Chapter 1: The Message You Keep Checking For

You look at your phone again, even though you already know there is nothing there. No apology. No message that says, “I understand what I did.” No sign that the other person has spent even five minutes thinking about the hurt they left behind. You tell yourself not to check again, but some part of you is still waiting for one sentence that might make the whole thing easier to carry. That quiet waiting is where this Jesus-centered message about forgiving someone who is not sorry meets real life, because forgiveness sounds very different when the person who hurt you is still acting as if nothing happened.

Maybe you have tried to be mature about it. You went to work, answered people normally, paid the bills, made dinner, and did what needed to be done. Then something small brings it back. A song comes on. A name appears on the screen. You pass a place that holds a memory. Suddenly the old question is sitting beside you again: How am I supposed to forgive someone who will not even admit they were wrong? That question belongs beside the deeper struggle of forgiving while protecting your heart, because forgiveness becomes confusing when people treat it as permission for the damage to continue.

I think this is one of the places where Jesus is easier to admire than to follow. It is moving to hear Him say, “Father, forgive them,” while He is being crucified. It is much harder to remember that the people around Him were not standing there apologizing. They were mocking Him. Some were gambling for His clothing. Others had helped create the injustice that put Him on the cross. Jesus did not call evil good, and He did not pretend cruelty was kindness. Yet He refused to let their lack of repentance decide what would grow inside Him. Their behavior remained wrong, but it did not receive authority over His heart.

That matters because resentment often begins as a demand for justice. At first, it may not even feel like bitterness. It feels reasonable. You want the truth recognized. You want someone to say that what happened was real and that it hurt you. There is something deeply human about wanting the person who caused the wound to help repair it. The danger comes when your healing becomes chained to a person who may never become willing to do that. Their apology starts to feel like a key, and without realizing it, you hand them the lock to your peace.

Picture the drive home after a long day when your mind starts replaying the conversation again. You think of what you should have said. You imagine what they might finally say if they understood. You rehearse the apology you deserved. By the time you pull into the driveway, the person is not in the car with you, but they have taken the whole ride. That is what unresolved hurt can do. It can keep using your time even when the event itself is over. Jesus does not ask us to deny that pain. He invites us to stop giving it unlimited room.

That freedom does not require you to feel warm toward the person who hurt you. It does not mean the memory stops hurting today, and it does not mean you call them, invite them back into your life, or act as though trust has been restored. Forgiveness is not the same thing as reconciliation. Reconciliation needs honesty and participation from both sides. Trust needs evidence over time. Access to your life can change when someone has shown that they are careless with your heart. Forgiveness can begin somewhere quieter, when you stop making your peace wait on their character.

That may be one of the hardest decisions you ever make. You may have spent months believing that if they would just apologize, you could finally move forward. But some people never understand what they did. Some tell the story in a way that protects themselves. Some avoid responsibility because admitting the truth would require them to change. If your peace depends completely on their growth, you may be waiting for something you cannot control. I do not believe Jesus asks you to hand another person that much power over the rest of your life.

Anger can make us feel as though we are still defending the truth, especially when nobody else seems to recognize what happened. But releasing anger does not erase the wound. God saw it even if the other person never admits it. You can remember what happened without feeding the memory every day. You can become wiser without becoming harder. Forgiveness may begin with one quiet prayer in a room where nobody else hears you: “Jesus, I do not know how to let this go yet, but I do not want what they did to become part of who I am.”

You may wake up tomorrow and feel angry again. You may remember the conversation next week while washing dishes or sitting at a red light. Healing can be slower than the decision to forgive, and that does not make the decision false. Something important changes when you stop waiting for another person’s apology to give you permission to heal. You begin placing your future back into the hands of God instead of leaving it in the hands of someone who may never say the words you hoped to hear.

Chapter 2: What Forgiveness Does Not Give Back

The next morning can be strangely ordinary. The coffee maker clicks off. The house is quiet. You stand at the counter and realize that nothing outside you has changed. The person who hurt you is still not sorry. There is no new message, no admission, no sudden sign that they finally understand. And yet something inside you is beginning to shift, because you are no longer asking the same question. Instead of, “When will they make this right?” you begin asking, “What do I need to do with this pain so it does not keep deciding who I become?”

That question is not a shortcut. Forgiveness does not erase the need for wisdom. If someone has shown you that they lie, manipulate, explode in anger, disappear when you need them, or return only when they want something, forgiving them does not require you to ignore the pattern. Jesus was loving, but He was not careless with trust. He could show mercy and still recognize what was in a person’s heart. We can do the same without becoming cold.

A woman may forgive a family member who has spoken cruelly to her for years and still decide that every phone call does not need to be answered. A man may forgive a friend who betrayed a confidence and still stop sharing private parts of his life with that person. Someone may forgive a former spouse and still keep communication limited to what is necessary. Those choices are not evidence that forgiveness failed. Sometimes they are evidence that forgiveness has become honest enough to include boundaries.

This is where many people become confused, because they think forgiveness should make everything return to the way it was. But some things should not return to the way they were. If trust was broken, rebuilding it requires more than a warm moment. If a relationship became unsafe, distance may be wise. If someone repeatedly refuses responsibility, pretending the relationship is healthy can become another way of avoiding the truth. Jesus never asked us to confuse love with pretending.

There is also a quieter struggle that happens inside us. You may forgive someone and still want them to understand what they lost. You may imagine them eventually realizing your value, regretting what they did, or finally seeing the situation clearly. That is understandable, but it can keep you tied to them in another way. You are still waiting for their mind to change so your heart can rest. Sometimes freedom means releasing not only the apology, but also the fantasy that one day they will fully understand.

A father may sit alone after everyone else has gone to bed, thinking about an adult child who barely speaks to him. He knows he made mistakes and has apologized for his part, but there are also accusations he believes are unfair. He wants to defend himself. He wants one final conversation where everything is cleared up. Instead, he is left with silence. In that kind of pain, forgiveness can mean resisting the urge to win the case in your own head every night. It can mean giving God the parts of the story you cannot force anyone else to hear.

Jesus knew what it was like to be misunderstood. People assigned motives to Him that were not true. Religious leaders accused Him falsely. Even people close to Him did not always understand what He was doing. Yet He did not spend His life trying to control every person’s opinion. That is a hard lesson for anyone who has been wounded by someone else’s version of the story. You may never be able to correct every misunderstanding. You may never get a fair hearing. Your peace cannot depend on winning every argument that exists in another person’s mind.

