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The Gift

It is Christmas Eve 2009. Christmas means a lot of different things to many people. The transformative and renewing aspects of the holiday have always struck me with the most repetitive sort of impact. Each year it is the same, yet different. This season was a case in point along that theorem. I pondered that earlier this evening as my girlfriend Donna and I hummed along upcoast in our little Mazdaspeed, under the fading amber afterglow of a brilliant day, this eve before Christmas. The Channel Islands stood in purple shadow relief, as bright streaks of warm color stroked the

Grace

In any life, in the reduction of the actions and choices that take a person on their journey, after all the stuff of a person’s existence is burned or rotted away, what remains is something quite remarkable. For lack of a better word you could call that something grace. It exists everywhere. Yet one cannot hoard it. The more selfish that one is, the less of it will remain. I crave grace, because in it, is an abundance and flow that changes and converts a world (and myself) from being entropic to regenerative. Human beings are like buckets with holes

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The Gift

It is Christmas Eve 2009. Christmas means a lot of different things to many people. The transformative and renewing aspects of the holiday have always struck me with the most repetitive sort of impact. Each year it is the same,

Grace

In any life, in the reduction of the actions and choices that take a person on their journey, after all the stuff of a person’s existence is burned or rotted away, what remains is something quite remarkable. For lack of