Part of an ongoing serial story Niko followed silently behind Mrs. Stone, but his mind was agitated. He turned over her few words in his mind, much like a jackdaw would look for jewels among pebbles. What did she mean by saying only a fortunate few are welcomed here? Hadn’t he decided on his own … Read more #2 The Beginning part 2
I have come to a conclusion. Perhaps if I had thought about it more carefully at first I would not be surprised. But it has only recently occurred to me that a great deal of the disturbance about evolution—yes, no, theistic, atheistic, guided, unguided, young earth, old earth, Darwinist , near- neutralist, whatever! is about … Read more Not A Simple Question
Part of an ongoing serial story There once was an old woman with a magical house. Every now and again the house would grow a new room, and the old woman would know it was time to expect guests. She never knew who would come, or when, just that some day there would be someone … Read more #1 The Beginning
Why is the world a beautiful place and why does it touch me? When I was 16, my parents gave me a horse. I was a fairly typical teenager— alienated, self-absorbed, and without a way to ground my understanding of the world. I had received a certain worldview from my parents, but it was incomplete … Read more Beauty Leads Us Home
We have almost forgotten, this nation of faucets, The nature of water, But it has not forgotten us. Hissing below the surface It streams and bubbles from depths Leaping upward into light Or oozing, trickling, Dripping past our guards.
We have forgotten wells, Those still pools That can only be found by digging, Where silence reigns, And sound and light Are swallowed, Then given back doubled, Echoing, Showing us ourselves.
We have hidden our springs, Sealed them up for profit, Making a commerce of them. But the waters cannot be forgotten. Rich in silence Drawn from the deeps They pour forth in torrents And fountains.
When I think of you I think of waters— A small pool with lilies adrift, Catching the overflow of the world, Or the drops that nestle beaded Among the mosses. A place of ferment Where change is constant, A place of stillness, Of quiet generation, Where I am reflected back at myself And forced to listen— Waters that go down to the depths, Springing out of the bones of the earth Renewed.