Prayer becomes different here. It stops being only, “God, make them see what they did,” and becomes, “God, help me live well even if they never do.” That prayer is not surrendering truth. It is surrendering control. It is admitting that another person’s conscience belongs to God, while your own heart is your responsibility.

There may still be consequences. There may still be conversations that need to happen. You may still need to say no, document what happened, seek counsel, step away, or protect someone else from being hurt. Forgiveness does not cancel action. It changes the spirit in which you act. You can pursue what is right without making revenge your fuel.

Imagine sitting in your car before walking into work because you know you may see the person who embarrassed you in front of others. Your stomach tightens as you reach for the door handle. Forgiveness in that moment may not feel spiritual at all. It may simply mean deciding, “I will not let their behavior choose mine today.” You can be calm without being fake. You can be civil without pretending closeness. You can keep your dignity without needing to punish them.

That kind of forgiveness is not passive. It takes strength. Resentment can feel powerful because it keeps the offense close and keeps us ready to defend ourselves. But carrying anger all the time is exhausting. It keeps the body tense and the mind occupied. Jesus offers another kind of strength: the ability to tell the truth, keep wise boundaries, and still refuse to become consumed by hatred.

You may not know when you have fully forgiven someone. There may not be a clear moment when every feeling changes. Sometimes you notice it later. Their name comes up, and your chest does not tighten the way it used to. You remember what happened, but you no longer spend the next hour replaying it. You stop checking whether they are sorry. You stop hoping life will punish them in some visible way. The memory becomes part of your story without remaining the center of it.

That is often what healing looks like. Not forgetting. Not excusing. Not rebuilding every relationship. Just becoming free enough to live the life in front of you.

If you are carrying someone’s lack of apology today, you do not have to force yourself into a feeling you do not have. Start smaller. Tell Jesus the truth about your anger. Ask Him to help you separate forgiveness from trust, mercy from access, and love from denial. Ask Him to show you where a boundary is needed and where resentment is only keeping an old wound open.

The person who hurt you may never become sorry. They may never understand. They may never give you the words you deserved to hear. But they do not have to own the next chapter of your life.

You can leave the door to apology open without standing in the doorway forever.

Your friend,

Douglas Vandergraph

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Them! – 1954 was nothing compared to real ants!

We fought ants all summer. It started when we came back from Europe and they had discovered the cat’s auto-feeder.

We moved it. So did they. Then we started putting out food, watching cat eat, and putting leftovers away. Like a human would do.

The ants got mad and attacked pantries, drawers, bags, bottles. Hell, we even found a few in the fridge.

They are IMPRESSIVELY industrious.

We tried diatomaceous earth, but they have to walk through it and it only effects a few. If it gets wet: worthless. And it gets everywhere. And it’s indiscriminate: we don’t want to hurts spiders or lizards.

Enter: MOM'S RECIPE FOR ANT DISASTER!

It works. Every time. Feel sort of bad, but in this case, the needs of the few outweigh the need of the many.

Ingredients & Measurements

Warm water: ¾ cup Granulated sugar: ¼ cup (acts as the attractant) Borax (sodium tetraborate): ¾ teaspoon to 1 tablespoon (acts as the slow-acting toxicant)

Instruction: Heat the water slightly so the particulate dissolve easily, but do not boil.

Mix the sugar and borax into the warm water. Stir continually until both are completely dissolved.

Soak cotton balls or paper towels in the sweet, medicated solution.

Place the traps in shallow lids or on small pieces of card near ant trails or entry points.

I put mine in empty jars with holes in the lid.

How it works: The high ratio of sugar attracts worker ants. They ingest the liquid and carry it back to share with the queen and the rest of the colony. The slow action ensures they make it back to the nest before dying.

Keep away from pets and kids: Borax is toxic if swallowed. Place the cotton balls out of reach of dogs, cats, and young children.

Replenish as needed: The cotton balls may dry out after a day or two. Add a few drops of water or fresh solution to keep them moist.

At first the ants go nuts. Then in a day or two, the nest dies and they are gone.

Chapter 1: The Fear of Asking Whether the Rule Is Still Serving Love

You can sit in a church parking lot long after everyone else has gone home and still feel as if you have somehow failed God. Maybe you missed a meeting because your child was sick. Maybe you stopped volunteering because you were exhausted. Maybe someone made a comment that sounded small but stayed with you all week. By the time you turn the key in the ignition, the question is no longer about the meeting, the schedule, or what anybody said. The question is whether being tired, confused, or unable to keep up means you are becoming less faithful.

That is one reason I keep coming back to the moment Jesus confronted religious authority without losing compassion. I do not come back to it because I want an excuse to reject every rule or dismiss every tradition. I come back because there are seasons when a person needs to know that Jesus can challenge a religious expectation without abandoning God. In fact, sometimes He challenges the expectation because He is protecting what God cared about in the first place.

That also connects with the deeper question of what happens when faith becomes more about performance than love. Some people know that pressure very well. They learned how to look faithful before they learned how to be honest. They learned which words sounded spiritual, which doubts were safer to keep private, and which struggles made other people uncomfortable. Over time, they began to wonder whether Jesus was asking them to carry all that weight or whether some of it had been added by people who meant well but had forgotten the heart of what they were trying to protect.

This is where the Gospel stories become personal. Jesus was Jewish. He grew up inside Jewish life, worshiped in Jewish settings, knew the Hebrew Scriptures, and participated in Jewish religious practice. When He argued with Pharisees, scribes, or other religious leaders, He was not standing outside Judaism mocking it. These were arguments inside His own religious world. That matters because it keeps us from turning His confrontations into an attack on Jewish people. It also turns the mirror back toward every religious community, including Christianity. The real question is not, “What was wrong with them?” The better question is, “Where do we still make the same mistake?”

One Sabbath, Jesus entered a synagogue and saw a man with a damaged hand. The atmosphere was already tense. People were watching to see whether Jesus would heal him on the Sabbath. Imagine that room for a moment. A hurting man is standing there, but the attention has shifted away from his pain and toward whether Jesus will violate an accepted interpretation of the rules. The man has become almost secondary to the argument.

That is the kind of moment Jesus would not ignore. He brought the man forward. He asked whether it was lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, to save life or to kill. Then He healed him. Jesus did not treat the Sabbath as meaningless. He treated human need as something the Sabbath was never meant to erase.

I think about the person who spent three months caring for an aging parent and slowly disappeared from church activities. At first, people checked in. Later, some of the messages changed. “We haven’t seen you.” “You need to stay connected.” “Don’t let this season pull you away.” None of those sentences are automatically cruel. But when that person is sleeping four hours a night, cleaning up medication bottles, answering insurance calls, and trying not to cry in the grocery store, what sounds like encouragement can start to feel like one more demand.

