Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, There is a field. I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,The world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
Doesn't make any sense.


This Rumi poem came to my mind (as cliché as it is) recently when thinking about binaries. The machine I'm writing this on right now uses binaries for operations, but so much of our world falls outside of the realm of two options. One could argue that even the transistors within this machine are also not a simple "OR" gate. The stream of energy that moves between the two end points can be broken down into a Zeno's paradox of motion when an outside electrical force is applied. The distances become ever smaller, but is there ever an absolute resolution when you have an infinite number line?


It is comfortable to believe there are fixed states- but what we know of the universe so far shows us that unchanging possibilities only clarify once we look. That's just my cursory understanding of it at least. I don't think the fields can be used to create straight up magic acts of healing or miracles, but I do believe in the proliferation of entanglement. I like to believe that the bonds we build between elements means something, and can affect the world, even if it is in miniscule, almost undetectable ways. Actions and intentions do matter, whether those be entwinements be electrical paths via our neurons (or possibly even smaller structures), or the more complex acts of vulnerability and experiences we forge with others.


Another good metaphor for this experience could be rainbows, and their indelible bands of colors that have no defined borders. A spectrum of light our retinas can detect when light passes through water droplets, seemingly starting and stopping with whatever range our cone cells within our eyes can handle. We know there are more bands though, well beyond what we can see, and it expands forever into the expanse from the warmth of life-giving combustion 23 minutes away. Connections between atoms that permeate into the infinite, radiating forever.






The beauty of human connections is that they mimic these natural connections. The range of relation holds no endpoints and no finalities as long as consent is granted from the parties, and the electrons can be shared or even exchanged between the individuals. Bonds can be formed in many ways: in passing exchange, in linked chains, or complex folded proteins that twist upon themselves. It takes knowledge and creation to figure out exactly how those attachments work. Sometimes you need to write the communication manual yourself, but often there are existing foundations that will lend you a hand. And sometimes the manual need not be specific, as long as there is agreement amongst all that: Yeah, things are undefined, but we think that's the best way to go about it right now.


And all things change. Those very particles that only settle once observed all have the probabilities to end up somewhere else- on another path, on another destination. Consensus about their connections is not set upon the firmament, to be unchanging forever. It is malleable. The instructions can show you how to unwind those strands; how to rearrange them; or how to let them go. We create our own guides.






But thinking about it too much can draw oneself away from that field. It is okay to accept that your connections are complex, lie in the middle of that meadow, and let your ideas, language, and phrases not make sense.

Good Friday & The Like

On April 14th I attended the Good Friday service at All Souls, Unitarian in Washington DC. It was a tenebrae service, based upon a tradition of worshiping in the shadow of the cross, in the darkness of the crucifixion. I did not know what to expect, but what I experienced was very powerful, and awe-inspiring. The combination of the church's organ and soloist with the story of death, betrayal, and fear affected me. My main focus was not of Judas's kiss, nor Peter's denial.

I focused on Jesus' fear of death.

How he threw himself down in prayer in the garden, asking if his betrayal and death be passed on. How his disciples fell asleep and could not stay with him in his time of thought and need. Jesus was alone with his thoughts of impending death, praying three times, checking in on his disciples between each prayer, and seeing their weakness. I cannot even begin to fathom his spirit's condition at that moment. But I do see a glimmer of my own fear of death and passing on.

It comforts me to see someone as highly regarded and holy as Jesus Christ have a fear of death. So often through the Midwestern narrative of Christianity, Jesus is portrayed as the all and ever loving idol who teaches the unrelentingly loving message of God. There is nothing wrong with him in the least. He holds no anger (except that one time in the Temple), he loves all people unconditionally and without pause, and he teaches lessons that I would eventually use myself.

