Among the grasses

Oh, how I wish
I could shrink at will
And crouch among
the blowing grasses!

I cannot stand
their sideways glances,
Their probing thoughts
and questioning stances.

Oh, that I could disappear
and watch the world —
As it silently spins & churns —
From afar!

Oh, that the weight
of expectation —
This mantle of aspiration —
Be lifted from my brow.

Is it not enough to simply be,
to exist and keenly feel
The explosive joys of ecstasy
and the sharp edges of grief?

Is it not enough?
I tell you truly,
All too often
It is much too much!


For a Moment

For a moment
he was there,
by the door —
His presence
Into my soul.

For a moment his Eyes
Like marbled glass,
My thoughts
and the color
of the sky.

For a moment
he was –
I was –
of Space
and Time.
Two times
yet one,
Two lives
yet one.

For a moment
I forgot
Who I was
and where I’d been.
There was but
And it was mine.

It Takes a Village: Evicted

They say it takes a village to raise a child. For me, it was a village… of books.

However, a select few had the greatest hand in shaping me. Of the hundreds I have devoured over the years, these rise immediately to the surface.

Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City

This book, in a word, is absolutely devastating.

Author Matthew Desmond here compiles research with on-the-ground reporting as he follows eight families struggling to keep a roof over their heads in Milwaukee, WI.

Many of you remember how it felt, being strapped for cash. The bills loom over you. Every moment of every day becomes a feverish calculation for survival. All the while you stare down into the abyss, its roaring maw waiting to devour your entire world.

But what happens if you fall in?

What is there on the other side?

Desmond, like a beat reporter, brings a whole cast of characters to life who are living your worst nightmares. Its intensity and immediacy is overwhelming; I frequently had to set the book aside as I keenly felt the distress, rage, grief, and hopelessness pouring from every page.

This work’s greatest impact upon me, however, came in the epilogue and appendices. Desmond here shares the how of writing the book — literally following his subjects, recording interviews and interactions, watching as they are evicted, arrested, and freed over and over again — and his underwriting of numerous research projects in order to tell the macro of his micro-study of homeless and eviction in America.

He also reveals here the severe emotional impact this project had upon him. The shadows of Milwaukee’s slums still hang over him, leaving him with intense feelings of shame for living a comfortable, middle-class lifestyle. He related how once, upon receiving a gifted bottle of wine, his immediate thought was: “This would be enough to keep someone off the streets.”

How does one live after fundamentally intruding on these people’s lives? After living in their skin?

These very questions confronted me as I reached the end of my journalism studies in college. As a news-editorial student, I was NOT smart about getting internships and getting my hands dirty… until it was much too late.

It was during a capstone reporting course that I broke. I was interviewing a young local female artist — part of a silly store-opening feature story — and she opened up as to why she wasn’t in college, wasn’t finishing her degree, wasn’t working as a nurse (her chosen profession). Here is her story:

She was just beginning college, a time when everything is possible. One day, she realized she was drowning in fatigue and had absolutely no energy. None. She was taken to the hospital. Diagnosis: lymphoma.

Radiation treatment was successful. (A godsend!) But returning to her studies (now at least a year behind), something strange happened: her studies, once a breeze, now were utterly impossible. Mathematics, once her forte, might as well have been written in Mandarin.

Slowly, her dreams began to evaporate.

At the same time, she experienced severe bone density loss due to her radiation treatment. She already had several joints replaced (as a young woman in her 20s!) and would need surgery on every single one at some point in her life.

I thanked her for her time and returned to my car. After a moment of quiet, I placed my head on the steering wheel and sobbed.

I felt dirty. I felt evil. I had trespassed into the innermost sanctum of another’s life, and I felt unworthy.

I returned to class the following day. My professor (and classmates) showed excitement for where the story could lead:

Call up her hospital! UNL administration! There is something real here!

And I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to do so. The pain was too much, and I realized I had utterly no courage for this project, this class, or this profession.

I still have not forgiven myself for letting them down. My instructors. My mentors. The cause. And most of all, for letting her down.

Desmond revealed to me that what I felt was real. That it was okay. And that there are no easy answers: only moving forward.

