Resurrection

as a non-Christian with a deep love of Christ's teachings, Easter is a strange one for me... i have always loved the resurrection story, much as i love the nativity... but both of these stories, to me, are allegorical and symbolic... they represent the power of faith, love, innocence, and the power of the great i am... of mystery... I've been trying to put down my thoughts about easter as they relate to our current events... here is what i came up with...

When Christians talk about the resurrection, it’s natural to see it as the center of the faith, a sign of God’s power. Across history and into the present, some Christian movements have treated the resurrection as decisive proof that Christianity alone holds divine authority, a logic that has been used to justify everything from the Crusades, to missionary domination to modern Christian nationalism. When the resurrection becomes a credential for superiority rather than a symbol of transformative love, it stops reflecting Jesus and starts reflecting empire. I don’t believe the resurrection was meant to float above history as a kind of cosmic trophy. It happened inside a very real world, under a very real empire, to a man whose way of living challenged the systems people depended on. Remembering that context doesn’t diminish the miracle; it actually deepens it.

When the resurrection gets pulled out of that context, it can turn into something abstract, it becomes a proof to defend, a badge of validity, or a reason to claim that Christianity should hold cultural or political primacy. That’s where things get dangerous. Using the resurrection as evidence that Christians have spiritual validity over others is not only historically disconnected, it runs against the spirit of Jesus’ life. He wasn’t trying to build a ruling class; he was revealing a way of being that made systems of domination unnecessary.

And alongside the Christian story, it’s also worth remembering that this seasonal ritual has carried meaning long before Christianity - in the old festivals of Ostara, the rites of spring, and the celebrations of thaw, fertility, and returning light. Those traditions honor the earth’s own resurrection: seeds waking, animals birthing, the world shaking off winter’s grip. Holding these stories together doesn’t diminish the Christian hope; it roots it in the wider human experience of renewal. It reminds us that resurrection, in all its forms, is part of a much older rhythm - one that belongs to the whole earth, not just one faith.

If we keep the historical context in view, the resurrection becomes something far more challenging and beautiful, it becomes a symbol of the transcendent and transformational power of love. It shows what happens when a life rooted in compassion, humility, and justice confronts the powers of its time - and those powers fail to stop it. That’s not a mandate for Christians to dominate society; it’s a reminder that God’s love keeps rising wherever systems try to bury it. That kind of resurrection is still revolutionary today, and it’s exactly why movements that seek political control in the name of Christ should be approached with caution. They’re repeating the logic of the very systems Jesus disrupted.

What we show up for

 I went to a basketball tournament this weekend to watch my youngest daughter play.

She’s the first of my three girls to choose basketball. She’s scrappy. Fierce. Still learning the edges of herself. I love watching her carve a path that belongs only to her. There is something quietly astonishing about seeing girls grow into their strength—competing, working, failing, trying again, and still shaking hands at the end.

Tournaments stretch long. As the day wears on, patience thins. Brackets shrink. Voices get louder. What begins as fun and learning sometimes drifts toward something harder, sharper.

At one game, a few people near me crossed that line. Sarcastic comments. Disparaging remarks about our team. Not much kindness for their own. The kind of noise that doesn’t help anyone play better.

One of our dads—passionate, vocal—reacted to a call. He raised his voice. The people near us turned on him, fast and mean. He didn’t absorb it well. The moment tightened. I felt it in my chest before I understood it in my head.

I stepped in. Told everyone to settle down. Reminded them why we were there. Kids. Learning. The game.

And then my body revolted.

My ears rang. Adrenaline surged. That familiar, unwelcome flood. The kind that makes the world narrow and your breath feel borrowed. I sat there, heart racing, knowing things could have gone another way.

My wife had been high in the bleachers, camera in hand. She saw me before I said a word. At the next break she came down and stood with me—not to fix anything, just to be there. A physical harbor. Sometimes that’s enough.

The game ended. No more incidents, though the rudeness lingered. We drove home separately. Forty minutes on the highway gave my thoughts too much room.

More than once, anxiety rose so fast I thought I might need to pull over.

But as I turned into my village, nearing my street, something shifted.

It occurred to me that I had been tested.

Not in a heroic way. Not loudly. Just in the quiet, ordinary way life asks us who we are when things get uncomfortable. I had stood up for something I believe in—that youth sports are about growth and joy, not adult egos. That our kids deserve better than the worst versions of us.

I had been willing to say that out loud. Even with risk. Even with fear.

That realization stopped me harder than the anxiety had. I had to sit with it. Gratitude welled up—not for the conflict, but for the clarity. For the reminder that courage doesn’t always feel strong. Sometimes it feels like shaking hands and ringing ears and a long drive home.

a nation of immigrants

 ic

American immigration‑enforcement in 2026 feels like our government built a very expensive anxiety machine and then pretended it was a moral stance. It’s the same old story—just with a new coat of nationalistic branding and a big tech budget. We’ve always had a talent for deciding who counts as “us” and who counts as “them,” but now we’ve wrapped it in unmarked Tahoes and tactical vests.

