For my entire life—and in my professional practice—I have seen a particular phenomenon play out repeatedly. When I am suffering, I can always point to a way in which I have fallen out of alignment with my best awareness of the person I am designed to be in the world. On the other hand, when I am fully in alignment, the Universe always steps in to take c…

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‘Tis burning season.

Yes, I have been to Burning Man. I traveled there—by myself—in 2016.

The plan was to join my best friend, a seasoned Burner. At the last minute, she had an injury that prevented her from going. Undaunted, I packed my pup tent and as many supplies as I could carry on my own and set out on the adventure. Getting there—with a week’s worth of essentials dragging behind me—was an ordeal. Dust was everywhere. Upon arriving, we all rolled around in it as an opening ritual. After that, the dust didn’t matter so much.

I volunteered for the Café Camp, where I worked as a barista and also performed some original songs on the café stage. Between shifts, I explored the sights and offerings. One memorable highlight was getting my hair washed—an incredibly satisfying, nourishing experience. Discovering wonderful resting places, people-watching, admiring the art and engaging with fellow burners filled the hours and fed my soul.

This was not a week of reckless sex and drugs, as some assume. Mostly, the Burner experience offered opportunities to be immersed in Burning Man values, within a unique economy in which no money was exchanged. People simply shared talents and acts of service and enjoyed the offerings of others. “The Playa provides,” as they say, and in the end, we agreed to leave it just as we found it.

These values were seriously honored. No waste cans were provided. Whatever trash we produced, we needed to take back with us. I remember sitting on a roof, eating an apple. When I reached the core, I decided to eat the whole thing—seeds and all.

I treasure my time on the Playa, including watching the Davinci-inspired Man burn at the end.

I remain a proud Burner.

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Well. I have never seen that before.

Remember, I never use artificial intelligence in any of my posts. This is an actual photo, taken by me this morning.

This refrain—“never seen that before”—has been repeating at a sobering frequency, as I have been privy to—and witness to—building evidence of accelerating climate change.

When I travel out of town for any…

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This bizarre image is the remnant of a dream.

I have not been paying attention. A growth has formed on the bottom of my foot, and by the time I notice, it is a sizable protrusion. I feel no pain and wonder how I have managed to walk on this growth without noticing.

My first impulse is to cut it off myself. It seems more prudent (though embarrassing) to se…

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One of my favorite actors is Peter Dinklage. I loved him in “The Station Agent” and the epic “Cyrano.” Go see them if you haven’t! (I never saw him in “Game of Thrones,” owing to my low tolerance for brutality in films.)

Last night Peter Dinklage entered a dream—as a romantic interest.

I have learned not to take dreams too literally. In this case, upon wa…

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The binary of stacking strengths and concerns, positives and negatives, good and bad into separate piles has always offended my artistic sensibilities.

A medical model looks for what is wrong and tries to fix it.

As an artist, when I am presented with a block of wood that has a knot in it, no part of me wants to cut out that knot and/or replace it with a …

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My brain is mush.

Normally I write in the morning, but today I had to rise early to keep a professional commitment—leading an accreditation site visit in a new-to-me city.

I had a full day: in-person meetings followed by zoom meetings with briefer meetings squeezed in between. A natural introvert, I was done-in by the day’s end.

Twelve hours later I am bac…

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There will never be another Dolly.

I think the great wonder of Dolly Parton is how fully she embodied herself.

I do not remember a world without Dolly in it. Some of my earliest memories involve Dad hushing everyone in the house, because the Grand Ole Opry—featuring Porter Wagner and Dolly Parton—was about to begin. He never missed it. Dolly Parton was his favorite. Mine, too.

I phoned Dad last night to share the news. He told me he had been watching her all day on Fox News. To be so dearly loved by a person like my Dad and a person like me—with vast generational, personality and political differences—what a remarkable bridge she was.

I admire Dolly’s talents as a songwriter, performer, and philanthropist. Most endearingly, she was an icon of human kindness and integrity.