Jesus makes me ask a harder question in a situation like that. Is the goal to get that person back into a routine as quickly as possible, or is the goal to help carry the burden? Are we protecting attendance, appearance, and normal patterns, or are we protecting the person? There are times when love will eventually help someone return to healthy rhythms. But love begins by seeing what is actually happening.

That is what I find so powerful about Jesus in these confrontations. He was not impressed by religious behavior that made people easier to overlook. He could see the rule, the tradition, the expectation, and the person standing underneath all of it. He kept bringing the person back into view.

There is a quiet freedom in that. You do not have to become cynical about faith in order to be honest about religious pressure. You do not have to throw away every tradition to admit that traditions can be mishandled. You do not have to become hostile toward religious leaders to recognize that leaders can become so focused on preserving order that they miss the person in front of them.

And you do not have to be afraid of Jesus when you are tired of pretending. The Jesus who challenged religious authority was not trying to make wounded people feel smaller. He was exposing the kind of religion that could stand next to suffering and still be more concerned about being technically correct.

Sometimes the first step back toward God is not trying harder. Sometimes it is asking whether the weight you are carrying came from Him at all.

Chapter 2: When Being Right Starts Making Us Less Kind

A man sits at his desk after a difficult meeting and replays one sentence in his head. He knows he defended the right policy. He knows the rule exists for a reason. He knows the other person should have handled the situation differently. Still, something bothers him. The conversation was technically correct, but it was not kind. He won the point and lost the person. By the time he drives home, he is wondering whether being right can become its own kind of blindness.

That question belongs inside faith too. Religious people can become so concerned with correct behavior that we stop noticing what our correctness is doing to the people around us. We can quote the verse, defend the tradition, explain the standard, and still leave someone feeling unseen. Jesus confronted that kind of failure because He understood that truth was never meant to become a weapon for the ego.

In Matthew 23, Jesus spoke strongly to religious leaders who paid careful attention to small matters while neglecting what He called the weightier matters of the law: justice, mercy, and faithfulness. The problem was not that details never mattered. The problem was that details had become easier to manage than the deeper work of becoming a person who was just, merciful, and faithful.

That can happen quietly. A parent may become so focused on a teenager using the right language about faith that the parent stops hearing the fear underneath the teenager's questions. A church member may become so determined to protect what is proper that a divorced woman begins to feel as if every room she enters comes with an unspoken judgment. A Christian may spend more energy correcting another person's theology online than praying for the person behind the screen.

None of this means truth is unimportant. Jesus did not lower truth in order to raise compassion. He joined them. That is what makes His example more demanding than either extreme. It is easier to become harsh and call it conviction. It is also easier to avoid difficult truth and call it kindness. Jesus did neither.

He could look directly at hypocrisy and name it. He could also eat with people others considered sinful. He could challenge a religious leader and still make time for someone desperate enough to push through a crowd. He could speak about repentance without treating broken people as disposable.

That gives us a better test for our own religious instincts. When I feel the need to correct someone, I have to ask what I am trying to protect. Am I protecting the heart of God, or am I protecting my need to feel superior? Am I trying to help this person move toward truth, or am I trying to prove that I understand more than they do?

Those questions are uncomfortable because motives are rarely clean. Sometimes we care about truth and our pride at the same time. Sometimes we want to help and also want to win. That is why following Jesus requires more than knowing the right answer. It requires enough humility to notice what is happening inside us while we are giving it.

I have seen this most clearly in ordinary conversations where nobody raises their voice. Someone shares that prayer has felt empty lately. The fastest response is to tell them to pray more. Someone says they are angry with God. The safe religious response is to correct the anger. Someone admits they have not been to church in months. The easy response is to explain why they should return.

But maybe the first faithful response is to stay in the chair. Maybe it is to ask what happened. Maybe it is to let the silence last long enough for the real story to come out.

Jesus often made room for the person before He addressed the problem. That does not weaken truth. It makes truth more likely to be heard because the person knows they have been seen.

There is a difference between standing for God and standing over people. One carries conviction with humility. The other uses conviction to create distance. Jesus kept collapsing that distance. He stepped toward the sick, the ashamed, the doubtful, the unpopular, and the spiritually confused. The people most certain of their own righteousness were often the ones He challenged hardest.

That is worth remembering the next time we are sure we are right. The question is not only whether our position is correct. The question is whether the way we carry it looks anything like Jesus.

Chapter 3: The Kind of Faith That Leaves Room for a Person

A woman stands at the kitchen sink with her phone resting beside a stack of unopened mail. She has been avoiding one conversation for days. Someone she loves has made a choice she does not agree with, and she is afraid that saying what she believes will push them farther away. She is also afraid that saying nothing will feel dishonest. The water keeps running while she tries to decide whether faithfulness means speaking harder or loving more carefully.

Jesus gives us another way to think about that moment. He never treated love and truth as enemies. He did not soften everything until nothing mattered, and He did not turn truth into a reason to become cold. He stayed close enough to people to tell them the truth without forgetting that they were people first.

That matters because many of us learned to measure faithfulness by how firmly we defended a position. Jesus seems to ask something deeper. Can you remain truthful without becoming cruel? Can you remain compassionate without pretending that every choice is good? Can you stay present when another person is confused, defensive, angry, or not ready to hear what you hope they will understand?

Those questions move faith out of theory and into the kitchen, the office, the family group text, the hospital waiting room, and the quiet drive home. It is one thing to admire the courage of Jesus when He confronted religious leaders. It is another thing to let His courage change the way we speak when we feel disappointed, threatened, or certain that somebody else is wrong.

Sometimes the most Christlike thing we can do is slow down long enough to see the whole person. A coworker may be difficult because they are carrying pressure you cannot see. A family member may be resisting faith because their experience of religion was tied to shame. A friend may be asking questions that sound rebellious when they are really trying to find out whether God is safe enough to approach honestly.

Seeing the person does not require approving everything. It requires refusing to reduce someone to the part of their life that frustrates us.

That is one of the clearest lessons I take from the way Jesus confronted religious practice. He kept pulling attention back to what mattered most. When rules became more important than mercy, He challenged the rules as they were being used. When tradition became a way to avoid responsibility, He exposed it. When religious status became a shield for pride, He named the pride. And when ordinary people were pushed to the edges, He kept moving toward them.

That should make Christians careful with power, including the small kinds of power we carry in everyday relationships. A parent has power in a child's life. A leader has power in a room. A longtime church member can shape whether a newcomer feels welcomed or watched. Even a sentence spoken casually can either open a door or make someone feel that they have already been judged.