But during the time in the garden we see Jesus scared and fearful. He is not stoic about his responsibility. He asks if his duty can pass. He agonized over his future death for three hours, at least. This scene allows me to relate to Jesus. While I do not know if my death is imminent, it is comforting to see a holy man fear his death. Many a-time I've stared at the ceiling in the dark after a long day and wondered why I must die as well. What does that mean for me, and the future of eternity after I'm gone? This usually happens after I've had a good day. I wonder why I have to leave this wonderful earth and all of it's beautiful inhabitants.


And then there is the actual moments leading up to, and involving the death of Jesus. Depending on what/how you read the story you will hear different things, but two things stand out to me:

The moment before death where Jesus calls out: "E′li, E′li, la′ma sa‧bach‧tha′ni?", which is translated from Aramaic to: "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" This moment means a lot to me. It is a show of desperation from Jesus, and really sends shivers down my back every time I read it or think about it. In his final moments Jesus calls aloud his abandonment in his time if need, and his leaving of his earthly body. Even while he accepted his responsibility in the garden, he still showed his desperation before his death. It just makes me hesitate for a moment, and I hope I can come to terms with my mortality before my passing, and that I will not be fearful.


The second item that brings me hope though is something that sticks with Jesus' all-encompassing love. It is earlier on when he says "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." This phrase connects directly in support of the idea of radical love. Radical love is the method of social change I subscribe to. Radical love is believing that every single human being is good, and that only through an appeal of love and forgiveness can we bend the moral arc of the universe towards justice. The idea/phrase is most associated with The Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr. and his efforts for justice in the civil rights movement of the 1960's. But there was a reason Martin Luther King Jr. was a Baptist Reverend first, and a Doctor second.

But back to Jesus. This moment of radical love shows the emphasis Jesus places on loving everyone, even if they are the ones to crucify him. To me, the fact that through all of his agony, and through all of his trials, he still holds radical love for his executioners, and that they should be forgiven because they have been misled and they hold only a veil of anger and hatred over their ultimately Good souls.

I think that is why I like All Souls and Unitarian Universalism (UU) so much. The UU faith has no dogma, nor canonical literature, but we do have our seven principles, and those come from a plethora of religious backgrounds and faith traditions. Those seven principles guide my life, and help me to carryout the best I can do in my everyday life. They include:

1. The inherent worth and dignity of every person
2. Justice, equity, and compassion in human relations
3. Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations
4. A free and responsible search for truth and meaning
5. The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregations and in society at large.
6. The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all
7. Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a apart

To me Jesus' story is one of hope and offers a wonderful reflection of a mortal man who had everlasting love for people. It fits directly into the Unitarian Universalist narrative. I've always had a tinge of cynicism about Christianity, especially how it is used sometimes in modern contexts. Yet, there is a way that Jesus' love, messages, and teachings really get to me. I'm not exactly sure of a definitive higher power that gives intentionality to life. But because Jesus claims be the son of that God, I have hope that, if that power is out there, they are an ever-present love that emanates across life.

All Souls, Unitarian DC. Easter Sunday service. Packed to the gills with people, guy playing the organ, choir singing. It was a beautiful day, if not a little warm, and I enjoyed the service very much.

Friendship and Reliance on Others

Those of you who know me really well may know that while I may be happy much of the time, I struggle a lot with confidence and sometimes I can get into some pretty large swings of negativity and self-doubt. This entry is a short addendum to the main blog post I put up over on my main blog "Washington to Washington". Click on the title there, or you can check out the most recent blog post here: "Capital Bikeshare and Exercise in the District"

I tend to rely heavily on friends when I enter into these spirals, and I have one specific friend to thank to bring me out of the negativity after I received the diagnosis of pre-diabetic. I will not name her here because I'm not sure if she wants to be mentioned in this blog, but needless to say I have her to thank for getting me up and out to do some sort of activity.

I try to appreciate and keep up with my friends, but I've been doing a really bad job of it lately. I know I'm not on Facebook as much as I should be, and I'm not as responsive as I should be when friends contact me. I can't make excuses for myself, but I can try to acknowledge some of the great times and people I've been missing since I graduated and we all went our separate ways.

