You should read my first post here, “A journey along a treelined path”, if you want a good idea of what I hope will go on in this collection of writings, with its occasional added imagery or videos. This is a journey of life, creativity, and their exploration—life is, as I put it there, “fascinating, moving, sometimes thought-provoking, by turns inspiring or disturbing or outrageous or comforting or ridiculous or noble or heartrending or like the sunrise bursting golden above rugged hills and silver-leaden clouds. Often, some or all of those at once.”

I don’t necessarily describe this as a Christian blog, or a blog regarding faith, any more than I’d describe it as “a blog by someone who breathes”, because I take those things for granted as part of normal life. I just hope you will come along for part of the journey, however, and maybe share some of your own experiences that intersect with it, on the way.

I’m a native of Southern California, and consider San Clemente my hometown (though at this writing I don’t reside there). My own family include some who are in heaven, some who are on Earth; some who are part of my hometown, church community, academic community, and online communities. I do some writing, some teaching at the college and university level, some music (including on some instruments from around the world, like didjeridu and uilleann pipes), some study of languages and historical linguistics, some study of a lot of other things like cultures and history and animals and evolution and complexity science and physics and art and poetry and servant leadership and humor and creativity—but so do you, some or all of that and probably a lot more.

However, the best learning I find is when hiking through the grassy, rocky, windswept hills; or along the beach on a day when no one is there, and only the waves are in thundering conversation with the shore; or through fragrant eucalyptus and other trees on a hillside, where hummingbirds and the “birds of a thousand tongues” (as I call them; some know them as mockingbirds) and skydancing crows teach their own insights about blossoms and trees and wind to anyone who stops to listen. The rocks jutting out of the hillside are telling you ancient things they would like you to think about; the sea crashing against the foot of a high cliffpoint reminds you that this “solid land” you think you’re standing on is in reality more like it looks—the prow of a vast ship slowly making its journey across that endless, rolling ocean. None of these, or the thousands of other lessons that heaven and Earth and its inhabitants want to show us, are typically available in books—but they’re available year-round, at any time you take a deep breath, pause, and listen.

So those are the things I really wish I could bring you here—but since I can’t ship you some seawater through this page, the next best I can do is talk with you about some of that journey (and maybe sometimes include some images or videos that will capture a little more of it). And since you’re reading this, you probably aren’t somewhere outside among all those things (in fact, if you are—why are you looking at a computer?!), so instead, I hope this will be a little sort of window you can look or step through on part of your own journey among the things that really count, and I hope you will pass some of that journey along through this window back to these pages.

Have a wonderful time along the way!


My garden appears to be sinking like the Titanic, yet I'm putting on a cheery face.

My garden appears to be sinking like the Titanic, yet I’m putting on a cheery face.