I am in search of the numinous. I wander. The tragedy with wanderers is that we are homesick — always longing for a home we have never known.

I am a pilgrim without progress. Without shrine. I beg for alms on the way. But I find the gates are always closed.

I write about philosophy, education, literature, and art. I am drawn to the mystical, the weird, the surreal — for their beauty and their tragedy.