I hope someday I, too, will learn to be courageous. To advocate for the voiceless, to fight the good fight, to change the world.

And to also forgive myself.

It Takes a Village: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

They say it takes a village to raise a child. For me, it was a village… of books.

However, a select few had the greatest hand in shaping me. Of the hundreds I have devoured over the years, these rise immediately to the surface.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values

This book is yet another example of my crab-walking tendencies. No, I don’t ride motorcycles. And while, yes, I am very interested in the precepts and application of Zen, I am no Zen master.

As with my other top-10 titles, there is more than meets the eye here.

The author, Robert Pirsig, posits that there is an outright war occurring in today’s social consciousness. What is at stake is so basic, it is something you likely take for granted, dear reader: How does one discover truth in the world?

Western philosophy responded with science, industry, and rigorous applications of logic. Truth must be provable. Truth circumvents (and often rejects) the spiritual, the personal, the intuitive. And so we, today, have a very solid concept of how truth must be discovered — and reject other paths to obtain it.

Eastern philosophy answered this question in the opposite direction — incorporating the spiritual, the personal, and the intuitive to discover inner and outer truths. While perhaps more in vogue today, such approaches are still seen as foreign and on the fringes of modern thought.

All too often these days, Western philosophy’s approach has left us unsatisfied. Sometimes, it has been outright rejected — you see it with society’s distrust of academia, education, and established science. You see it in the arguments against climate change and the anti-vax movement. You see it in our fearless leader’s utter disregard and contempt for responsible, thoughtful discourse and decisionmaking.

(Not to say that these things are employing Eastern philosophy — a lot of it is just an utter lack of thinking in general, supported by logical fallacy and grandstanding.)

But what is the answer? Which philosophy leads the individual to Truth?

Both. And neither. By rejecting one way of seeing the world and only using the other, Pirsig argues, you restrain yourself from perceiving the whole as it truly is.

And so it is: your version of Truth is only as close to Reality as your Frame is open to it.

And that leads to my next two-fer entry: Hofstader’s Gödel, Escher, Bach: The Eternal Golden Braid.

I have reread bits of it within the past year, and am just now sitting down to read it in its entirety. But the concepts Hofstadter touches upon here have already tilted my entire world sideways.

I am no numbers whiz (my last mathematics course was high school calculus!), but Hofstadter here brings together parallels found between music, art, and number theory — which has incredible ramifications for the nature of truth, intelligence, and cognition.

Something is rippling beneath the surface here. I’ll be back when I’m ready for my full dissertation.


It Takes a Village: A Final Arc of Sky

They say it takes a village to raise a child. For me, it was a village… of books.

However, a select few had the greatest hand in shaping me. Of the hundreds I have devoured over the years, these rise immediately to the surface.

A Final Arc of Sky: A Memoir of Critical Care

Ever since I was very young, I realized I seemed… different. Everything in my day-to-day life — from the remarkable to the incredibly mundane — seemed to affect me on a deeply emotional and psychological level. Imagine a life where everything is red-hot and fiery with significance. Nothing can be ignored. Cognition, with its fierce tenacity, unspools and tangles in an intricate web, bringing together all of existence, constantly and simultaneously firing new insights and mysteries.

Doesn’t that just sound exhausting?

Another way of putting it is that I’m just a dweeb who takes everything much too seriously. So I am with my work, so I was during my school days. This book came to my hands during an English nonfiction course my junior year of college.

This memoir formed the center of a final group project, teaching and leading class discussion during a full class period. As usual, I ended up taking over the entire project. The reason, however, was unexpected.

My classmates (females, all) vehemently disliked our assigned memoir of a critical care and emergency flight nurse. I puzzled a bit over the likely reasons– was Culkin not feminine enough? Was the medical jargon (and imagery) overwhelming? Was Culkin’s approach to pain, suffering, and death too blunt and matter-of-fact?

Or was it perhaps something else?

Flipping through Culkin’s memoir again, I was reminded of how her thought processes felt so similar to mine — the often complex and enmeshed layers of cognition constantly winding up and spinning out throughout the pages. I would imagine too many such meanderings could obfuscate the story’s thread beyond repair.

