Entries by Chris Quinn

The Wine of Creation

After we create something–story or image, song or poem, project or initiative–we store it like fine wine in some earth-smelling cellar of our minds. We cork it and let it age where no one is to step for many years. Though that wine may very well live in the world–published as a story, or sold […]

Mariners of the Once and Always Mysteries

The morning sky lights a pink the color before we’ve awakened. I look through the window of the ship of my life and the oily lattice-work obstructs the Eastern lightening even as it reveals it with the roiling of the waves like cold mystery beneath me, beside me, above me, hanged in the remnants of […]

She Dared to Laugh in the Place of the Dead

We were headed down to the Outer Banks. We made a pit stop at a little gas station in Virginia. Across the street was a Baptist church. Single room, white pine siding, black steepled, with a cemetery off its side, no fence. No fence to keep the living from the dead. Leah fed Simon in […]

Aim for the New, not the Best

There are two topics which I had thought about previously, which only now I see are related. The first: the motivation, or aim, of being saintly (or, what we can simply call “good”) is greater than the fulfillment of being saintly. The second: I must stop aiming for the “best” and start aiming for the […]

Like a Mustard Seed: The Practice and Discipline of Growth

“Faith should become so transparent that it does not need experience. But it takes a lot of experience to reach that point,” wrote Thomas Keating. This idea came up in my last Alpha meeting. A group member talked about Jesus’s mustard seed parable: If you have faith like a grain of mustard, you can move […]

“Never Stop Walking” by Vic Heaney

Let me introduce myself. My name is Vic Heaney. I am a fairly well known long-distance walker, author and public speaker from the UK. I am in my 80th year but in the past 3 years I have, with my wife Gay, spent a week walking in the Sahara Desert over Christmas, tramped Britain’s 2-week […]

The Fourth Stooge

In August of the year 2—, as a freelance journalist, I was granted unprecedented access to a brigade of Islamic fighters in northern ————. Why they took me in I do not know. It was effectively suicidal, and I had resigned myself to death, or at best, severe psychological and bodily injury. During my five […]

The Stars Burn

Today: “The world turns. The star burns,” he said. He came back again. This time at night. I held the cigar before my face in the hopes that the haze would shroud me from his view. I glanced away from him and asked what he meant by this. Why it mattered to him whether the […]