[Inspired by┬áthis article on the New Yorker web site.] We grow, not like trees straining for the light, But by finding light within ourselves, and seeking its reflection without. Finding none, or merely few, we fail to resolve as our own person. Shadows, darkness, dreams with empty places: what it feels like is bursting without … Continue reading Reflections

Life expressed in a function

f(joy) = risk/life Choices are bricks, made in fire. Life, then, is the edifice whose walls find strength and voice in the tally that survives that kiln. Happiness may drip through the roof and be collected in tins, but joy, and mud for bricks, reside out from under, in the wet and body-beating rain.