I’m sitting in my quiet and darkened office Sunday evening. There are a few raindrops still falling outside and they make gentle sounds as they hit the trees and ground. The only light is from a porch across the street, and that single bulb gently illuminates the rain and condensation on the front windows.
In the stillness, I can hear something which is frequently drowned out by the noise of the world. When the natural silence around me is such that every tiny sound becomes like the crash of cymbals, I can hear something inside myself.
Something in there has a lot to say when I can be quiet enough to listen. My heart feels a lot of things deeply and desperately needs someone to hear those things. My soul seems to know things about truth and wisdom and knowledge that come from somewhere beyond my understanding. Bits and pieces of me have a lot to say — and I need to hear them.

After his death, I can finally see good in narcissistic father again
Memo to Republicans: Your serious contenders are hypocrites, too
You’re not watching real news; you’re watching a scripted show
Barack Obama’s effort to imitate FDR’s ’36 campaign full of danger
My father’s embezzling started and ended my media company
The Alien Observer:
I don’t care where Pedro is from, but I’m happy he’s my neighbor
Confirmation bias means most of us assume our opponents are ‘morans’
Understanding often matters more than solving someone’s problems