I do not want a faith that helps me win arguments while making me harder to be around. I do not want to defend Jesus in a way that looks nothing like Jesus. I want a faith strong enough to tell the truth, humble enough to examine itself, and gentle enough to remember that every person in front of me has a story I do not fully know.

That may be the quiet invitation inside these confrontations. Before we use Jesus against someone else, we can let Him question us. Before we point toward another person's hypocrisy, we can ask where our own habits have become more important than mercy. Before we speak, we can ask whether our words are trying to restore, protect, clarify, or simply win.

Jesus did not confront religious authority because He hated religion. He confronted what happened when religion lost sight of God and people. His strength was never separated from compassion. His courage was never an excuse for contempt.

If we follow Him, that same tension belongs to us. We can hold convictions without holding people at a distance. We can challenge what is wrong without enjoying another person's humiliation. We can value tradition without worshiping it. We can keep truth in our hands without turning it into a stone.

And when we are unsure what faithfulness looks like, we can return to the question Jesus kept forcing into the room: Is what I am doing helping me love God and love the person in front of me more faithfully?

That question will not make every decision easy. But it can keep our faith human. It can keep our convictions from becoming pride. And it can keep us close to the Jesus who was strong enough to confront religious power while still making room for the person everyone else had stopped seeing.

Your friend,

Douglas Vandergraph

Explore the complete Douglas Vandergraph Master Index: https://douglasvandergraph.com/douglas-vandergraph-master-index/

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s faith-based videos on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@douglasvandergraph

I

Jo said it took her two years to get the garden just right, said the HOA never did nothin'. Jo dyes her hair a deep auburn — I ask if she's going to the picnic.

II

More than two thousand, maybe more, submitted applications for the Ridglan Beagles.

III

I know it's Fanny as I hear her sneakers squeak outside my condo. She wakes every morning, spends time with her bible, then does her exercises — socks up to her sagging kneecaps.

IV

Jo's succulents are in the back of her bungalow. I want to ask if she spends time with them; they are most beautiful at night when the path lights them like silent gargoyles.

V

A woman who adopted a Beagle had disappeared in a four-man home. She said, when I saw the Beagles I knew our family needed one. She envisions taking B on walks alone.

VI

Fanny walks back and forth on the concrete, beside the wall that separates us from the car condos being built. They will have full bathrooms, to sleep or do blow in. You can't have both.

VII

Terry sits in a wheelchair, wears a diaper. He's got Jo's broom between his legs that he uses to push dirt off the walk. It ends up under his slippers.

VIII

Another Beagle in Dane County waits, her coat matted and wet.

IX

Fanny doesn't like the HOA people, but she doesn't know how to work them like I do. I bribe them to pull my dead plants, introduce myself.

X

Sometimes I see Terry's wheelchair outside, sitting by itself. There are Hydrangeas all over the complex: vain, heartless, apologetic.

#poetry

Journey is never about the destination, it is always the hearts, minds and experiences along the way.

Perry W, Ng, Mary, Moses, Joel b, mom and dad. A bunch of others.

Traveling west. Towing dad's flatbed, Kermit the towed, desth maxhine, dirt, other stuff. Camping, maybe?

State Hwy 287 figures prominently. I grew up 5 blocks from the state highway, which today is the very tail end of I-44. And ironically, I live 5 blocks from it now… on the opposite side of town.

It has always been present when I travel. East or west, it’s 287, north: I-44.

Keep having trouble staying together with the group. I drive ahead and lose contact, then find everyone again. They are usually having a good time, unworried about the route, or packing, leaving anyone behind.

Phones seem intermittent. Or calls are easily missed? Tracking isn’t working. I feel lost between places… lots of worry.

At one point I am rollerblading through hills (nice rural neighborhood with fresh, smooth blacktop). I am SO fast and smooth. I pass cars, cut through beautiful green yards. Someone is behind me, but can’t keep up. I slow and wait at first, but after passing a harvest gold 1979 Ford LTD, I can’t help but go fast as I can. It’s an adrenaline rush.

Eventually, I run out of the really choice routes, end up going down the old alley across from my primary school, past the 7-11 where I used to buy comics ($1.26 for two issues including tax) and turn onto the hwy access road wheee the asphalt is faded and has all those little pebbly rocks that made it a nightmare for skates and skateboards.

Here I find Ng at a roadside stand selling newspapers. She is sad and forlorn. This is significant because she is rarely sad and forlorn. Though the last few years I see this face more than I want too. Sitting hunched on the ground, on a stack of newspapers. I get her a chair. There are several scattered among patrons. The first is a rusty metal folding chairs i pass on it and get her a dinner chair with a padded seat. It is brown.

She complains of feeling abandoned and let down. Frustrated that I left her here all by herself.

Her mom shows up, I leave them to go find the party. It occurs to me that she often complained I out others before us. Am I doing this now? But she doesn’t come with me, preferring to stay with mom. I look for the group. But can’t find where I left them. There was a big conversation about how to load out so nothing got left behind. We had more vehicles than we did drivers.

I get a call from a debt collector. He can’t tell me what the debt is for, only to pay him.

Wake up.

I feel bad leaving everyone. I can’t remember why I was invited to find them. I feel worry and guilt after waking.

I'm moving through life carrying a history and responsibility. Somewhere underneath it I'm afraid that I’ll get too far ahead, outrun and lose people, and discover that I have failed obligations I can’t clearly see.

I’m feeling something is wrong, somebody is missing, and that it is somehow my responsibility to make it right — without telling me exactly what went wrong.

Odd, In consciousness, i feel like i know where I went wrong and what my debts are. The camping journey anxiety is an old one… when I used to organize camping trips 20-30 deep, it was a foundational fear that I would make a mistake that would cause some to lose out.

Then there was the near drowning of BP and RN… was that my last big trip? I think it was… HOW could that have been more than 15 years ago?!?!?

---

1. When I am responsible for a group of people, what am I secretly afraid will happen if I lose control of the logistics?
2. What did the BP/RN near-drowning teach me—emotionally, not intellectually—about being responsible for other people's safety?
3. When I think about the camping trips I organized, do I remember more of the joy and connection, or the possibility that something could go wrong?
4. What does “leaving someone behind” mean to me? Is it physical abandonment, emotional neglect, choosing someone else over them, or simply failing to anticipate their needs?
5. When Ng tells me she feels abandoned, what part of me immediately believes her—and what part of me wants to defend myself?
6. Where in my present life am I still trying to be the driver, coordinator, rescuer, or person who makes sure nobody gets left behind?
7. What happens inside me when I choose my own speed, pleasure, freedom, or excitement—as I do while rollerblading—and someone else can't keep up?
8. Who are the “people in the convoy” of my life right now, and which of them am I afraid I might be leaving behind?
9. What are my actual debts—the things I genuinely believe I owe people—and which “debts” might be inherited feelings of responsibility that nobody is actually asking me to pay?
10. If I stopped believing it was my job to make sure everyone arrived safely, happily, and together, what would I be free to do with my own life?

