Thoughts destined to be washed away by the tides of life. |
I've been studying my cover photo for a while now, and it seems to me that it is more than just a photo of what is there that can be seen, more than just three white rocks stacked on a beach. It contains an important question about the future, about what happens long after the photographer has gone. What will happen to our pile of stones when the tide comes in? Will it topple or has the architect built this structure at a safe distance? I don't know what will happen to these words that I stack here on the sand. They may prove safely distant, or they may be swallowed up by a rush of self-doubt. They may be here for a season. They may lose their balance and be scattered by the shoreline, or be hidden away under shifting sands. Perhaps someday, the tides of life will reclaim them. Or maybe that's just a bunch of poetic, romantic nonsense. After all, this is just a blog. |
Iāve been thinking about Mars a lot lately. For a barren wasteland millions of miles away, itās in the news quite often. I remember reading that when NASA advertised for volunteers to go to Mars, they were inundated with hundreds of thousands of applicants. I donāt understand that. Sure, there are some qualified scientists who might sign up for a one-way trip to explore in the name of science - a sacrifice in the service of mankind. I can respect that, but I still donāt understand it. And what about the rest? Most people wouldnāt want to leave those they love behind forever. No hope of return. To spend the rest of their lives far out in space. To travel an unimaginable distance to a lonely and inhospitable planet where they will die alone eventually - if not somewhere along the way. So what makes someone feel so disconnected to their planetary home that they could easily leave it, never to return. Is it utter despair or reckless optimism? I suppose it could be a metaphor for desiring personal space. Mars was on my mind. "The Place In Between" ![]() |