To me, it shone like the proverbial silken thread.

Along that thread came myriad experiences and thoughts, both intense and deeply meaningful. Culkin’s recognition of our limitations — in saving life and in living it — informed my own confrontation with the loss of family and a dear mentor at the time. Nowhere is this struggle sugarcoated. Everywhere, Culkin frankly admits that to be human is to be full of weakness and doubt; no level of experience can save us from these struggles or show us the way to go.

We all bear the full weight and responsibility of discovering and coming to terms with our own humanity.

And life must be learned by living it.

It Takes a Village: The Art of War

They say it takes a village to raise a child. For me, it was a village… of books.

However, a select few had the greatest hand in shaping me. Of the hundreds I have devoured over the years, these rise immediately to the surface.

The Art of War

I will have to admit I immediately judged this book by its cover. Its design was much too evocative and aesthetically pleasing for me to pass up.

That, and it was required for a political science class I was taking.

What I was not expecting was to be utterly transported by its prose.

To be clear: I am no advocate for war, conflict, espionage, or any other political games that leave innocent lives in the balance. With the use of force, there are always unintended ramifications. Hint: everyone loses.

But The Art of War is so much more than a collection of stratagems from China’s greatest military strategist during the Warring States period. Its logic winds irresistibly from its simple prose, its profundity reverberating far beyond the battlefield.

“There are but
Five Notes,
And yet their permutations
Are more
Than can ever be heard.”

— The Art of War, John Minford translation

The work’s pervasiveness stems from its holistic philosophical view — its rationality stems from observations of the natural world. Music — which holds endless variety within its simple system — brings the strategist to summarize all of warfare’s tactics into two methods. The ease with with he uses natural phenomena and China’s central philosophies points to a society where a comprehensive understanding of the world — and the ability to draw connections between all things — was valued and prized.

This all cracked the door open to the Tao Te Ching for me (two books for one again, I know!). The few brushes with paradox as explanation in The Art of War gives way here to paradox after paradox to reach the heart of understanding.

Because knowing and understanding are two different things, and one does not directly beget the other. But understanding requires knowledge. With context (knowledge), one can grasp truth (& understanding) from its depths. Yet true understanding cannot be taught; it can only be discovered.

The Tao that can be followed is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named is not the eternal name.
The nameless is the origin of heaven and earth
While naming is the origin of the myriad things.
Therefore, always desireless, you see the mystery
Ever desiring, you see the manifestations.
These two are the same—
When they appear they are named differently.

This sameness is the mystery,
Mystery within mystery,

The door to all marvels.”

— Tao Te Ching, Charles Muller translation

It Takes a Village: The Art and Craft of Feature Writing

They say it takes a village to raise a child. For me, it was a village… of books.

However, a select few had the greatest hand in shaping me. Of the hundreds I have devoured over the years, these rise immediately to the surface.

The Art and Craft of Feature Writing

Yes, I know… another writing book. (I’m obsessed. What can I say?) I actually have several on my bookshelf, and I treat them all like lifelong friends.

This one, however, has a few more scribbles in the margin, a few more coffee stains on the cover, a few more flags throughout its chapters. Blundell here ventures to impart what only years of experience can teach: how to write compelling news & feature stories.

I gained much from these chapters (and I likely need to read them again), but the most striking takeaway was likely unintended by the author. In my eyes, it is the subtext for the entire book. And so, I declare it here:


How will your dear reader care for your words if you don’t care to relate to them? Who will take time out of their busy day to discover the wonders of the universe when you can’t even take the time to explain why it matters?

And even worse: how will your reader understand the historical significance of today if you couldn’t be bothered with provide it?

Who will tell them, dear writer, but you?

Writing isn’t the only subject that needs context. Everything in life — art, economics, science, philosophy, music — it all needs context in order to be understood thoroughly.

(A recent orchestra performance pairing Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 and Beethoven’s Third Piano Concerto left me in tears, as the pairing revealed strongly to me the pains Beethoven undertook as a young composer — the way he easily assumed other’s clothes before he finally came into his own!)

And so, once again, I am led to the fact that Everything is Connected. And we are obligated to share it to the world, in every way we can.