I'm on a plane flying from from Seattle to Atlanta. I'm seated next to a Japanese man who sits compactly and efficiently in his seat. He's reading a book in Japanese. He pulls a snack from his hounds tooth suit coat pocket discreetly. The crinkling wrapper is the only sound he makes. He nods off every now and then but his black felt fedora never leaves his head.

My soul is weepy today, almost panicked. I have a window seat so I can stare aimlessly at the white expanse and let these new emotions climb their way to the surface. Somewhere between the guilt of having an unused gift and the fear of stepping out, there is a new me emerging. But, it is in fact not new, because I was there all along, a cocoon in the darkness.

The light breaking in is truth. It's not truth as I've observed it, translated or interpreted it. It's Truth whispered. I've blindly clutched at it but today I can sense the time is near. I begin to hyperventilate a little and take shallow breaths.

Shallow-that's been my understanding. Knowing a reflection, a shimmering hologram of truth. But I sense the invitation is here, to go beyond the shallow to the deep, dark depths of the "Immeasurable Deep". This is it, this my my gift. Happy birthday to me, happy 43.

When I was younger, I only spoke in reverberation, not original creation. I echoed my contemporaries and fellow bloggers, circling each other like a covered wagon, repeating the same battle cry.

But now, at this point in my life, I don't want followers or subscribers, notoriety or notifications. I want to join the expanse of stars in the celestial sky that silently speak to each other, confidently knowing what was once unknown. Discovery is made for my benefit, not theirs; for they, in fact, were never lost.

There are now tears in my eyes as the scales begin to fall in the gentle way of the Father. His way is not the steel, cold blade of a nutcracker against the hard shell of a golden walnut. Rather, it's the quiet unveiling, removing the blindfold to view a surprise gift awaiting. Permission has been granted and I am about to become. I don't know what this next stage of my life holds, but peace dabs my eyes and breathes life into the spaces numbed by time. I feel that familiar internal dissonance begin to untangle its grip from my double helix DNA. There is an arising happening, a re-birth, a re-awakening.A summons to become.

My Japanese friend has fallen asleep reading his book. It falls from his grip and crashes to the floor. He awakes with a start.

DNA Rising

Twisted mass of chorded strands, rooted
Identity, calling; spoken
Fused life force
longing to be free
whispered rumblings of captivity’s freedom.
Entwined to another; forgotten
Purified blood flows deeply
Light and voice; a spiritual resin
Designed to resurrect amnesia.

The Kind Judgement

Tell a story, tell your story. But what is that?
In  Imago Dei is my story and I’m just beginning to hear

My ears are only leaning into the unspoken, unseen
Mine is not mine by ours and His

And yet, the surrender is the beginning
The beginning is my ending

Tears of renewal of wasted time; wasted land
One-dimensional wasteland

Ruled by natural law and Aristotle
But the circle is unbroken and the light is dawning

The circle is realized and the arising has begun.
There never was a darkness, only a veil.

There never was striving; only rest
Time redeemed is the cry
Request granted.

Leaves of grass eternal
Eden evermore.

Creating vs Consuming=Cookies

You wanna know what makes me mad about myself? I am a collector. Not of anything cool, like tea cups, hippos or key chains. Nope, I collect ideas. I have loads of ideas, information, incentive and little nuggets of groundbreaking goodness. I’m fascinated by ideas and words.



I get distracted. Then I’ll read about better ideas and different view points. And I’ll start again. But then I get distracted. I consume information. I consume advice. I consume cookies. And that’s no good either. I am a consumer and not a creator.


I could be a creator. But it’s more comfortable in the consumer category, because then I can be a criticizer. If I become the creator, then I become the object of criticism. So I eat cookies. That action seems to stay consistent.

“Aslan,” said Lucy, “you're bigger.”

“That is because you are older, little one,” answered he.

“Not because you are?”

“I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger.”

Prince Caspian

Replacing Majesty with Mediocrity

I finally get it. I've been playing pretend. "What would Jesus do?" "Be like Jesus" "Deny Yourself" "Be little Christs." All good ideas. All pretend.

To be like someone or something is to deny a legitimate, authentic part of you in order to take on attributes of someone else. Part of me must hide in order for this other quality to emerge. We don't need to deny ourselves. We need to recognise ourselves.

We are not merely a reflection; a shadow of what is or what could have been. We carry the I AM. Each of us, a colourful display in the kaleidoscope of Eternity. To imitate, reflect or decrease is to deny the DNA of the Holy and to replace it with something in our understanding, in our image. Each of us carry something of our Creator.

If I ever taught a philosophy class, everything would revolve around Dr. Who.