By James Aitchison Psychotherapy and hypnosis had a strange genesis: the absurd quackery of Dr Franz Anton Mesmer.  Like phrenology — the so-called science of reading lumps and bumps on someone’s head to determine their character — Mesmer’s theories would…

By: Professor Nandini Sahu AbstractA much neglected but significant part of our literary traditions, tribal literature, captures the complex socio-cultural and spiritual fabric of many native communities. Home of sixty-two tribes, Odisha has a corpus of tribal literature comprising oral…

By David Topper Deeply absorbed in an exceptionally long essay in the New York Review of Books about a very esoteric book on “the trouble with reality” – and I’m speaking here of epistemology and ontology; namely, that nature of…

By: Leah Park While scrolling through TikTok, I came across a post in which a black mother accused her doctors of malpractice because of her race. Surely, I thought, in today’s day and age, such accusations were unfounded; doctors are…

By: Daniel Moreschi As sunset paints a stage at the unwieldy mouthof Maracaibo Lake, sporadic breezes leadthe water’s surface, stirring swirls among the reeds,creating shimmered mirrors that reflect a shroud of gray, covertly brimming overhead. Though veiled,the Andes loom like…

By: Andrea Myinga. Where to look at,When the stars are dimming,And the sky isn’t appealing.Where to hide a face,When bones of courage are broken,And shame is chasing back.Where to find a trust,When friends have vanished with it,And heartache melt down…

By: Bruce Levine Far beyond the face Sounds coalesce No one knows how Or how they stream Into the subconscious They take no space And can’t be assembled Yet they do assemble Forming patterns Phrases and sentences One after another…

By: James Aitchison When smoothly goes life,stop to love and listen then,take an accounting,see the wreckage in the soul,the chance to turn again and findknowledge of all knowledge,truth of all truth.Walk outside of life,for the blest onesleave no footprints.Step through…

By James Aitchison When Hollywood was simply a dusty backwater of fledgling studios and orchards, and Los Angeles an uncultured outpost, America’s film capital was New York City.  The great Broadway theatrical stars were simply a taxi ride away.  Even…

By: Shannon Winestone ASHES OF APRIL Ashes of April—farewell, goodbye…You were my harbor, my city, my sky. THE SAGE for Himself The voice of the sage rattles the mountains,Sighs through the orchards, whispers with the rain—Singing the songs of Israfel.His…