I’ve never seen such color,
plucked from my cave in the snow
contemplating the void...
transported to
this tropical madness.

I am here and it is beautiful.

I breathe.

Everything here is so alive.


I don’t understand it…
the universe is intelligent.

The energy flowing
through this
world is searching
for something…

Searching for

Searching for
warmth and
and complexity.

The particles and waves
that make up
this heaven are intelligent.

I don’t know
to say it
with as much
grace as it

But I believe
it is true…

The universe
is intelligent.



I am attempting
to become
the past…

to become our
ancient ancestors
and see the
stars as mysterious

how would I try
to make sense of

Those glowing

Arranged in
peculiar patterns…

Blips of light…


I sit in a room all day and
emerge into my own mind.

Asking to touch organ,
to become fire,
to use language to
transcend something
not physical...

The stars inside
me ask to speak.

Speak up tiny dots...

Tell me why our
ancestors chose
the stories they did.

Tell me all the
things they saw.

Tell me what I
need to see.



Look into the decay.

The way nature obeys it.

The symbols are abounding.

Everywhere I look... something speaks.

My brain is seeking a specific frequency.

The story speaks of infinity and limitations.

Scoops of clouds and
choosing and becoming
something specific.

I feel my brain attempting
to make meaning from chaos.

I must pay attention to this process.

I am my own experiment...

My own experience.


I am sleepy.

Work comes and
goes and I don’t know
what to do
besides sleep.


A billion years
in these fingertips.

Tell me stars,
tell me what you know…

Tell me what you have seen.


I am going to sleep, and I ask
you.. please give me truth,
give me discernment… give
me the gifts I need that I don’t
know how to ask for…

Give me the wisdom I
can’t quite taste.


The symbols are meaningless
trash without the narrative
to find stories within them.

Context is the breath
that makes anything,
no matter how small or simple,
hold value.

It is my task, not as an artist,
but as a human being
promised only this one life...
to see more fully.

The biggest obstacle,
and gift,
is time.

I must trust that
this is the way
it has always worked.


Ancient people take baby bears
and kill them,
thinking they are returning
gods to their homes.

Thankful for their meat.

Indians starve to death
while sacred cows meander around them.

These worlds overlapping
are a thousand nothings.

I am a time traveler
who doesn’t know how
to start a conversation
with strangers.

I just keep writing.

Thankful for books.

Bears and fire.

History and madness.

I do not know how to
summarize these things.

These things I don’t understand.

I must let them breathe into me.

Asking what I can learn
from moving slower.

Slower still.


We have no initiation ceremonies.


Week one is over.

This is what the end
of week one looks like.

Long days.

Quiet nights.

Please help
me understand.

Please help me
what is important.



Why do I wake early
with my brain

You stir something
inside me.

Something is
stirring inside me.


I am very far
from everyone I love.

This place reminds
me how important
family and friends are.

How sad the world
is with no one to sit
and drink coffee with.


Can you trust the universe?

Can you trust fate?


I emerge from my
cocoon of thoughts
and sleep...

I do not understand
this mystery but I am
thankful to be alive.

My dreams were kind to
me in the night,
giving me soft moments
of adventure.


These symbols
are tools to
commune with
the divine,
to commune
with whatever
mystery is asking
for unfolding.


Who knew that
a tiny dung beetle
could tell stories about
life and death…

Who knew that a
tiny dung beetle could
inspire the architecture
of a temple?

Who knew?

Not me.





First you see the light
she casts...

Then her edges...

Then just her light again,
that makes everything else shadow.

Cast on the water in the sky…

Then she hides, and we
see the stars...

We see the infinite black...

The infinite space all around us.

It is in that space that we
see ourselves...

Standing on the end of a dock
alone, peacefully alone... excepting
that there are no promises besides
a life in this one body.

The waves break...

In the silence my imagination
turns her into the deer.

The deer becomes a woman.

We fall in love.

Then she turns back into
a deer... and I watch her return to
the forest...

I cannot go with her.


It is as if we captured the gods from the sky.

We gave them eyes to look into.

And then we killed them.


You are the sphere.

You are the boy with a thousand questions never answered.



The moon dies
and more sky water
appears and we sleep
and sleep and it all turns...

I am here.

Using these short moments to
breathe before another day
of work.

It is a special form of consciousness
when you begin to see the trees
as manifestations of the universe...


Two butterflies



The dance requires space
between touching.



The cat is smelling
the blanket of infinite

I wonder what it smells like?



Week four day one...

My bike tire is flat.

I wish to be a part of the world.


We must assume for
a moment that in the same
way animals are operating on
different frequencies,
humans are operating on
different frequencies.

There is a spiritual relationship
unfolding between you and
the objects you behold.

Your ability to see the world
changes... or, your ability to
interact with, or notice
the world changes
depending on where
you give your attention.

Those that give
more energy to
their digital spirits,
will evolve in
different ways
than those who
choose to ask
more questions
in solitude.

Be careful which
frequency you sacrifice.


I watch,
as the universe
as I know it merges
and divides...

My limited mind
overlapping and
breaking like waves
over the complexity
which I can only
abstract into
poems... visualized
as shapes and webs,
never grasping...

Reality tears in half,
god inside the trees
speaking to the sun
in ancient language
lost to me...

Keep thinking of
the children.


The entire process
of life is being born
a boy and having
to become a man...

Being born an animal
and having to become
a human...

Being born a girl and
having to become
a woman...

Being born a child
and having to
emerge as
less innocent
but more full...

More capable...

Less potential...

But more everything else.


I do love the sentiment
of choosing, and the
melancholy of choosing
a specific path... inevitably
not choosing any infinite
other paths... but in that
choice, a specific doorway
opens that was not
possible before...

And so out of this
melancholy and this
acceptance of limitations
you can actually become

Where as before you were
infinite... now you become
finite... you have to grieve
this loss as a type of death,
which is part of growing up...

Shedding is a sacrifice
of self.


Keep paying attention
to where your consciousness
goes and to what you are
holding in your hands.



This is a moment
in between—

saver this gift
of space as much as
you can...

This vast
empty room
in a hotel you
never stayed at.

A hundred thousand
highways on the carpet,
leading to bubbly pockets
of different adventures.

It’s as if my
entire life sits ahead of

Between this chair
and the bathroom...

Three chandeliers with
tiers of opening lotus flowers...

Electric light
emerging from
open voids...

(photo by Chris Jones)

I believe it is important to share stories, to listen, and to express your relationship with life in whatever way it comes out. I am currently in Tampa, Florida.