I’ve noticed I don’t care at all if someone takes weeks to message me back on Hinge or something like that because I’m not at all waiting for any messages. I wonder if this is not caring in a good way or in a way that just avoids pain.

When Henry Patton had told his mistress Maevin Maer he wanted to be more of a true lord of the estate, the young Terran had no idea how much paperwork would come with it. It felt like from morning to evening, there was some sort of document being added to his tablet or piece of paper being provided that needed his attention. He did his best not to complain, but Henry had caught the looks of pity on Siv's pretty face a few times already. At the moment, he was looking down at a document that was telling him the status of all the estates under his estate's authority and what they had been up to.

It was boring.

I guess boring is a good thing, he thought to himself. That means nobody is actually gunning for us.

The whole fiasco with Neeza Tavik and Princess Fanina Vaesh was quite a few months earlier. There hadn't been any other attempts that he was aware of, but that didn't mean they weren't coming for him. Henry put down the pad and leaned back in his chair, the soft leather material holding him gently.

How long had it been since he saw home? Henry had promised a year to High Baron Hesh Avernell but hadn't realized he had promised a Victory year. One year on this planet was three years back at home. No wonder his fiance's family were complaining. Henry hadn't realized how much pressure he had put on his family with this choice.

I don't regret it, he thought to himself and before the thought about leaving could come to mind, he quickly banished it.

Sighing, the Terran lord leaned forward to pick up his tablet again when the door of his office creaked open. Looking up, he found no one standing there but lowered his gaze to see a pair of pink eyes looking at him. They were set into the cute face of a young girl who could not have been more than six or seven. She wore a tan shirt with a match skirt that had patches of dark pink in it. It had the distinct asymmetrical cut along the shoulder and skirt that was definitely of Xaltean fashion and what appeared to be sneakers. A large pink bow took up most of her orange hair. She was not dressed like a maid but rather an ordinary little girl.

“ho. nata taveluxilvi. leva benea tavelu mive sabve?“

Henry blinked before his brain kicked into gear as she spoke again.

“Hi. I'm lost. Can you help me find my mom?” she said again, her eyes getting bigger and more nervous. Henry smiled at her and stood. Having grown up around a lot of large families, children were not something strange to him.

“Of course. Do you know where you last saw her?”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head causing the curls to bounce.

“What about your dad?”

“He's in the military somewhere else.”

“Do you know where she works?” Henry asked walking up to her and crouching down. The girl shook her head again though her eyes grew a bit watery.

“Don't worry,” Henry said crouching down to eye level. “We'll find her. What's your name?”

“Vevet.”

“Well, Vevet. I'm Henry. Let's go see if we can find her.”

As Henry pushed the door open, Vevet grabbed his hand and held on tight. Who knew how long she had been wandering the hallways, and how did she get past the maids? As he walked down the gray marble hallways, he found that there were almost no maids around. Glancing at his watch, he saw it showed the numbers 3.0.4.0. That placed the estate in the middle of their shift change which meant briefings and getting things ready. A very good chance a small child could have slipped through unnoticed.

Henry really didn't have any idea where to go next, so he just walked towards the outer patio in hopes that maybe Vevet would spot her mother but as the sunshine hit his face, he found nobody there. Further up the path that wrapped around towards the Grand Cellars, he could make out a two maids ripping out a dead bush that must have died from the heat.

“What's your mom's name?” Henry asked.

“Shinka,” Vevet said watching the two maids in the distance. Another maid showed up, a male wearing the longer robes of an estate maid while the two others were a scullery and harvester. Then the idea struck him. The Terran Lord pointed to the three maids.

“Does your mom dress like any of them?”

The young girl studied them carefully and nodded pointing towards the woman with the simple pale pink tvekel skirt and sleeveless wrap around top. So, her mother was a harvester, that narrowed it down from four thousand to what, three or four hundred? If memory served Arch Maid Vindik Mal, who was in charge of the Ground Legion, would be outrunning his inspections. Maybe Henry could catch him and get an idea where to look next.

“Let's go see if we can find Mister Vindik. He should know where your mom is,” Henry said giving her a hand an encouraging squeeze.

Leading the way, Henry decided that the best option was to take the walk path from the inner estate and to make his way down the main road towards the Northern Fields. That was his guess where the leader of the Ground Legion would be. The Terran lord knew that the tending of the vines of the famous blue grapes would be in full swing as the harvest would be necessary to produce the wine in the fall.

Vevet. That means blue, Henry thought to himself thinking about the girl beside him. For the little one, Vevet seemed to be at ease skipping along beside him as they walked down the dirt path. It was a gradual change from the manicured lawns and hedges to the long, dusty road flanked by fields of grape vines, their little blue berried shimmering in the light of the sun. In the distance in a lot of these fields Henry could make out the small huts and the figures working. Machinery hummed along spraying water while in other areas, the eemodae were harvesting by hand for the special stock.

“Where are you from?”

The question from Vevet broke Henry out of his thoughts and he glanced down at the large, curious eyes.

“I'm from a planet called Pax Aeterna.”

“You're human?”

The Terran lord braced himself. He honestly didn't know how strong the stereotype of his people had been among the Xalteans.

“I am.”

“You have brothers and sisters?”

“Two sisters and a brother.”

“You miss home?”

Did he? That was a good question. When he first had come here, Henry had been extremely anxious and scared. He had been thrust into the middle of a culture he had no clue about and who were so different from his own, he had felt like he was lost and drowning. Now? Blue Blossom felt more like home and where he came from a distant memory.

“I miss my family.”

Vevet nodded her head sagely as they continued, the sun's heat warm against their heads. “I miss home too.”

“Where's home?”

“Fuvusheemee. It's a planet far from here. Mommy got promoted and invited here as she's an expert on horti-something.”

“Horticulture?”

“Yes!” Vevet said nodding her head excitedly causing her curls to bound.

“Long trip?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you get lost?” Henry finally asked realizing he hadn't known. The girl looked a bit embarrassed.

“I was playing in the dorm yard and was chasing dayflitters. I...got lost.”

Ah, yes. The iridescent, sparkling insects that flew around in the daytime. They reminded Henry of dragonflies from Earth but with much more gossamer wings and slender bodies.

