• Transformation isn’t Gentle

    Spin and die,
    To live again as butterfly

    — Christina Rossetti

    Does the worm twist and groan as it sheds its shape or sprouts a new one? Does it occasionally weary of the effort, or of time hemorrhaging in its tear-shaped retreat? Does it ever succumb to the unraveling?

    The longest months of winter are not the ones in which one sleeps—would that we could hibernate through scarcity and severity—they are the ones in which we are melted and recast in the kiln no one sees, perched beyond reach of our kin; our nerves exposed to every finger of weather, our fragile homes to every disturbance.

     

     

     

  • Redemption, please.

    What drives us? There are many frameworks that attempt to understand the motivating principles that animate us: biology, evolution, psychology, sociology, religion, philosophy. Each advances a conception of what it means to be human: flesh, machine, mind, soul, consciousness, freedom.  A thousand paths to the self. A thousand tools to excavate it.

    I was recently asked in an interview with Axiom News to describe what drove me in the work I did. The answer came quickly. Among other things, I want redemption. I want redemption for being born with traits I didn’t earn and which bring me privileges. I want redemption for squandering them. I want redemption for my foolishness, my pettiness, my selfishness, my offenses. I want redemption because I could be better man, but I am not. I want redemption because sometimes it is impossible to be a better man (would that I were made from Play-Doh and could be shaped into any image).

    Whether I find redemption or not, there must be some meaning in the search for it… There has to be…

  • On Fragility…

    There is something beautiful about fragility. And terrifying. The longer one looks, the more one sees the tender underpinnings to gestures. The smile. The gait. The sneer. Each of them asks the question: Do I matter? This is the question nesting in the heart of borrowed flesh. Don’t be deceived by swagger, it is a soul hastening to answer the question for itself. Don’t be deceived by the shrug, it is a soul swallowing the question. Don’t be deceived by rage, it is a soul resisting the question.

    It is heartbreaking. And beautiful. And everywhere. We are steeped in it. Do you see it? Who can judge anymore?

    Soon enough, death will retrieve the gift and still the question. And even then…