College is still a time I look back upon nostalgically. Yeah, the last days of college were over three years go, but I still remember many a nights playing Rock Band and Mario Kart on the Wii, and dragging Magic The Gathering games out for hours. But the smaller instances are starting to fade. Like many of the great times in Gladfelter, and the in jokes and experiences I had when I was a freshman and sophomore. That was almost over 7 years ago now. Four years in college seemed at the time to last forever. But then the day came when I had to say goodbye to the campus, and leave my room for one last time. That was a weird night. I relied on my roommate and one of my best friends for that.

I also remember the many times at Waffle House at 3 in the morning with a couple of guys. We'd go out after hours of game play, and we'd sit at the bar and eat our breakfast plates and drink our coffee.

One of my fondest memories was driving around with friends. Be it to get a game, see a new place, or simply go into town. I loved to be with so many people.

I would call myself an introvert, but introvert in it's true form of the word. I'm not one who is shy or ambivalent about going somewhere (although I would say I sort of am now being alone a majority of the time), but one who needs to recharge after being in a demanding social situation. It doesn't mean I dislike the social situations. I just need a break from them every now and then.

This blog is more of a rambling stream of consciousness style rather than anything too thoughtful and constructed. I did have a negative section here, but I decided to take it out because I really wasn't in the mood to share my low feelings. It's been a couple of days, and I've read over this a little more, and realize that life is good, and that while bad things have been happening, we have victories as well. And I really need to take more time to look and reflect more on those instead of living in the past.

Needless to say, thank you to all of my friends who I have relied on in the past and keep touch with me to this day. I know I may be more hidden and holed away now more than ever, but you all still play such a huge role in my life, and I couldn't imagine a world without you all.

Columbus, COTA & Race

I went on an adventure today.

Columbus has always been a looming city over my small town mentality. In all of my exploring of cities around the country, and around the world, I never really took time to get to know the city that has been closest to me for the longest. My mentality of discovery never seemed to apply to Columbus.

It is probably because I grew up here. I was raised in the time when the media only portrayed the city as the "bad place" where the "bad things" happen. Where people who were different from me would do bad things to me if I went anywhere near where they lived. There was always a "bad" part of town, and rarely was there a "good" part of town. The line was solid and bold. There was an "us versus them" attitude. Yet I left to go explore other cities that held the same connotation.

Once I made it out, I had the culture and the media dampened from my senses. No longer was the city a "bad" place, and the countryside a "good" place. The dichotomous perceptions fell apart and fractured. I wasn't hemmed in by my surrounding culture anymore, and I was free to explore and discover. Yet I started small.

I stayed within the small comfortable zone of our college campus for a while when I first started at Warren Wilson. The whole experience of going to college was such a huge impact for me that I couldn't start exploring quite yet. When I eventually made it to Asheville, my drive for uncovering "place" really began.

My first bus ride in was exhilarating, yet terrifying. I had never been on a public bus before! Show your ID to the driver, and that's it? Okay, well I take it I'll know when I get into the city. I don't know exactly where I'm going. Wait. The bus doesn't stop at every stop? How will he know when I want to get off? Well crap. I reached the end of the line, at the terminal, with no idea/clue of the city I was in.

Secretly I enjoyed every minute of it.

Asheville remained the largest city I routinely visited for four years. I thought it was everything a city should be. It had everything! A transit system, a vibrant downtown, lots of shops, festivals, and really great food. Then I moved to Vancouver, Washington.

The population difference still astounds me to this day. Asheville, the hub of it all for the Blue Ridge Mountains only clocks in around 87,000 people. Whereas Vancouver adds up to over 160,000. It is so much more, that you have to add a new place to the number. Yet it did not feel as vibrant as Asheville. Nowhere as unique, vibrant, or exciting. There are two areas of Vancouver worth talking about for any middle class white person: Uptown and Downtown. Asheville had Prichard Park, Lexington Avenue, West Asheville, the River Arts District, the Grove Arcade, along with several within-easy-driving-distance outlying communities like Black Mountain, Fletcher, Woodfin, and Weaverville.

