Be The Change
Guangdon
In Guangdon Province a young father rises early for work at Doubleeagle Industry Limited, where he operates the plastic-injection molding machine. It is rote, if loud and dangerous work...
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Be The Change
Englightenment
I was seventeen when I read Alan Watts’ The Way of Zen a couple pages at a time, putting down the book to observe sunset drape itself over my mind, falling asleep thinking of not thinking, hearing a flock of birds and imagining myself
Be The Change
The BRIGHT Solar Leasing Program Takes Flight!
The passage of the Inflation Reduction Act created unprecedented opportunities to reduce energy bills, improve air quality, and create good-paying jobs.
Be The Change
Sous les pavés, la plage
Too much talk of revolution makes me hungry, and there is little in the fridge that makes one believe in a better world:
Be The Change
Black Friday: A Haiku
Leaves gather like un- sold goods. Need help, asks the rake. Just browsing, I say.
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The Naked Eye
Both the atheist and the believer have it wrong. We are not mere bodies, nor do we have souls. Heaven would be a room strewn with books and nary an errand to distract from reading;
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A Dream of a Kind of Peace
“Children found ‘butchered’ in Israeli kibbutz...” - CNN I dream a rocket’s aftermath smells of cracked pepper, that it sprays not blood and shrapnel but mint leaves, ice clinking in delicate hand-blown glass; that its thunder is a hundred-thousand bumblebees come to pollinate a black-and-white worl
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Don't Shoot
Don't shoot the rats pillaging dumpsters, or the man with rat-like eyes and rumpled suit, who orders they be set ablaze...
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Terminal
Not the shaded table by the pool where I point out a hummingbird eating nectar and my son asks, “You mean like I eat pizza?”
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Lahaina
I remember coffee-flavored ice cream at the Royal Scoop, how it made me long to be old enough to drink espresso like Dad. I remember stepping off the plane into the sweet humid air, the tissue-paper feel of the Lei around my neck,
Be The Change
Anthropocene
Is it wrong to love this world like a newborn swaddled in peach skin, beech-tree bark, silt at the mouth of a stream whose headwater is starlight, is
poetry
Free Time
Between Singularity and Singularity, between dawn and dusk, between errand and meeting, between dream and nightmare there is the flicker of free time,