Sometimes I’m so brilliant, I terrify myself.
Gimme a few seconds to remove my tongue from my cheek and I will elaborate … ah! … there! … much better! … OK … Onward …
I have been following, off and on, the ongoing story about the young transgender Virginia man, Gavin Grimm, whose suit the Supreme Court recently refused to hear, remanding the case back to the lower court and essentially allowing to stand a decision prohibiting Mr. Grimm from using the men’s restroom in his high school. It is important to understand that Mr. Grimm is, both anatomically and in terms of his manner of dress, male, in fact, indistinguishable outwardly from a young cisgender – I hope I use that term appropriately -- male. Anyone encountering Mr. Grimm in a men’s restroom, who did not know the story of his
You take your Sacraments wherever you can find them!
Or perhaps more appropriately for what follows, you take your kensho moments – your bo-tree experiences, your timeless instants of Damascene insight – wherever you can find them. My latest such was my discovery of shave ice as a kind of Sacrament or moment of enlightenment – the terminology is not important – on Diane’s and my recent visit to my in-law family in her hometown of Hilo on the Big Island of Hawaii. Once again, as with my experience at my father-in-law’s memorial service back in 2008, I was reminded that the moment is all. In fact, not only is the moment all, the moment is all there is – all there could be. Not to be excessively prescriptive, but … my intent in the following is to “pay it forward” by drawing on my e
Last week’s “Skeptic’s Collection” column probably seemed like my final word about why I never got the “hang-uv” Christianity, period. This week’s column is intended to provide a corrective gloss by way of a sequel. It is true that I never got the “hang-uv” institutional, creedal Christianity, and to that extent, and regarding that “dialect” of Christianity, that is indeed true. I never had, and still do not have, the “hang-uv” Christianity under that understanding. But a few years ago, while visiting the town of Galway, on the windswept west coast of Ireland, I had what I can only call a mystical experience – a term that, as a “para-professional skeptic,” you will know I do not use lightly -- that completely altered my orientation toward religion in general and Christianity in particu