per·spec·tive        pərˈspektiv/ noun

1. the art of drawing solid objects on a two-dimensional surface so as to give the right impression of their height, width, depth, and position in relation to each other when viewed from a particular point.
2. a particular attitude toward or way of regarding something; a point of view.

Not so wholly dissimilar definitions of the same word. An accurate drawing of a point in space and a feeling about the view.

The second definition is geographical and situational.  It changes depending on where you stand and what you think.

Once in a while, we’re blessed with an epiphany.

e·piph·a·ny       iˈpifənē/ noun

1. the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles as represented by the Magi (Matthew 2:1–12).

  • the festival commemorating the Epiphany on January 6.
  • a manifestation of a divine or supernatural being.
  • a moment of sudden revelation or insight.

A moment of sudden revelation or insight is indeed a holy thing.  A shift in perspective.

An awakening.


S. Conde



What we love with passion undoes us. This is known.

So in choosing love we accept death.

Embrace it.  Know that it comes regardless.

Some claim to love life, yet simply fear death.

The inevitable.

They straddle the sidelines.  Forever safe.

From a comfortable distance.  And they live.  They exist.

But what life is this?

Is it better to risk all and love with passion?

…or quietly from the womb like cocoon of a reclining chair?


S. Conde




Reversing Polarities

I went to speak with her last night.

A perfect night.

A warm and windy night.

I approached the steps of her home.

There she moved, in front of me.

Divine.  Glorious. Dancing.

Naked and wild under the new moon.

I smiled.  She noticed.

I approached lovingly.


She tickled my feet with cool fingers.

Questioning where I’d been.

Laughter was my only reply.

She knows me.

I asked her to bathe me. To wash away my fears.

She agreed, in her way, and kissed me.

Slowly at first, as was my desire.

Our passion grew in perfect rhythm.

One with the other.

She blessed me with wave after wave of salty water.

Cleansing me of worry.

With each swell my burden dissipated.


As I relaxed, so did she.

Receding.  Soft, rolling undulations.

Allowing me to finish the process myself.


Photo by Jaime Ferreyros

“Day Of The Mermaid”                                           Photo by Jaime Ferreyros



S. Conde

The wheels of the soul go round and round…

There I sat.

Back erect, verbalizing the sounds.

Wondering if the ecstasy would return.

…so long ago and far away…

Slowly slipping into the familiar pattern.

Falling into the rhythm, of each syllable.

The recognizable cadence of an old friend.

Working my way up.

Grounding, releasing, willing.

Loving, speaking, visualizing.

Ethereal realms abound.

Effortless and translucent, the colors return.

Red to orange, orange to yellow.

Green to blue, blue to purple.


Alive and grateful.  I am.

Rerouting the wiring.

My hands and feet hum with electricity.

Smiling at the bee buzzing happily in my throat.

Now, I am home.


S. Conde

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!

If you find yourself in the Miami area tomorrow Sunday the 15th at 4:00pm, join us at Books and Books in Coral Gables, FL for a conversation with Dana Donaty and me, Stacy Conde author of “The Red Speck”.

Please click on this link for further information.

Hope to see you there!


The Unbridgeable Distance Between Natchez and Oxford

The worst part is that I knew.

Too much time had passed.  I pushed the thought from my head.

No time.  No time for that.

I was so close.  So fucking close.

Yet I didn’t go.  Too busy visiting, too busy with the minutia.

I couldn’t make time.

She was disappointed.

I explained.  She was still disappointed.

Who was she to me?  No one.  No one really.

No one but a kind old woman.  No one but kin.

Now she’s gone.  Just like that.  One Facebook message and she gone.

I am ashamed.

Tears don’t diminish regret.

Time is an illusion.  There is no such thing.

Do what you must and do it now.

Death waits for no one.

Not even the busy.

Not even me.IMGP5846



S. Conde