No, there will never be another Dolly. And it does not feel right to aspire to that. Dolly would want each of us to be the best versions of ourselves we can be. And that is no small feat.

Imagine the courage and determination Dolly had to muster to fully be herself—weathering storms, picking herself up when she fell, sashaying past doubters, extending that unparalleled love and light even to haters.

How aligned are you with your own purpose? Have you fallen off track?

Suffering can be a sign of that. Nothing feels better than living into the best version you have to offer the world. The Universe rewards that sort of alignment with everything you need to continue on your path.

Becoming the best version of myself in the world has been my own deepest desire, and honestly, I am still working it out. Guided by Dolly’s light.

Thank you, Dolly Parton. What a life. You did it!

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I have a box of 24 “multicultural” markers. That may seem like a lot, but they barely touch the true variety in skin colors—even within a single person. Anyone who has ever tried to match a foundation color knows what I mean.

Consider your own arm. A season ago, would it look the same? How about a few days after a Cuban vacation? Suppose you were ill and homebound for a year; might you go a little pale?

When I go out on a sunny day, I return with freckles all over my face.

Skin color arises from our relationship with the environment. This can change over time and generations.

Yet, all humans are made of the same stuff. At the DNA level, we are 99.9% identical, meaning there is no genetic basis for race. Race is a human construct.

Standing in line to apply for a driver’s license, you hear a clerk ask, “Race?” Imagine the absurdity of that. And yet, what else can we do but respect an individual’s stated claim on their own identity? How about the absurdity of another person—outside that person’s skin—arguing with their claim? You know it happens.

Humans born to a different planet with less gravity than ours might look taller and slimmer. Would we place them in a class superior or inferior to our own “race”? They might be no different from us on the inside—with nearly identical DNA—just influenced by their environment.

One could argue further that colors do not even exist “out there,” except as abstract vibrational data. Our brains perceive and interpret that data.

Paul Newman reportedly lacked any appreciation for his striking blue eyes. He was color blind.

I do not wish for color blindness. Why not celebrate all those beautiful colors instead?

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I recall a 2024 Mauritshuis museum study that compared responses to original paintings with responses to poster versions of the same works. The authors found that the original paintings elicited a compelling need to approach and evoked emotional reactions ten times more powerful than what the posters inspired.

The Girl with a Pearl Earring attracted the …

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In last night’s dream an almost-finished book I was writing suddenly vanished. I woke to realize I had been dreaming, and my initial panic dissipated. Then I remembered an actual experience from my late twenties:

I held a position overseeing thirteen offices for the Epilepsy Foundation’s training and placement service. A key responsibility involved preparing quarterly reports, summarizing outcomes and highlights from our various locations.

Working late on a Friday night, I was finishing a report, due on Monday, when a severe thunderstorm hit. The entire computer system crashed. I froze. The generator engaged, power returned, and I frantically tried everything to retrieve the report—to no avail.

I packed up, dragged myself home in a stupor, knocked on my neighbor’s apartment door, and asked if he would kindly make me a drink. Mark had a talent for that. (To this day, on the rare occasion that I order a cocktail, it is usually a Salty Dog.)

I slept in. Then started over. A few barely legible, handwritten notes were all I had to work from. I submitted my new 20-page report on time.

Later that week, something happened that had never happened before. I received a personal note from the Executive Director complimenting me on the “finest report” he had “ever received from my department.”

That experience taught me something about the power of letting go and starting over. Had that catastrophic event not happened, I would never have held Dr. McLin’s note in my hand.

“Post-traumatic growth” points not only to recovery but also to remarkable achievements after people endure horrific losses. Like a grieving parent who, in the aftermath of losing a child, launches a public health organization that saves countless lives. The first step in post-traumatic growth? The complete dismantling of a worldview.

Think about that.

