You are not here to transcend the world. You are here to learn how to carry it.

A former cleric, writing on the physical and ordinary as the site of the sacred — matter and spirit as one ascending thing, after Teilhard.

Essay

A Clock for Ten Thousand Years

A clock being built inside a Texas mountain to keep time for ten thousand years, and what it asks of a species that thinks in quarters.

Essay

The Maze and the Labyrinth

A maze is built to confuse; a labyrinth has one path that only looks like it doesn't. On the difference between being lost and being led.

Essay

The Question Left Standing

A cipher sculpture in a courtyard at the CIA, three passages read and the fourth unbroken for decades: the question left deliberately standing.

Essay

Splitting Kindling in the Rain

Splitting kindling in the rain, the wet wood clinging to itself and refusing the axe—resistance not as malice but as instruction.

Essay

The Gravity of a Full Kettle

A full kettle heavy on the wrist, the long climb to the boil, and the small daily surrender of waiting for water that will not be hurried.

Essay

Ironing a Shirt

A shirt come to the board a wreck of creases, and the slow hiss and press by which heat and steam talk it back into shape.

Essay

Coiling the Hose

The long green serpent sprawled across the garden after the watering, and the last small unwilling job of coiling it kink-free onto its hook.

Essay

What Will Outlast Us

A plastic fork used for eight minutes that will outlast you, your children, and theirs—the strange immortality of our most disposable things.

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Word, when there is word.

Not often, and not soon — the writing comes slowly. No list, no letters in between. There is the feed, if you'd rather.