pacific notes

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I’m lucky. I work each day with bright, ultraliberal folks in an environ-ment that’s possibly as progressive as anywhere in the world, in surely the most multicultural place on Earth (or as multicultural as anywhere): the San Francisco Bay Area (I’ve lived in Berkeley over a quarter century [Jan. 13, 2018: now, over 40 years]).

I’m living well, by design—living a richly enjoyable and meaningfully productive life by design.

A good peace isn’t pacific, it’s thriving with options and endeavors.
It’s a dance of life—though tranquillities, too (and irenic conciliations with happenstance—owning every conceivable modifier).

A perpetual peace is an endless flourishing, such that peace per se is just prelude.

The “pacified” child may be entranced by ecstatic pretending, portending a pacific poet’s inner propaedeutic of flying.

May I die pacifically, in the wake of the flourishing that looked endless. From elation’s creative production to fulfilling serenity and back again, life will have been a balmy Pacific.

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