ICE, as a concept, is basically the country standing at its own front door pretending it doesn’t remember who built the damn house. A nation of immigrants performing amnesia with perilous procedural detachment. There’s certainly nothing conservative or “small government” about it. You can practically hear the paperwork groaning under the weight of its own self‑importance. What does the GOP stand for at this point?

You’ve expanded, by billions of dollars, a federal department to stand at the door of a country built by people who kicked down someone else’s. It is a curious thing to watch a nation of immigrants spend so much energy pretending it was born immaculate.

And the rhetoric—my god. “Protecting the border,” as if hope were something dangerous, a controlled substance. As if the real danger is the person crossing a line in the dirt rather than the country losing its grip on its own promises. People talk like newcomers are going to steal jobs, culture, stability. Buddy, that’s been the American story from the start, from the first time an immigrant landed on its shores asking for a chance at a new life, free from persecution…

The trouble with your enforcement agency is not that it enforces. Every nation enforces something. The trouble is that it enforces fear with the enthusiasm of a revival preacher and the subtlety of a plane crash..

The system itself runs on a kind of steady, procedural, institutionalized worry. Detention centers that echo mistakes we keep insisting we’ve learned from. A structure that’s very efficient at locking people up and very bad at remembering they’re human. It is a grand American tradition to blame the newest arrivals for the oldest failures.

If America wishes to guard its gates, it should at least have the decency to remember who built the hinges holding those gates in place. Until then, ICE will remain what it is: a mirror held up to a country that cannot decide whether it is a refuge or a fortress, and so performs the worst habits of both.

better

 this week i binged several episodes of Your Favorite Band Sucks

I watched Thor with 'Zilla

I enjoyed watching kids ride horses, and swim in races, and play vollyball

one kid had a very nervous stomach

about going somewhere new

for the first time

with new people

and performing under pressure...

I understood her nerves.

It was not hard to have empathy for that situation.

She not only survived, but thrived in that situation.

Excelled... beyond even her own expectations.

I continue to worry...

about my mental and physical health

and pretty much that of everyone around me...

I have not written much

in the last week...

But i did work a bit

on the Portals story...

A new take... a new approach...

and I worked a lot on music for She Kills Monsters

Took some of the tunes to rehearsal

To play while they fleshed out fight choreography

Work has been interesting

an appropriate reflection of the sort of 

gooey, floating feeling i have in general right now.

Making progress

finding my footing 

but feeling anxious

that i don't know more

that i don't do more

that i am not enough 

doing or knowing 

...

this seems to be a constant

in creative pursuits

areas i volunteer

as a father and husband

as a son

and doing whatever it is that i do professionally...

the constant internal monologue 

doubting that i am giving enough...

anyone else always assume

when a coach

or a director

or a boss 

is talking about a chain being as strong as the weakest link

they are talking about you...

always think you could do more

be better

work harder?

what is up with that?

and when did i get so glum?

I used to be captain positive on here.

I'll aim for that next week...

Trying

I have a goal...

I mean i have had a goal

Seems like i always have a goal

or some goals

I am trying

there are some things 

I want to do more

That i know i will feel better

if i do more

Writing this blog on a regular basis is one of them

(the other two are reading more and getting more exercise... i think these have been things i try and do more of since i was 11 years old...)

So i am trying

I am going to try

and post at least once a week

and hopefully more often

I am going to try

and be okay with just posting whatever...

The thoughts

that go through my head

notes about what i have been thinking about

what i have been googling

i know what Yoda said...

But i don't think i agree...

I think sometimes the best we can do is try...

Anyway...

this week i have been googling 

• Eugene Thacker
• Georges Bataille
• Pronoia
• Hypno Fangs (i think this would be a good band name)
• The song Dream Girl by Idina Menzel from the new Cinderella
• Meow Wolf

I have been listening to a lot of crunchy guitar metal and 90's industrial as i it will likely be the musical landscape for the show i am currently sound designing...

I have also been listening to a lot of Chemical Brothers

I have been reading Heir of Fire by Sarah J. Maas, and re-reading Memories Dreams and Reflections by Carl Jung..

I have been writing stories in my head... when i walk the dog... about portals to parallel dimensions...opened by art of the unconscious... and about prophets of the singularity... 

i have been on an emotional roller coaster; marriage, parenting, teenagers... pets... homeownership...

I have been trying to schedule a million meetings for work... and for volunteering... and even for my family....

I have watched my amazing athlete daughters play in volleyball games and swim meets... i have empathized with the youngest who missed two of her last three soccer games  and who's final game of the season we had to miss... i have gone on a few hikes in the woods... and searched for air pods... 

i have been playing with the dog

i stretched every morning

i worked out once this week - i will try to work out more next week...

i went to an artisan fair and bought an old fashioned shave kit...

made banana bread... and cinnamon roles...

marinated pork for three days then grilled it...

did a million dishes and a few loads of laundry...

perpetually tidied the house... 

and thats just a bit...

