I cried for the whole woman who now resides in the memories of the hundred or so people at her funeral. I cried a bit out of respect for her life, independent of mine, for her friends, passions, accomplishments, joys, and fears. I cried for muddy ground at her graveside and for my Dad, weak from life and caring, standing at attention as the Doxology cracked the mist and her casket was lowered to its place of rest.
When I left you last week, I was standing in the basement of my 200-year-old house, with water falling through the floorboards after a pipe above my dining room ceiling burst. Waves of panic, fear, and anxiety rose as rapidly as the water dancing around my ankles. A decision is required, but which path …
It was late in the 1950s, and a Navy officer, fresh out of Annapolis, was hours into an interview with the admiral who single-handedly created the world’s first nuclear Navy through sheer willpower and determination. No one worked on one of his atomic subs who had not survived one of his interviews….
…the point of this note is not to spin into full-on sci-fi mode but instead to wonder out loud. If we are surrounded by coursing waves of energy and are inundated by the voices in our heads (if you are like me, the rivers of inner dialogues run wild), how do we stand a chance at cutting through the clutter?