I feel compelled to think of the trajectory of Icarus, these centuries later, to follow him across the sky and wonder. What is in that story now? How does it apply to the wings we so want to put on, the wings of self and achievement, of personal effort, of being? That crust of air that Icarus sought to span is our everything, our world, really, our universe, though such a tiniest part of the greater universe we spy looking up. His willful effort, his self-determined ploy is, largely, still the way we go about taking on the space between birth and death. I can not help but shape words, attempt to sketch an outline of that trajectory through a now of sky and light and the space of air in which each of us makes our story.
To the reader:If you have stumbled on this site, welcome. It is far from a complete thing. I thought, if I made it live, I'd be more compelled to develop its pages, many, now, just starting places. They'll fill out as time moves on, with explanations, examples, link connection. For the time being, bear with me, it is in pre-beta mode.