Photo by Andrew Dunn, licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license.

Our lives hang suspended across the expanse of time that each has been allotted, held fast by the twin anchors of our birth at one end and our death at the other. In between there are certain rare moments, some might say “defining moments,” or moments of eternal significance, upon which our lives hang, like the mast-like tent poles of a circus tent, that lend a shape and a structure and become a part of who we are, and beneath and between which the circus acts of our lives alternately entertain and amaze, and where we are left to sweep up the mess when the spectators go home. Here is where I hope to share some of mine.


Meditations of a Mantle Clock

The silence speaks, given voice by the tick-tick-ticking tempo of an unaware, unassuming mantle clock. Attention now arrested, I contemplate the clock. That there is, in fact, a clock seems a certainty…(more at link)

Tent Poles:

The Day I Met Awe (in work)

I don’t remember the rain. I suppose it fell in the night, spending itself against the shingles and siding of the renovated farmhouse my family called home. An army of enraged droplets…

A Bottle of 18-Year-Old Angst

His heart torn, as it both loves and hopelessly despairs, the young man sits forlorn, in a tired room, at a worn wooden desk that bears the scarred marks of prior occupants, now ghosts, cottony cobwebs forgotten in the chamber’s dusty past… (more at link)

An American Dream

A soft feather-pillow cloud with drooping eyelids lazily meanders across a sky whose blue is that perfect peaceful hue that pleases the eyes as it whispers contentment to an unsettled soul. (more at link)

Meaninglessness Knew My Name

When I first read this book it struck a deep resonance within my empty soul. Here, finally, was someone who eloquently captured what my heart knew full well – life under the sun is a pointless, meaningless, wearisome vanity, fraught with injustice and oppression. (more at link)

Death was a Cold Bedfellow (in work)

Inside My Suffering

In the small predawn hours, sleep was once my lazy lover, ever coaxing me back into the soft embrace of her forgetfulness. Now she shuns me. (more at link)

My Testimony of God’s Faithfulness During COVID-19

Distraught, I hung up the unwelcome but expected phone call from the doctor’s office. They would no longer be scheduling the treatment that I rely upon for my sanity and my life. (more at link)

Circus Acts & Janitor Duty

Primitive Ritual Redux

(A strange repeating experience) “Agreed!” chants the small circle of eyes, the sound floats upon a drone of rushing air, reverberating off the sides of the strange chamber, magnified by my rising adrenaline. (more at link)

Barbara Boxer’s Belt (coming)

The Wrath of the Crows (in work)