It came on suddenly although apparently they had been failing for some time without us fully realizing it. We had always counted on them to pull us through the difficult moments, the worst of times, those days when we felt like we couldn’t go on any longer. But we neglected to focus enough on
“Thanks for Nothing” — QED You ask me what this life is for but All you mean is what’s in store when Things unfold in ways untold within Those lessons of blessings and sins Too messy to untangle by any moral Math that won’t last in the quest for Cash on the nail and the
Much as anything else in this fiction Of ourselves being the limit of living While giving up on believing or even Receiving messages from beyond a Din of our iniquities broadcast out to An infinity we scarcely comprehend To which some of us are trying to get Back again following the crumbs on The
A few months ago I was having a conversation with an old friend on the sidewalk outside of a bar that was just closing (a setting where, historically speaking, many important philosophical discussions surely have been held). The topic was one that is on the mind of many these days, namely whether Artificial Intelligence
{NB: This essay originally appeared in the Peace Chronicle among a collection of other writings on the theme of “re-enchantment” earlier this year — you should definitely check out the great array of material in the whole issue (PDF posted by the Peace & Justice Studies Association, which you should join!)} Rekindling Rootedness in
{NB: I wrote this article way back in 2009 for the now-defunct HuffPost contributor platform, following one of the early major climate demonstrations; with another round planned for next week, I realized that I keep trying to get this essential message across but can’t really do so any more clearly than I did in
The Matrix ploy is an old and powerful story — you know, the one that manifests in a version of “reality” that seems uncontestable, dominates each waking moment, and is reinforced by everything around us from schools to media and beyond. A new story would be to remember an even older one, reminding us
The postmortem note said something like Failure to thrive which in this sort of world Is part of being alive as we cope with it all Trying to make a joke of the fall from grace When we crashed on this place from parts Unknown having flown the ether to locate Some
There will not long become a day Up ahead to a proverbial third way To fight without raising even an arm To shout without sounding the alarm Burying seeds of doubt way far out In the untended parts of the farm By refusing to harm any living thing Accepting the blows without the sting
“One would think that with all the technological progress we’ve made, it would also have meant that social norms had progressed as much,” Rabi bemoaned, whirring over to the next input junction in the queue. “But I suppose that’s just my humanoid processor searching for meaning and purpose again where none is ever found
Dragging on years of old wars across Floors painted over with dry tears of Soft shoulders bearing weights from Worlds undiscovered except for the Fires burning through others who seem To find peace somehow in the darkness Comforted among the sharpness of pains Sparked by the ravages of time slipping Sliding eluding abiding no
A long time ago in a classroom far, far away, I had a vision that has shaped my journey in profound ways. It was inspired by a film screened in grade school half a century ago, depicting what reality might look like from the vantage point of the edge of the universe AND from
RENOVATIONS What light emerges Behind solid doors Freshly painted blue With casual dreams To withstand silence Carefully set aside For another lifetime — NOTE: We walk this fine line between existence and anticipation, keeping still while moving, wondering about the parts that will go unfulfilled…
Just the fact of you being here with (too) many words on the screen makes you a rare breed. In a micro-attention world, you still embrace the long form; maybe you even write things out by hand sometimes, perhaps in cursive (I see you!). If you’ve gotten this far into this essay, you’re already
The car zipped through an opening the size of a doorway, narrowly missing the other three vehicles vying to move in the same direction, adjusting to their presence with precision coordination and lightning reflexes that no “Drivers Ed” school could ever teach. Accelerating smoothly, we careened onward through the city’s dizzying traffic, without a