture with me.

           “What is home?” I ask Albert.

           “I am blessed with home,” he responds.

           “Could I bring her home, like I’ve brought home baby birds, friends, and teenagers?”

           “What is homelessness,” Albert philosophizes. “A woman standing in a busy intersection, human eyes stripping her naked?”


           “Yes, Kristina?”

           “Aren’t human beings beautiful?” I ask.

           “Ah yes, the Universe witnessing itself. She did it, right? How many years did it take? Over 13 billion to create eyes and ears for the Universe to witness itself spinning, to witness itself expanding, to witness itself standing on a street corner shivering.”

           “Yet, homeless?”

           “Yes. A homeless Universe,” Albert reflects.

           Just then, I pull into my driveway and Albert jumps out of the car, heading to the chicken coop for his daily meditation.

This Post Has 5 Comments

  1. Thank you Kristina! You and Albert offer us so much to contemplate, always going deeply and exposing the more! Beautifully written by a true artist!

  2. What high calibur writing! Keep it coming. You’ve got it going- inspired material!


  3. Beautiful writing that expresses just how I feel when passing a homeless person and often catching their eyes in some kind of communication…

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