“Am I in trouble?” Vevet asked tentatively.

“No, not at all,” Henry smiled reassuringly.

The conversation dwindled into comfortable silence as they began to approach a collection of buildings nestled on both sides of the road. Henry could make out figures moving around and realized it was a staging point for the harvesters and others. Standing at the primary station providing instructions to a team, Vindik's dark eyes glanced over and saw Henry coming. There was a flicker of confusion before the professionalism took over. He strode over while the other maids, seeing who it was, scattered to their jobs.

“My lord,” Vindik said bowing, his shaved head glinting in the light. “I didn't expect you.”

“It's alright. This young lady got lost, and we're looking for her mom. Do you have a Shinka working for you?”

“There are quite a few Shinkas,” Vindik said looking at the little girl who appeared stressed again at the thought of so many.

“She's a horticulturist from Fuvumeeshee,” Henry added.

“Ah,” Vindik said with a sharp nod. “Shika Aeshma, she's a 5th Order harvester. I have her working in the southern fields today. Signs of a possible blight cropping up there.”

The young man nodded as he squeezed Vevet's hand again. “See! We know where your momma is. Everything is going to be alright.”

“Shall I fetch her, my lord?” Vindik asked reaching to tap his gauntlet with the communicator built in.

Henry Patton was about to answer when Vevet tugged on his arm. “Can we hang out, Mister Henry?”

Vindik opened his mouth, probably to correct the girl's improper title, but the Terran waved him off. He smiled at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I don't want to go back to the dorms. I have no friends and the other kids don't like me.”

Henry crouched down and smiled at her. “Maybe they just haven't had a chance to meet you yet. You know it's pretty hard to meet new people.”

“Maybe.”

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

Nodding his head like he made a decision, he stood and smiled at Vindik. “I'll take her for now. We're going to get something to eat. I don't think we need to worry her mom. If you can let her know that she's with me when it's appropriate, that'll be fine.”

“As you will, my master.” The ground legion Arch Maid said with a bow. He then signaled towards a small powered cart that a maid was driving. It had an open trunk behind it loaded with tools.

“Nushi,” Vindik said and the female maid driving it stopped the vehicle. “Take our lord and this young lady back to the estate, and then you can deliver those parts to Section 3-B.”

“Yes, Arch Maid,” the girl said with a nod from her seat.

---

The electric cart rattled its way back up the dirt road, Vevet perched between Henry and the trunk full of tools, her curls whipping in the wind. She kept glancing at him probably not sure if this was real and Henry found himself grinning despite the mountain of paperwork waiting on his tablet.

By the time Nushi dropped them at the steps of the mansion, Vevet had declared “the best thing that happened all week,” which made Henry smile. Vevet finally looked like she was having a good time.

“Alright,” Henry said, offering his hand as she hopped down. “Let's get you fed.”

He led her around to the shaded patio that overlooked the eastern gardens, the one with the low stone table and the cushioned benches Siv liked to complain nobody ever used. A passing maid, young, dark-haired, froze mid-step at the sight of her lord walking a strange child through the estate.

“Could you bring us something to eat?” Henry asked. “Something a child would like. And tea, if we have the mild blend.”

“Of...of course, my master,” she stammered, and hurried off.

Vevet settled onto the bench, swinging her legs since they didn't reach the ground, and looked around at the gardens, the marble columns, the fountain trickling somewhere out of sight. Her expression had gone soft and a little dazed.

“This is really your house?”

“Part of it. It's a big house.”

“It's so pretty.” She smoothed her hands over the skirt of her tan dress. “I feel like a lady.”

Henry looked at her, at the too-big eyes and the bow that had slid halfway down her hair and the way she was trying very hard to sit up straight. He grinned at her.

“You know,” he said, leaning forward with a serious nod. “I think you're right.”

Vevet blinked at him.

“As Lord of Blue Blossom,” Henry continued, straightening in his seat, “I hereby declare that for the remainder of this day, Miss Vevet of Fuvusheemee shall be recognized as a shivkihanxa, Lady of Honor of this household.”

For a moment she just stared at him, working out whether he was joking. Then her whole face lit up.

“Really?”

“Really. It's official.” He nodded.

“Do... I get a title?”

The young man nodded. “Lady Vevet, I think.”

Somehow, the little girl found a way to sit up even straighter.

Nish Kevet appeared from the direction of the kitchens before Henry had even settled back into his seat, a tray balanced against one hip and her usually practiced quiet, though the glint in her eye said she'd caught every word of the declaration from somewhere just out of sight.

“Lady Vevet,” she said, coming to a stop before the bench, placing the tray on the table, and giving a low bow. “An honor to serve you.”

Vevet's mouth fell open.

“I heard my masters' order,” Nish Kevet went on, beginning to set out the food from the tray as if royalty had been present. Flatbread, a little dish of fruit cut into careful pieces, a small pot of tea steaming faintly in the afternoon light. “I hope you find the food to your satisfaction.”

“I've never had anyone bow to me before,” Vevet whispered to Henry, her eyes large as saucers.

A hint of a smile showed up in the corner of Nish's mouth as she finished pouring the tea for Henry and grape juice for the little one.

“Is there anything else, master? My Lady?”

“Thank you, Nish. That'll be all.”

The afternoon went on as Henry and Vevet finished their food and began to explore the house itself. The wide-eyed curiosity reminded him of his little sister Annabelle when they were gallivanting around the fields and barns in search for adventure. At the library, she had fun climbing the ladders and examining the books. What started out as a quest to find more information on Dayflitters turned into an hour's worth of pulling books off of shelves, flipping through the references, getting distracted by the pictures in a short story collection, and then playing with the globes and tracing fingers on maps. At the kitchens, Burdak made sure to stuff her full of more sweets and candy which probably was Vevet's favorite room. They made their way back to the library as Henry felt that was the best place to keep her out of everyone's hair, it was quiet, and he avoided the paperwork that was probably growing.

Henry was in the middle of showing Vevet his home world on a holographic projector on the desk located here when he heard the tapping steps of someone approaching. The door swung open and Maevin strode in.

“There you are,” Maevin's started and then stopped entirely.

Henry turned to find her standing in the doorway of the study, one hand still on the frame, staring at the small girl currently perched in his lap staring intently at the slowly rotating holographic globe.

“My master?” Maevin's eyes moved from Vevet, to the empty dishes, to the half-dozen books stacked haphazardly on the reading table, and back to Henry. “There is a child here.”

“This is Lady Vevet,” Henry said, with formality, but he couldn't keep the grin off his face which caused Maevin's delicate eyebrow to raise in consternation. “She's visiting.”

