Religion seems to have always offered us that false duality ... the silences of infinite space or the cozy comfort of inner certainty.

In twentieth-century Old Earth, a fast food chain took dead cow meat, fried it in grease, added carcinogens, wrapped it in petroleum-based foam, and sold nine hundred billion units. Human beings. Go figure.

Mystery. The strangeness of place so necessary to some creative spirits. A perfect mixture of the classical utopia and the pagan mystery.

... all good things beyond sleep come precisely because we defy gravity while we live.

It started 25 years ago, when I was teaching elementary school in a small town in Missouri

Poets are the mad midwives to reality. They see not what is, nor what can be, but what must become.

Barbarians, we call them, while all the while we timidly cling to our Web like Visigoths crouching in the ruins of Rome's faded glory and proclaim ourselves civilized.