What I might have written about

When I’m quiet, that’s when the
truth emerges. A clear sky, the clouds like white
Underneath, a little gray house,
the azaleas
red and bright pink. ~ Louise Glück

I wanted to write this whole thing about silence and quiet and how my phone is poisoning my ability to find either. And I couldn’t quite find it. The internal noise is maybe a bit too much right now.

So, instead, I’m just reflecting on the above poem, by the recent winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature. Congratulations, Louise. The truth of what she’s pointing to is so connected to what it is that I find myself looking for. That quiet. To be that silent.

To see the whole world, in entirety.

Going to go on a limb and cross-post this to Substack. Curious what happens. Only one way to know


The conversation we’re already in

Get it right, Flynn. These words better count. They better make a difference. They better be the thing the world has been waiting for. Oh, and the next ones as well — change the world!

No pressure there.

I have to remind myself every day that I’m on a step-by-step journey. That we all are. Anything we do will have the impact it has. That’s about it. Sometimes that impact is a big impact. Sometimes it’s nil as they say in places that use the term nil’. No way to know before hand1.

My friend and teacher Jesse used to say that everything we do is a question we ask of the world. And everything that happens after is a response. In this way, we are in a conversation with all of existence. Is this any different? Could it be?

Engaging in the conversation is what matters. Of course, the conversation has to be two way to be useful. And if not useful, than at least interesting. Hell if it can’t at least be interesting, then let’s move on. We all have Instagram to check.

So, let’s make it two way. Care to try?

Going to go on a limb and cross-post this to Substack. Curious what happens. Only one way to know

  1. Sure. There are times you can know. But let’s be honest, they’re rare, right? That’s what I thought.



This morning I found myself reflecting on a reality that I’ve been wanting to deny: fall is here. That means darker, shorter days. It means wetter days. It means colder days. I’ve long said that one of my favorite days of the year is the winter solstice, because starting that day, each day gets a little bit longer. But the fall, well I’ve always thought of it as a season to just get through.

Part of what I’ve been reflecting on is how, if anything, this desire to get through’ a full 25% of the year is a symptom of my disconnection from the natural cycles of things. Everything moves in cycles. At least, everything that naturally occurs within the world. The seasons are maybe some of the most tangible cycles that we can experience, so it would make sense that they might be a place to notice where we are out of sync.

And why wouldn’t we be? We’ve built a world that is all about being out of sync. Indeed, it’s a world that promises to sell you back the experience of being in sync1. I could write on and on about this, but don’t have time before dinner.

I think my point here is that the seasons can be a finger pointing at a greater truth: being in sync with the natural rhythms of the world is life-giving. And so what does this say about my (our) relationship with life? What might we do differently? How might we begin to adjust this relationship?

To start, I’m going to take a breath and try to appreciate this fall. Not try to get through it; to experience it.

With gratitude.

  1. N’Sync. Lol.



We can’t rely on our systems to save us. They perform as designed. If you have a system that can elect a president that the minority of people voted for, it is working as designed. If you have a system that continuously disenfranchise members of a specific community — be they BIPOC, LGBTQ, and others — it is working as designed.

We’re six weeks away from the election. If we are relying on our systems — be they electoral, judicial, or otherwise — to save us, we are sunk.

The only thing that can ultimately save us is us waking up to our ability to ask what we want, and then to build new systems. Systems that work as designed…to serve us all.


What was I going to write about?

I had this topic. It felt alive and juicy 1. I remember thinking, yeah, that’s a good one. I have some things to say about that.

I was straightening up in the kitchen, and thought, oh, when I’m done here, I’m going to go write that blog post. The one about….’

That was it. Poof. Like smoke. No, not like smoke, because smoke dissipates (and if you’re on the West coast, you know that smoke does not necessarily dissipate). Poof…like steam? I dunno. Gone, anyway.

I’m not sure if this is just me trying to remember what I was going to write about, or simply me trying to convince myself that I had something good. Maybe it’s both. Or neither. All we can say is that it’s compelling2.

That’s it. That’s what I’ve got for you today3. May you and yours be healthy and well.

  1. I’m truly sorry for using this adjective. It is true, but not right at the same time.

  2. LOL.

  3. I actually have a relatively good excuse for this. I’m exhausted. I slept like crap last night.



Revisiting something I wrote last year, I’m reflecting on what I started two years ago.

I’ve written less in the second year than in the first. But this time I’m commemorating on the actual anniversary! (And even with a second post).

I’m not going to count how many posts there are. It’s not important. What is important, to me at least, is the ongoing nature of this thing. It’s still here. So am I. What might year three bring?

Happy two years, Liberat.es.