Paul Christensen: The Need To Know Why
. I thought I wanted to become a philosopher when I went to college. I signed up for an introductory course and found myself sitting in a large hall with … Continue reading
Paul Christensen: A Ride in Gatsby’s Car
When it’s raining out, houses have a different sound. The door isn’t crisp when it shuts, it thuds softly, and it makes you feel connected to whoever is moving through … Continue reading
Paul Christensen: The Arrival of Spring
The crocus came up two days ago. I wondered how long it might take to get some sign that spring was on the way. There they are, tough little flowers … Continue reading
Paul Christensen: Reading Camus
We live in strange times. The columnists and commentariat have run out of ways to milk horror and agony out of their visions, and … Continue reading
Paul Christensen: The Lie Detectors
I recall those gray days after school in the 1950s when I settled in to watch “Superman” on our black and white TV. The theme music was proto-John Williams epic … Continue reading
Paul Christensen: The Fall Weather
The first chill of autumn is threading its way through the trees, like a brown yarn among the dense green flags. It’s exhilarating. I’m happy. I don’t care how many … Continue reading
Paul Christensen: Images
One powerful image can overthrow the whole decaying edifice of empiricism and thrust us back into the medieval mind of gods, miracles, witches, and the wonders of an empowered and … Continue reading
Paul Christensen: In Praise of Spring
As I got down from the car after shopping, my wife led me to the side yard. She pointed down into the tangle of winter grass and let me discover … Continue reading
Paul Christensen: The Mystery
An unwilled force drives pale shoots into the air. Something powerful underneath it all, harder than a fist, keeps making things rise, until they burst out of nothing into a … Continue reading
Paul Christensen: The Night Visitor
This morning, faced with having to brave the arctic morning air to get to my mailbox on the road below, there were tracks in the still lingering patina of snow … Continue reading
Chris Hedges: We Are All Deplorables
My relatives in Maine are deplorables. I cannot write on their behalf. I can write in their defense. They live in towns and villages that have been ravaged by deindustrialization. … Continue reading
Paul Christensen: The Vermont Book of the Dead
Up here in Vermont, we’re sort of tucked away from the rest of the nation’s storms and upheavals. We read about the cops killing unarmed black men, of floods sweeping … Continue reading
Paul Christensen: Village Life
A stone village like St. Martin de Castillon, where I live in southern France, was squeezed together long ago by vanished defensive walls. Only a few turrets remain at different … Continue reading
Paul Christensen: Back in Provence
I’m back in France after nine months in rural Vermont. I had grown indifferent to the cold in Vermont, the gray skies hanging down like some Sheik’s desert tent. I … Continue reading