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Yesterday I rewatched “The Big Lebowski,” a classic film by the Coen brothers. I had heard that the Dude embodies the 9 (Peacemaker) personality, and he did indeed demonstrate some key qualities: (1) an ability to mediate conflict (albeit grudgingly)—in support of a primary drive for harmony; (2) a tendency for “couch potato” status (reflecting high ser…

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In The Assault on Truth (1985), Jeffrey Massan recounts how Freud saw many patients who disclosed experiences of childhood sexual abuse and violence. He believed them. Treated them. Wrote about the connection to adult mental illness.

Backlash from colleagues prompted Freud to seek a creative way to continue his work while preserving his professional imag…

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On the heels of yesterday’s reflections on how we perceive different dimensions, I find myself preoccupied with toroidal fields.

A simple, archetypal image—the mandorla, shown above, comprised of two intersecting circles—can serve as a starting point to launch an exploration of toroidal fields. Multiply these overlapping circles, and we might arrive at a…

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Last night’s dream:

I come up with an idea for a novel form of signage in which images appear in three dimensions. In one sign I render a disc-shaped craft that cuts through a space between the words of a standard billboard. I forget about the idea until another person introduces it; an ad executive makes a presentation before a group that includes me. L…

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Socrates introduced the ancient Greek term amathia: a deep-seated state of willful ignorance—the key word here being willful, denoting a refusal to listen and learn—distinguishing the state from blind ignorance.

I have recently seen this term referenced to explain polarization, stalemates and estrangement, increasingly common phenomena among neighborhoods, families and friend groups. “I can’t talk to them!” “They won’t listen to reason!” “How can they not see this obvious truth?”

With blind ignorance, where some measure of willingness to listen and learn exists, minds can be moved, changed and enlightened. Change is far more difficult with a willfully ignorant person. Maybe even impossible. In those cases, the person at odds with us may seem daft, stupid, blindly ignorant. Indeed, we may seem the same to them. Those gripped by amathia do not necessarily lack intelligence, either. They may not even be conscious of their “willful ignorance.”

How can we navigate impossible situations like this?

First, I think we need to look at what drives amathia, which I believe is generally shaped and fed by a state of fear, uncertainty and insecurity. The underlying fear explains why arguments can feel so emotionally loaded. Nobody wants to feel this way. If certain beliefs offer relief, we (especially “6 - Loyalist” personality types) may cling to those beliefs.

Amathia can be driven by outside forces served by a state of willful ignorance, too. Ruling classes may benefit from people being pitted against each other. Loyalty to the powers-that-be can be offered as a path to rescue and relief.

Socrates taught that the solution to amathia lay in an openness to critical thinking, the ability to leverage intelligence and see the bigger picture. Another important ingredient, I think, lies in building trusting and trustworthy relationships that make an openness to influence feel safer.

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Isn’t it amazing how much a little cup of coffee can lift a mood?

In moderation, coffee offers an array of health benefits: antioxidants (which reduce inflammation), regulation of blood sugar levels, and, as already mentioned, enhanced mood and focus. Some say coffee can extend your lifespan. I believe some science exists to support that surprising obser…

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I have taken reasonably good care of my body during my sixty-seven years. I never smoked, I rarely drink, and I am generally health-conscious. I have always been mentally active, and I have all my “original parts”—excepting a dental crown or two that now need replacing.

In my dream last night, while I appeared as the same age I am now, I was aware that I…

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I fucked up.

I often try to do too much, cram more than I should into my days. On one particular day this past week, I got busy and did not pause to carefully consider my next step. I simply jumped in my car and rushed on to my next thing.

Yesterday, my carelessness caught up with me. Worse, my error affected another person—a client, who required more min…

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Dreaming and doom-scrolling are similar in some ways. Both activities frequently happen in bed. And both seem somewhat random. Neither really is.

Each dream brings forward content from our daily experiences, worries, wishes, unfinished business—some of it hauled up from far afield in the depths of consciousness. Images enter our dreams with gifts of wisd…

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