Needless to say, Vancouver was not the city I was expecting it to be. The city was too residential, and not unique enough. While it was larger than Asheville, I felt trapped by it's size. In the interim I've explored all kinds of cities on short notice. I spent six weeks in Barcelona, and found refuge in Portland (across the river from Vancouver.)

Seattle, Pittsburgh, Washington DC, New York City, Indianapolis, San Francisco, Las Vegas, New Orleans, Santa Fe, Albuquerque, Chicago, Omaha, Cleveland, Wheeling, Knoxville, Lexington, Cincinnati, Tampa, Spartanburg, Birmingham, Saint Louis, Dublin (Ireland), Charlotte, Virginia Beach, Charleston (West Virginia), Tarragona, Huntington. These are just some of the cities I've visited, passed through, and explored.

Yet here I was in Columbus. On a bus riding down Livingston Avenue, going for an adventure once again.

The landscape of east Columbus is quite striking. First you pick up the bus at a Park & Ride in Reynoldsburg, a nice suburban town with little pedestrian infrastructure but overall nice layouts. Crossing into Whitehall you then get the glimpse of what white flight can do to a neighborhood. Houses are boarded up, crumbling, and the bus violently shakes with the potholes in the ill-kept road. Businesses have bars over the windows to prevent break-ins, and are painted with that 70's shade of white that is not quite there. As if on queue though, this is where the bus picks up the most amount of it's riders.

Up to this point, I am the only white rider on the bus. It was apparent that I was the odd man out. But not many people seemed to mind, and while I was uncomfortable (for reasons I knew very well of, and talk about in other posts), I enjoyed feeling unsettled. It offered me a chance to reexamine myself, and to ask: Why do I feel this way?

While I can't speak for other routes or services, it is clear to me that on the East side of Columbus, COTA is mainly utilized by people of color. I did not see anyone remotely close to my skin color on the entire route. We passed right through the affluent (and white) Bexley, and didn't pick up a single person. Why don't white people ride the bus here? In Vancouver there were lots of white people who rode. Granted, they were lower on the income scale, but maybe it is because of demographics?

Actually, just researching this, I got a new clarity on demographics. Columbus' population is 28% black, where Vancouver's population is only ~3% black. Even enlarging the region to include Portland would explain the demographic gap: Portland's population is 6.8% black. That would explain why I was the only white guy on the bus.

Or would it?

While the proportions may be a large influence, there was still an inconspicuous lack of white people on other routes I took around town. Why aren't white people riding the bus?

Let's get real folks. It's race. Remember that feeling I talked about at the beginning of this entry? Where the city was "bad" and the country was "good"? That was good ol' rural American racism talking. When we saw terrible things on the news, it always included people of color. The good stories always focused on white people. Where I was raised was the reason that, even though I have exposed myself to all kinds of people, I felt uncomfortable on the bus. It runs deep. And I'm working against that which my culture hammered into me when I was young.

And it doesn't reside solely in rural America. I would guess the exact same reason is why we did not stop in Bexley, and why I was so often the only white face on the buses throughout that day.

And I love the fact that I can go and observe and learn. Because it makes me a better person. I would recommend others do the same. Go take a bus ride around your town and simply look. Listen to the people on the bus, their stories, and their struggles. Go eat some food you've never tried before. Experience others.

Travels, Work & Updates

Over this past couple of days I drove my sister back down to Tulane University in New Orleans for her to resume her freshman year of college. I didn't quite know what to get from this kind of journey because I had a rental car, did a lot of night driving, and visited Mammoth Cave again for a second time.

Let's get the exciting trip stuff out of the way first:

At Mammoth Cave I took a more detailed cave tour than I did the first time i was there. The tour was the Dripstones & Domes tour, and led down 300 feet of vertical cave shafts and across a long cave passage to the Frozen Niagara formations, and back out the other side of the ridge. It was quiet a spectacle to behold.

