We live on the leash of our senses. There is no way in which to understand the world without first detecting it through the radar-net of our senses.

Hit a tripwire of smell and memories explode all at once. A complex vision leaps out of the undergrowth.

And yet, words are the passkeys to our souls. Without them, we can't really share the enormity of our lives.

We're dabbling in eugenics all the time, breeding ideal crops to replace less aesthetic or nutritious or hardy varieties; leveling forests to graze cattle or erect shopping malls and condos; planting groves of a few familiar trees that homeowners and industries prefer.

It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.

We tend to think of memories as monuments we once forged and may find intact beneath the weedy growth of years. But, in a real sense, memories are tied to and describe the present. Formed in an idiosyncratic way when they happened, they're also true to the moment of recall, including how you feel, all you've experienced, and new values, passions, and vulnerability. One never steps into the same stream of consciousness twice.

We tend to think of heroes only in terms of violent combat, whether it's against enemies or a natural disaster. But human beings also perform radical acts of compassion; we just don't talk about them, or we don't talk about them as much.