“A lady,” Maevin repeated.

“Lady of Honor Vevet of Fuvusheemee,” Vevet said but when she looked up, her voice had gone smaller, and she'd gone very still probably realizing who was there. She glanced at Henry, then back at Maevin.

“Ah.”

“She got lost early this morning, she's new to the planet. Her mom works for Vindik. She asked for help and well...we got distracted.”

“I see.”

Vevet's relaxed a bit. “Am I in trouble?”

“Of course not,” Maevin said a warm smile crossing her face. “This place is big, and I can understand getting lost.”

The Mistress turned to Henry and sighed. “That would explain why Arch Maid Mal and a harvester are here.”

“Mommy?” Vevet asked.

“I believe so. Shall we go check?” Maevin offered extending her hand. The young girl scrambled off of Henry kicking him a few times with her shoes in the effort to escape and skipped out the door with the Mistress. Henry followed close behind.

The three of them came down the main staircase together, Vevet still chattering about star charts, one hand tucked into Henry's and the other in Maevin's. They found Vindik already there, standing beside a woman who looked like she hadn't taken a full breath in the last several minutes.

She was still in her field clothes, the pale pink of her harvester's wrap dusted with dirt at the hem. The moment her eyes landed on Vevet, something in her face cracked open with relief, and then, a half second later, seemed to collapse entirely as she registered exactly who was holding her daughter's hand.

“Mommy!” Vevet let go and bolted the last few steps across the marble, and the woman dropped to her knees to catch her, burying her face briefly in her daughter's hair.

“Vevet, sweetheart, oh.” She pulled back just enough to look her over, hands running along her shoulders, her arms, as if checking for herself that nothing was broken or missing. “How did you wind up here?” Her voice caught as her gaze lifted past her daughter's head and found Henry standing a few paces back.

“It's a long story,” Henry laughed.

She went very, very pale.

“My master,” She was on her feet in an instant, Vevet still gathered against her side, and dropped into a bow so low and so fast Henry half worried she'd overbalance. “Shinka Aeshma, my master, I am so, I don't know she had left the dorms or that she found her way in to the estate...”

“Shinka.” Henry said trying to be gentle. “Accidents happened and she asked for help. I'm proud of her for that.”

“I understand if there are consequences, I'll accept whatever.” The words were coming too fast now, her eyes darting between Henry and Maevin, who had come to stand a little behind him, and Shinka's bow deepened further at the sight of her, if that were possible. “Mistress. I am so sorry, I never meant for her to be underfoot!”

“Ease, harvester,” This time it was Maevin who spoke, and something in her voice, level, unhurried, entirely without the edge Shinka seemed braced for, cut through the spiral.

“Your daughter is safe, and our master has spent time with her to keep her that way,” Maevin said. “You have not committed anything egregious worth punishing. All I ask is you take steps you need to keep your daughter comfortable at the dorms.”

Henry knew that it wasn't actually a request but a command.

“But make sure she has a chance to meet the other children there. Only the best for my Lady of Honor.”

Shinka blinked. Blinked again. Looked down at Vevet, who was practically vibrating with the need to confirm this herself.

“It's true, Mommy! I'm Lady Vevet! Arch maid Kevet bowed to me and I had grape juice and Arch Maid Rikol gave me candy and Mister Henry let me play with the globe in the library. I had so much fun!”

The words tumbled out of her in one long breathless rush, and somewhere in the middle of it, Henry watched the terror mount as her daughter listed off three of the most powerful people on the estate.

“I'm so sorry,” she managed again.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Henry said, crouching briefly to Vevet's level one last time. “Your daughter's good company. She's welcome here anytime, through the front door this time, not by accident.”

Vevet giggled at that, and even Shinka managed something close to a laugh, still shaking from the adrenalin.

“Take her home,” Maevin said ordered. “I imagine it's been a long day for both of you.”

Shinka bowed once more, took her daughter's hand and led her towards the door. At the door, though, Vevet twisted back around, pulling her mother to a half-stop.

“Bye, Mister Henry!” She lifted her chin with all the dignity she'd been practicing since the patio. “It was an honor to be your lady.”

“The honor was ours, Lady Vevet,” Henry said, with a small bow of his own.

Vevet beamed, and let her mother lead her out into the evening light, still clutching her twist of candy like a trophy, already talking a mile a minute about globes and star charts and dayflitters all over again.

As the place grew quiet and maybe a bit duller, he turned to Maevin who was studying him.

“What? She was lost.”

“You could have just had a maid take her home.”

“Well...”

“The things you get yourself into, Master,” Maevin laughed softly. “Now, I think it's time you get back to your paperwork.”

This afternoon, IndyCar racing. We'll be following FOX coverage of the Freedom 250 Grand Prix. Prerace coverage is airing now, and the green flag to start the race is scheduled to drop at 12:10 PM CTD.

And the adventure continues.

Change hurts. But so does staying the same.

I was terrified of a few things as a kid:

1. Glowing red eyes in the dark 2. Having my feet molested 3. The wrath of my parents 4. Cicada husks

You know the ones.


Those empty exoskeletons clinging to tree trunks, fence posts, and brick walls—tiny monster shells with hook-like feet and slit backs, like something that crawled out of a horror movie and left its skin behind.

My cousins thought it was hilarious to pluck them off trees and stick them in people’s hair.

Ugh.

I'm an adult now, and they still give me the creeps.
 The irony? I actually like cicadas. The real, living ones.

I recently read a great Bukowski poem where he complains that “cicada” is used too much in poetry—like it’s a literary silver bullet.
 Use the word cicada, and boom: you’re published.

cicada

writers love to use the word “cicada” in a poem. it makes them believe that they are there, that they have done it. every time I see this word in a poem, I think, damn it, haven't the editors caught on yet? that it's a con? a way to milk the game?

and look at me: here I'm using it: “cicada.” well, that means that this poem surely will get published. see? it works.

Cicada, cicada, cicada.

Poof!


Beetle-cicada appears , dressed in black and white stripes like some kind of gothic referee and grants you publishing.

I won't wait for the check on this one.

What's wild is how they spend most of their lives underground—quiet, unseen, gnawing on roots, cool and hidden from birds and beetles and snakes. 
 Then one day, it's time.
 They rise.
 Transform.
 Sing their strange song.

They become summer.

---

Last night, I dreamed I was having breakfast with a giant cicada. Everything it said came out in that raspy ch-ch-ch-ch sound, but somehow, I understood perfectly.

It liked the tea.
 The eggs, not so much.
 (It poked at them with a claw and muttered something that sounded judgey.)