Sadly I didn't take many pictures because I was too busy being in awe of everything around me. Also I've been developing this question of why I should take pictures when I should be experiencing what I am doing in full when I am doing it. (But that is for another post.)

As a compensation, have a picture of me driving the rental across one of the last rural ferries in the Eastern United States:

After visiting a creepy church built in 1842, we drove down to Birmingham, stayed the night in a hotel, and then the next day to New Orleans.

I moved my sister in, and then we went to a nice dinner and had some delicious ice cream among the mid 60 degree weather. I booked an Airbnb for the stay that night, and then in a small suburb south of Nashville called Spring Hill for the drive back North. While in New Orleans I did meet a really sweet cat outside my Airbnb whose name was Fergal, and was so docile and wanted attention. Sitting down on the porch, petting him, enjoying the damp, cool air, and hearing the bustle around me. I was truly happen then, and just wished I could keep that fleeting feeling.

The pretty Fergal baby. This was the only time I could get a good picture of him,
other times he just kept rubbing up against my arm.

All in all it was an uneventful drive back North; the same way I'd come with a little deviation to Jackson, Mississippi because I thought I'd be able to drive the Natchez Trace Parkway back to Nashville. I didn't end up driving it because it had gotten too dark by then.



So the search for work goes on. I am in a bind because i want to be in a place that values work and where the employees are dedicated, enthusiastic, and invested in what they are doing. The places with job openings are old, traditional, and/or status quo, and I usually don't have the experience to apply.

The places I want to work don't have open positions, or haven't responded to the one's I've applied to.

I'm worried there will never be a place I want to work. I'm worried that all of the places out there are dedicated volunteers working for little to no pay, or are miserable desk jobs that sustain a living. That there is no equal medium. But I try to not let that worry me too much. I just have to keep saying I will find something. (I mean it's only been a couple of months, so I really shouldn't be worrying too much yet.)



As for my personal life: I don't know what to really think. The holiday depression comes and goes, and I take solace in the fact that there are people out there who love me, and care about how I am. Now that I am in a hopefully short transition between two points in my life, I am reevaluating what decisions I've made, and how I can go forward from those decisions to try and make things better.

I also keep telling myself that it is my brain that plays these tricks on me, and that I need to keep up with the checks I have in place to make sure I can reign it back in to a manageable level and get my headspace back on track. I need to muster up the effort needed to overcome my apathy and get some shit done.


I feel as though there should be some nice ending to go here that is all inspiring and stuff, but I can't quite seem to get anything. I'm sure things will turn up. Just gotta give it time.

It Takes All Kinds

Today at work I had a volunteer with a disability come in and volunteer for a couple of hours.

First and foremost: I use what is known as "people-first language". I'm no social justice warrior or super involved activist: I just believe good use of language helps beat back stigmas and stereotypes about people. Throughout this article, when referring to people who have a disability, I will use... Well that exact term: A "person with a disability". See, people-first. It's not that hard, is it?

Anyway. A part of my work is discovering, recording, and addressing transportation needs for people with disabilities. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why transportation resources would be important for these folks: Wheelchairs, walkers, and lack of sight or hearing don't make well for independent driving.

As part of my AmeriCorps VISTA* work I did lots around said above topic. So I met this person a while back, and they just joined our team to help implement the 1-Call/1-Click Transportation Resource Center (1/1 TRC).** Today they were testing out the website, and giving some feedback and looking for bugs and user experience issues.

We talked before about anything they may need to better help their volunteer work at the office, and eventually we agreed it'd be best for them to bring a personal laptop since it's already setup for their circumstances. And today I learned all about those awesome alternative setups for computers, usability, and work.

First off: A Dvorak keyboard layout-

As you can see, it's a little different. This is the "Right-Handed version, which works wonderfully for the volunteer because they can only use their right hand.

I was showing said volunteer the website I wanted them to test, and I kept slipping up and just automatically going to my QWERTY keyboard layout that I had learned on. Every little automatic result that I was trying to do h7z wq orbune un 7 ay.quen wswicq tswicq ya uwb8s7 cy.qwg***

After that, I was hunting-and-pecking typing, feeling like I was back in grade school.

