The past few weeks make me wonder how much of the twists and turns I experience are outcomes of my obdurate tortoise approach to living. Is there determinism in tunnel – or more aptly ‘shell’ – vision?

Are the cultural vacancies that lead us down rabbit – or more aptly ‘hare’ – holes of behavior a direct result of choosing fresh conquest over the lessons and blaring neon signs of past experience?

In the wee hours, just after I last posted here, a fire started just down the mountain from my little studio and sent me fleeing again. It devoured homes and trees up and down a 9 mile swath of wine country and then leapt across a mile span at the north end of our valley near Calistoga to burn in a pattern grown disturbingly familiar over the western range into the town of Santa Rosa.

Trauma steals away a piece of self every time it strikes. The gateway back to the piece of self is the memory of trauma. It is both chicken and egg. I begin a looping insight into systemic behaviors. Are our obsessive, unconscious patterns just another way of seeking gateways to memories lost… to those pieces of self left behind?

Here I go again planting an underdeveloped idea with a hope I may return at some point to discern if a greater thought may be cultivated.

I’ve added a sitepage as an informal catalogue of relics and odd bits from various collections with the intention of posting once a week or so. It is called /reliquary and can be found through the link below.


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