No joy

I have considered my sources of joy: backpacking, rock climbing, surfing, and cross country running with my partner Colleen; wood working, cooking, reading, watching movies, inventing, and listening to music. I realized that not a single one of these involves the internet.

When I further delved into this investigation, I realized that I could not think of a single function of the internet that directly brings me joy. I appreciate being able to order books and movies from Amazon (but prefer book stores); and the weekly engagement of my SIMOC development team, but would prefer an in-person gathering were we not spread across three countries and as many States.

That says something. For me, the internet is not a source of joy. It is instead a source of anxiety for I know that I must engage, nearly every day, to maintain my income, to pay bills, to engage my employer (University of Arizona) in an ever growing mound of documents to prove my very existence within the layers of bureaucracy.

I already consider myself a minimal user, yet a reduced engagement is desired.

By |2023-10-28T11:45:05-04:00August 22nd, 2023|The Written|Comments Off on No joy

The hand of a dying man

When you hold the hand of a dying man,
all the days you have shared
are recounted through tears and laughter.

And in that final breath
all his stories of life and death
become yours to share with others.

We will miss you Terry …

By |2023-08-22T21:12:46-04:00March 17th, 2023|The Written|Comments Off on The hand of a dying man

A reflection for civilization

Wilderness is the mirror for civilization. When we fragment that reflection we lose the memory of where we came from and a sense of who we’ve become.

By |2022-07-05T01:27:21-04:00July 5th, 2022|The Written|Comments Off on A reflection for civilization

A kiss good night

Stars Over Cascabel

I stood beneath the stars tonight,
and could not recall when last I received them
as something more than a single breath
and a kiss good night.

As when I was a child, this time they invoked fantasies of flight.

By |2023-03-17T10:51:13-04:00April 27th, 2022|The Written|Comments Off on A kiss good night

Putin, Gandhi, and Me

We watch the news and ask how is it possible that anyone could cause such pain, could inflict such damage without provocation, without self-defence. We naturally separate the actions of a dictator and his army from those of our colleagues, family, and friends. That is a crazy man, over there, out of reach, out of touch. He is a murderer, a criminal, and insane. But I am not.

We are the most homogeneous species on the planet, our DNA more similar between any two of us than any insect, rodent, bird or mammal. When we point to another, we are in fact pointing to our self, for in us is the foundation for them; and in each of them is a nearly identical copy of us.

When Vladimir Putin sends the Russian military into neighboring Ukraine, it is our DNA that makes this unfathomable move possible, for inside each of us is the capability to wield deadly force in defense of an ideal. Each of us is a killer, a murderer, a soldier and a thief. We may not in this lifetime express that capacity, but it is there, waiting as a latent thought, a bad dream, or a quest for power in a world in which we all feel powerless, and seek more than we deserve.

I am Putin. I am Kim Jong-un. I am Chairman Mao, Andrew Jackson, and Hitler too. And there is a part of me that resembles Trump for in my chemistry and makeup is the desire to mock those I do not understand and to build a narrative that reinforces what I want to believe, not that which is based in fact and reality. To kill another human, through direct conflict or remote action seems impossible, but there are times where if I am honest, I could pull the trigger.

I am Gandhi, Mother Teresa, King, Mandela, and the people of Poland who receive refugees into their homes. My wiring and chemical make-up is all of these too. Yet for some reason, I find it more difficult, more challenging to move as they did and do, to hold strong to my values, to let go of anger and pain such that I can again see a path forward in which we all benefit as one. They are in me too, their DNA very much my own, voices waiting to be heard.

I am a multi-generational being, the product of my grandparents survival of the Great Depression and my parents deliberate integration of the ’60s psychology that gives children a say in the path to their destination. Generation to generation our epigenetic code carries forward a layer of protection for our children, our children’s children, and theirs too. The families that survive the devastation in Ukraine will carry trauma in the marrow of their bone. Some will respond with PTSD or life-long anxiety, others no apparent effect at all. Some will return to the life taken from them, others will start a new. And in the next generation will be a random mix of powerful programming that will give birth to a new host of dictators, peace keepers, and everyone in between.

It is not yet known if times of war beget warriors to follow or a cultural shift toward peace that is sustained. Perhaps in the future we will have this clarity, and while NATO fears nuclear retaliation and the Pope cries out “Stop this massacre!” a mathematician will calculate the impact on a global scale dictated not by the cost of reconstruction nor the lives lost to bombs dropped, but by the number of dictators and illicit rulers who will inevitably rise from the ashes only to do it all over again.

By |2022-03-27T15:05:49-04:00March 13th, 2022|The Written|Comments Off on Putin, Gandhi, and Me

Hidden Ugly

The more we barricade ourselves from others, the more others want to get in.

The more we hide our bodies, the more the unclothed body is appealing.

The more we tell our children “No!” the more we rob them of their childhood, their creativity, their passion for learning terminated before it is ever given form.

By |2022-01-23T15:42:16-04:00March 29th, 2021|The Written|Comments Off on Hidden Ugly

Insult without Injury

You cannot be offended if what is said about you is not true. Nor can you be feel insulted if you are confident in what you believe. Only those who are unwilling to accept the truth or uphold their beliefs without foundation will claim to be offended and react to insult.

By |2021-08-13T00:48:32-04:00January 16th, 2021|The Written|Comments Off on Insult without Injury

The construct of an unfolding fantasy

I have built my life in the construct of an unfolding fantasy.
I see myself as something more than I really am,
and then work to make that image a reality.

But if I project too far ahead, imagine too grand, I am overcome by anxiety.
And if I live too close to reality, I fall to depression.

Science fiction builds technical reality.
Fantasy is the foundation of our civilization.
Depression is the leading mental illness of our time.
Do civilizations collapse when they lose their vision for a better future?

In the space between I maintain my forward momentum–tumbling,
falling with arms outstretched, catching myself one leap at a time.

Too far. Not far enough. Stumble. Jump. Push forward. Pull back.

Reality check. Check-check.

By |2021-08-18T12:28:21-04:00November 18th, 2020|The Written|Comments Off on The construct of an unfolding fantasy
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