In this issue of Radix, we have several pieces dedicated to incarceration
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with Laura Van Dyke
As many Lord of the Rings nerds already know, Season 2 of The Rings of Power has recently concluded. With its over 1-billion-dollar price tag – and the inclusion of Tom Bombadil, even! – one would expect a lot of hubbub. And there is! It spans everything from intense annoyance to absolute adoration.
We wanted the opinion of a Tolkien scholar and nerd, which we are delighted to share.
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A philosopher and Anglican priest, Richard's work bridges intellectual rigor and spiritual depth
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John is committed to shining light and cultivating peace in his community
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by Nancy Myers Rust
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THINGS I FOUND IN A DEAD MAN’S POCKETthe song of a bird I can’t see, but I think is colorfula portion of a cloud folded in half that I suppose is a dream;unfolding it, it was torn like a dreamwind from the edge of the Grand Canyon and the whooshing sound of unanswered puzzlementsthe last breath of exhausting spiritual habitsan unforgiveness; small, but with razor-sharp edgesa thank you note from a poet who, long ago, was his poetry studenta handful of rest from the overcast day he read Matthew 11prayers for his children, like styrofoam peanuts,filled all the empty spaces
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MEETING A PRAYING MANTISA Praying Mantis clover to bright emerald green landed on my sleeveand lingered as I workedin my hay field.While I’m not much of a praying person,my concern for a friend suffering from cancerled me to ask the mantisto consider praying for her. The creaturevisibly pulled its legsinto praying position (which I realize actually indicates readiness for preyalthough my sleeve held nothing but this creature and my bemused delight).So I asked the mantis on behalf of my less-believer self,projecting my real hope for my friend beating off the cancer preying on her. The mantis visit ended abruptly thereafter.
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LATE MORNING HIKE-KU Two eucalyptus: one shaggy, the other clean. Fraternal twins. *Little flower, you are your own breath mint: summergreen. *Double-trunked oak, you are now doing the splits— one self holding sky, the other reaching across the stream. * Sun, so bright within the pool, you bring these striders, one at a time, to sudden glory. *Leaf of toyon— dark-green above, light-green below— why don't you turn over for an even tan? *Santa Cruz, you are an island dream at noon across the channel, ready to wake into clouds.OLD PAIROld pair of eucalyptus, the trail passes between your pillars,an
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HOPEIt's a bird with three feathers and three beaks;the past, the present and the future,the ghost of yesterday and the egg of today;it’s the substance of tomorrow, the thing that liveswhen life has died and gone to the gloam.Like a bird, it soars over the oceans and clouds,waltzes across rivers, seas and the Heaven;it sails beyond lakes, deserts and mountains,hovering over rugged hills and hanging cliffs and the rough necks of the mediocre moon.Its feathers are heavy like irons, strong like oakfluttering with ease over every housetop,skidding on the ragged edge of the earth,like a giant hearse romping to the
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by Mike Wilson
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