Another observation/privilege check I discovered was navigating the web and technology in general. I was able to fly through Google Maps and directions, opening tabs and searching things to my hearts content. On the other side of the equation, the volunteer had to take their time navigating through the web. One hand would only get you so far when whizzing around the Windows GUI.****

Not realizing this yet, I was quite surprised when they asked for a phone book to look up addresses with, instead of just directly searching for the resources in the community via the web. Of course we found them one, and they went about their volunteer shift.

But who would have known, right?

I took the rest of the day after the volunteer left to think about my abled privileges and how they put on the blinders and shielded my view from a full 114° of reality. I took a moment to think: "Wow. I haven't even remotely considered any of what I learned today."

And then I sat back and was reminded of a line from a poem I heard once read aloud at an open mic:

"It takes all kinds lord. It takes all kinds."

*VISTA = Volunteers in Service to America

**This has basically been the last two years of my life. If you want to know more about it, just ask sometime.

***See? I just changed the keyboard to a Dvorak layout and that's what came out. Put's your QWERTY perspective in check doesn't it? (The actual thing I meant to type was this: "had me typing in a foreign mumble jumble of impsua lorem."

****GUI = Graphical user interface. Also, the volunteer could use a little bit of their left hand, but their disability prevented them from using it for complex and taxing tasks such as navigating a QWERTY keyboard and/or the web.

Points of Light & Planes

So here we are: Three weeks and one hell of a ride.

My life has been in spitz and spirals as it goes ever upwards. Planes are funny things. There is a point on the Interstate 205 Glenn Jackson Bridge where you have a great view of Mount Hood. But under the auspices of the night all that you have are the Portland city lights. And the airport.

Now not an enthusiast for the Portland International Airport. I think it's silly that there is currently a campaign to save the 20 year old carpet. (See more here for that.) But I have found it a nostalgic place for my time out here. For over half of the folks I have hosted and showed this place, I've met them, and dropped them back off at the Portland International Airport. Do I think it's America's Best Airport? Not really. I really, really hate the Jeopardy! game show font and style they use for informational signs on the TV screens. The airport is not really that big, and therefore doesn't really have any good options for those late night flights.

I do like crossing the I-205 Glenn Jackson Bridge at night, and watching the lights of the airplanes coming in though. It's a perplexing sight really. The airplanes take an approach perpendicular to Interstate 205 to land on the runways that somewhat parallel to the Columbia River. So as you see planes coming in at night, they usually sit simply as a point of light in the distance. Their shape doesn't change until they are very close to the highway and airport because, from the drivers point of view, they are flying directly towards you. And because there are usually multiple planes coming in for approaches, there are usually multiple dots of light just sitting around the highway.

This is actually the moon. It was ridiculously large that night.
I don't have a camera good enough to capture incoming planes. 

Things are different from the flyers point of view. If you take an easterly approach during the day, you pass over the Cascade mountains, and follow the Columbia River (if you can see it) into the Portland area. The view is beautiful and the plane gives great views of ultra high mountains in the region. It is a very amazing thing to see in the distance.

If you are approaching at night, despite your direction, you usually can see Portland off in the distance. As you approach the city, you start to descend, inching ever closer to this large black ribbon that cuts right through what looks to be the city of Portland. You may get a good pan of the city if you need to take a westerly approach, as you bank, but as you lower down, you get closer, and closer to that ribbon. Then you find out it's water. And that is indeed, as you thought, a massive river, and maybe this plane turns into a pontoon landing! But there is nothing to worry about. The runway is literally a quarter of a mile from the waterfront, and the plane lands safely on dry land.

Flying in and out of the region has given me that all familiar privileged feeling of landing back in a place you know. If you've flown, or even driven places, you know that feeling. That feeling that you are back in your comfort zone, one that you've missed for even a little bit, and things will keep moving, and will continue.