A Novella in installments, tracing the intermingling autobiographies of a boy and a violin, spanning over a century. The previous episode is right here. To find any episode, look here.
(The protagonist posing with some old friends: a Japanese shakuhachi, A Zimbabwean mbira, and a good ol’ American jaw harp.)
(13) – Widowed in the Cupboard, NJ, 1959
A Novella in installments, tracing the intermingling autobiographies of a boy and a violin, spanning over a century. The previous episode is right here. To find any episode, look here.
(The protagonist posing with some old friends: a Japanese shakuhachi, A Zimbabwean mbira, and a good ol’ American jaw harp.)
(11) – Becoming Iain’s Favorite, Albany, 1901
Winter dreams seem to pierce reality almost like advisories or clairvoyance; but summertime dreams bind to no specific time or space, comforting objective emergency in sweet blankets of sensuality…
More than one kind of tempter dwells in this space; you must trust your intuition as something more than what is obvious in order to gradually learn to distinguish them in your being…
These things happen, more often than you’d think, but it takes courage to pay them attention…
Suppose you were confused or just plain curious as to the reality of human free will. Where would be a reasonable starting point to look into this topic? And where would likely be a clusterfuck waste of your precious time?
Lots of intellectuals presume they ‘know’ it is impossible to deconstruct the received wisdom about how Darwinism, the natural worldview, and science are intertwined. Truth is, it requires patient dedication and a wide-ranging inquiry. But it is not really rocket science. The big obstacle is not the intellectual immensity of the endeavor, but the scalding ridicule and heresy indictments you will have to endure from the orthodoxy police if you ever speak up about it. I first wrote this in 2015. Before this blog took a sort of — poetic — turn.
I cannot truthfully claim agency or credit, when the sweetness of a summery moment loosens me outside my portals awhile and lets a haiku-like awareness inside…
It is absolutely impossible to do certain spiritual exercises if you are habituated to an alarm clock. That most insidious of imaginary necessities. And that’s all I am going to say about it…
||skirmishes|| ||with|| ||reality|| 