Kurt Bell

A life of courage, joy and independence.

Thinking

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I’ll plant my thoughts in accommodating soil: Prickly musings on freedom in dry desert loam. Deep alien wonderings within the sea. Thoughts on fraternity at home with my family. And attention to death where humans bury their own.


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I’m not alone in the graveyard today. There’s a young woman here. We’re both in the 19th century section, so there’s little chance she’s here to see anyone. Like me, she may have come seeking thoughts, not company.


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I realize now that living overseas provided a perspective on American politics that was like the cheap seats at a baseball game. The action was clear, though less distinct in an atmosphere of global happenings and alien local events. Now it’s like being in the first few rows. Not court side, but close enough to feel the energy of the players, hear the opinions of my citizen peers, and live the circumstances around which all issues revolve.


 

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Yesterday’s desert hike left little impression at the time. Almost a disappointment, in fact. Yet in hindsight I resee those far and empty places. My thoughts come back to them over and again.

 

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