In the soul’s delicious fog between our sleep and full wakefulness, consciousness emerges like a sly ventriloquist. Moving freely about the stage, it takes full advantage of the blurry atmospherics. These mornings on the cabin porch, when my sons emerge from their cabin sleep, I try to blend my voice with this ventriloquism. It’s a parent’s only hope of revising the coding errors of our contributions to their DNA.
How often we know far better than we manage to do. If wisdom were a basketball hoop it would be 15 feet off the ground, not the standard 10 feet. I probe my sons’ inner fogs: “Wisdom is knowledge lived over time,” I say. » Continue Reading.