Like a whisper in the dark sending shivers down our spine unable to hear the words…we search in vein, looking to the skylight above for tiny shards of beaming Star-ness, we look for our meaning. Patterns and lines, held in place for eons but actually drifting, molding into new patterns…

A much ado has been made about crowds at the Lake of the Ozarks during the Covid outbreak but a strange fact has been left out of the story. Sure ….it was crowded at the one spot but the rest of the Ozarks is also a giant nature playground full…

Mysticism is a fascinating philosophical idea that cuts into our Collective knowledge of the WHAT reality even is. The Mystical has a long sorted history with ancient religions and tribal superstitions. In our modern world of atheism, humanism and transhumanism, those ancient ideas like mysticism, spiritualism and psychicism are tossed…

The Grand Finale… “Count down with me.. 10.9.8.7.6.5.4.3.2.1……” said the Voice from the crane held speakers. Boom… goes the fireball as the audience cheers, filling the air with a cacophony of sounds and heat. The Missouri Pyrotechnics Association begins the 15th annual Pyromusical competition called… The Sky Wars Invitational Fireworks…

Part 1 of the Midwest Firework wars. In the Midwest this week, two competing Firework events take the St Louis area by storm. Pyromania and Sky Wars rally for public support with a desperate legal battle over a name and the right to be called the best fireworks in the…

The story of our collective mind. What if….within your personal essence there are parts of you, parts that help create your human experience, what if some of those parts were collective in nature? The Hive…our collective human mind. This is not a new idea, those Greeks philosophers spelled IT out…

Medium like any app created to maximize profit while simultaneously forming a legacy that will go into the future…contains talented writers who strive for a distinct delusion…. fleeting fame and readership. …

….Blinks in America…. My ancestor came to America in 1847. It was the dead of winter and he was 17 years old. The long journey across the Atlantic ocean began without a proper destination. …

It was so very dark, and a mist drifted across the river as I searched with tiny senses for the edge. My green boots touched rock and I waited for that splash of water. It was so dark I couldn’t see my Lover on the bank, or the light of…