Once, in a small boat along a rocky shore, the surf flipped me. It was late October in Maine. The only other boat around had to stay well off the shore. The island was deserted. I was wearing a coat and hipboots. The boots filled and pulled me down. I had to get rid of the boots to save myself.

We armor ourselves with ideas, wear layers of experience, cloth woven of strands of fact and story. In one context, they make all the sense we need them to. In another context, they only drag us down.

I listen to Roy Moore being defended by a woman who references another case entirely, the Duke lacrosse players. yes, we are hungry for story, eager for drama. Yes, there are those who feed this need. Yes, there is a stampeded to judgment at times. But yes there are truths and we need to find them by kicking off the cumbersome gear we wear.

That was a overly stretched point I know, but I see so many people literally drowning in the sea of information and still wearing the clunky hipboots of past belief.



Writer, walker, poet, educator. Commercial fisherman, builder, donut maker, organic grower. Boston, U. City, Maine, South Africa, Madrid.

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