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. A pilgrim without progress. A pilgrim without shrine. I beg for alms on the way. But I find the gates are always closed. Then I wail and prostrate outside.

I am a poet, a photographer, a naturalist, and an essayist.

I write about philosophy, education, literature, and art. I don't see any of these as separate from each other.