I guess we'll check in in about a week and see where things are at...

I may post random bits and pieces between now and then...

But next sunday I'll write some more...

have a good week.

perfect way

 i can not get the song perfect way out of my head

you know the one

by Scritti Politti

also

i keep having freakishly realistic

vivd, lucid,

cogent dreams in the morning

as i am waking up.

they feel like hypnogogic visitations.

and i can't shake the feeling that it is 

"the other side"

communicating with me

sending me some message

that there is a force there

an entity

in that reality

or in my mind

or on that plane of existence

trying to connect with me

to tell me something.

i wake up thinking about how 

and why

and is it astral projection?

yesterday i woke up and instantly googled astral projection and started reading about soul connections 

and entities reaching out to each other. 

and it all seems a little...

goofy...

but it doesn't feel goofy.

and it feels like 

the message is 

just be yourself,

just let it all out, 

keep going,

you're on the right path,

but you don't need to try so hard,

and you don't need to be anything other than what you are.

and its strange that 

i feel i need to hear that message so badly

at nearly fifty years old.

because

i feel like i have been trying to be me 

so hard

my whole life.

and it's not easy

and most of the time i feel like i am fucking things up 

like i am not good enough

like i should be doing something 

different 

to be better.

Now as a father

I see my kids

falling into this same 

pattern

is it a trap...

this habit

of making lists

of ways to improve

just living?

ways to be better 

at life?

and i realize the messages

we get all around us

from TV and Media

and mass marketing

and school 

and everywhere...

the message,

the habit forming doctrine...

the tweets and posts, and youtube videos are all sharing the message

one way or another 

to "be better"

at being you

improve yourself

smell better

look better

feel better

they all contribute to this inadequacy brainwave. 

even the messages 

telling you you're enough 

seem to have a tone of 

hey, let it go...

stop worrying, 

be better at not worrying.

i don't want my kids to have this habit

but i wonder if it is inescapable

and i wonder if its in our hearts

in our minds

built in human nature

or if its a cultural predilection

does everyone feel this way?

I have often gotten the compliment

"you're so comfortable in your own skin"

"you're good at just being yourself"

"you seem to be at ease with yourself"

and it's always felt strange

because i appreciate the compliment 

and i understand it. 

I do tend to put it all out there

and let the pieces fall.

but i don't feel at ease

very often.

and it seems like have always felt like 

who i am in my own skin

is in dire need of improvements

and that just being myself,

in one way or another, seems to be a failing proposition 

a lot of the time...

just being myself means 

balls will be dropped.

but i guess

those morning messages 

are telling me... 

well... 

they are telling me to write it all down!

they are telling me to keep trying

i guess they want me to laugh

and find gratitude.

the morning voices

want me to understand

maybe... 

that striving to improve 

is part of who i am 

and doesn't mean 

that i am not good enough...

and that wanting to be better

does not have to be tied to 

feelings of inadequacy

or disappointment...

that hope may not be 

the antidote 

to disillusion

but it is the perfect way

to keep

trying 

to 

fully 

be me.

Tonight...

Tonight
The basement has that sweet disquieting scent of rotting fruit
Like maybe there’s an apple or an apple core in some bag somewhere down there...
Or a spilled juice... or broken cider bottle...

Tonight
I told my fourteen year old that for every hour that she spends listening to Tyga or Curtis Roach or Doja Cat or whoever that she had to spend ten minutes listening to Wu Tang or Tribe, or Common...
She was like okay...
And I realized I sounded like my old man talking about Creedence and the Eagles...
And I realized some of the Wu Tang raps might not be great for my fourteen year old daughter because of how they talk about women...


Tonight
The middlest, the most avid reader, got shocked by her bedside light and it blew...
And the bulbs are good - but two lights in her room straight up just don’t work.
I took it apart once before and re-wired it to the best of my ability
So I’m praying we don’t have an electrical issue cause how you gonna deal with an electrician during a pandemic

Tonight
dinner came out of the freezer
And it was good enough

Tonight
We walked around the block
And took the long way

Tonight
The tiny cut on my thumb
From where I sliced it
Sharpening my pocket knife yesterday
Stings like crazy

Tonight
I am trying to keep the fanatics out of my mind
I am trying to keep the fundamentalists extremists out of my mind
I am trying to keep the imbecile at the helm
And his incompetent, ill-equipped team...
Out of my mind.
I am trying not to think about testing
And contact tracing
And what those things mean for our future
And our democracy
And our civil liberties.
I am trying not to think about the after
And if there will be one...
Because at this point i am pretty sure there’s not a back to normal...
But I’m sure there will be the next phase
And i am hoping that it means
Leaning into love
For more of us
And not leaning into the abyss...

Tonight
I am listening to the new Fiona Apple album.