After breakfast, it handed me a tiny black helmet—custom-made for my dream head—and motioned for me to climb onto the back of its motorcycle.


Well, not exactly a motorcycle.


It was more like a cross between a mandolin, a grasshopper, and a comet.

We zipped through clouds, dodged between Saturn's rings, and finally landed on a shimmering planet where the trees glowed blue and hummed softly.


Cicadas. Everywhere.


Not just insects, but tall, glistening beings—armored, radiant, some still cracking open their backs to let their new selves crawl out into the light. These beings weren't living underground for seventeen years.

My cicada guide turned to me.


“Ch-ch-ch,” it said.


Then it offered me a thin blade made of light and pointed to my chest.

It was asking me to molt.

I hesitated.


Tried to laugh it off.


But my hands were shaking.

I looked down at my body—soft, unfinished, full of pressure just beneath the skin.
 I could feel the new me beneath it, wriggling for air. But I was terrified.


I was afraid of the change.

Afraid of what I’d leave behind. What it might mean to become something else—something I’ve always been, just hidden under a layer of politeness, duty, fear, routine, marriage, roles.

What if I shed my old skin and people looked at what I used to be and recoiled?


Not because it was ugly, necessarily, but because it was real.
 Because it wasn’t neat or acceptable or easy to explain.

What if they said,
 “Oh. So this is who you were all along?”


And worse—what if they were right?

But deep beneath that fear, in the marrow of the dream, in the hush between the cicada’s ch-ch-ch’s, I realized:


I am aching to molt.

I want to become the self I’ve half-dreamed but never dared to wake up as.
 The guy telling the truth, even when it hurts.
 A creature walking away from the roles that no longer fit.
 The one who chooses aliveness over approval.


Who writes something so raw it makes people gasp.


Who kisses someone in the rain without checking if it’s allowed.
 Finally admiting he’s tired of being obedient.
 Who wants more than endurance.
 Who wants to feel joy and danger and awe and yes.

Yes.

That’s the sound the cicada really made, I think.


Not ch-ch-ch.


But yes yes yes.


Yes to transformation.


Yes to exposure.


Yes to the strange, shimmering self inside the husk.

But still, I couldn’t do it.
 Not yet.

Even in a dream, I couldn’t crack open.
 And that’s okay.
 A dream isn't asking me to molt.
 Just showing me that I could.

My guide, revved the mandolin-comet-bike. And we rocketed back to home.

Without change, we all end up on The Road to Nowhere

Close My Eyes Forever

Any World (Will Do)

---

#dream #essay #journal #writing #music #cicada

---

2025-08-07 18:00:00

Chastity exists at the middle point between lust and repression; Temperance exists at the middle point between gluttony and asceticism; Diligence exists at the middle point between laziness and obsession; Patience exists at the middle point between wrath and apathy; Charity exists at the middle point between greed and self-neglect; Kindness exists at the middle point between envy and indulgence; Humility exists at the middle point between pride and self-abasement.

We are anonymous. We are everywhere. We choose to forgive. We choose to remember. Here we are: As above, so below.

Self-awareness is crucial in understanding virtues and vices. All virtues are the middle point. Any virtue in excess becomes its opposite deficiency, yet a vice remains a vice. It's important to recognize when we self-identify with an excessive virtue, as this creates the very imbalance we seek to resolve.

Desire and aversion are two opposite poles. Neither desire nor aversion represents the middle point. I state that desire and aversion are both expressions of egoic attachment—opposite manifestations of the same error. Comprehension is the middle point that leads one to liberation; desire is attachment, and aversion is rejection.

Chastity, diligence, humility, patience, charity, temperance, and kindness are all virtues. Chastity in excess becomes repression; diligence in excess becomes obsession; excess humility becomes self-abasement; excess charity becomes self-neglect; excess temperance becomes asceticism; and excess kindness becomes indulgence. Excess (as we know) is an adjective that transforms virtue into its opposite deficiency. Any vice (namely lust, laziness, pride, greed, gluttony, and envy) propels one toward the opposing deficiency.

To restore the balance within oneself is to comprehend these two opposing errors to discover what is true: Both man and woman are humble. Humility is the middle point between pride and self-abasement. A man and a woman who embody humility never take titles. Titles create bipolarity—either prideful or self-abasing; both are errors.

Virtue is the middle point, the law of balance. Embracing life's challenges with this understanding brings centeredness in all aspects of existence.

Matthew 23:12 clearly states that he who exalts himself will be humbled, yet he who humbles himself will be exalted.

A hero recognizes himself as a work in progress, as we are all transforming before our Innermost. All fornicators begin as unconscious beings.

In the name of truth, no one is born a hero. A hero emerges through genuine love for humanity and countless sacrifices for others.

This consciousness does not enter automatically. One earns the right to be a hero through deeds of goodness, including genuine sacrifice for others. The right to be a hero is also measured by how much love others have given you as a result of your work.

It is never enough to say, “I am a hero.” One must prove oneself worthy of genuine love and sacrifice for others to be recognized as a hero.

A hero transcends duality, neither good nor evil, but beyond both. There is no good or evil, only purity and impurity. Even a hero knows that the path with excellent intentions leads one to the Abyss. This identification with heroism leads to knightfall.

A hero becomes a protagonist to those for whom he has sacrificed and loved.

There is a woman who is also a protagonist. She sacrifices herself through genuine love for others. She is a heroine.

How blessed are the hero and heroine in romantic love, working together to sacrifice themselves for the love of others.

There exists another type of hero that transcends the everyday. He possesses magical powers, driven by genuine love and commitment to sacrifice for others. He is a magician, or a superhero; a woman is also a magician, or a superheroine.

“Jesus said to his disciples: 'Things that cause people to stumble are bound to happen, but woe to anyone through whom they happen'” – Luke 17:1

There exists an antithesis of a hero. It is he, a fallen hero, who consumes the forbidden fruit, thus turning himself to impurity. The hero who fornicates enters knightfall. It is he who turns to wickedness and works for the flesh. In the name of truth, he is a villain.

When a heroine falls into impurity and works for the flesh, she is a villainess. A woman who has lost her way is a villainess.

A villain calls others villains while believing himself to be a hero. These are true traits of a sorcerer.

Even a rightful hero or heroine (even a superhero or superheroine) might be called a villain, and the one who calls a rightful hero or heroine a villain is himself a villain.

These fallen individuals, formerly heroes and heroines, are the true antagonists.

These antagonists are those who awaken impurity in response to impurity. They perceive only the impurity within others, never the goodness within others.

One must never underestimate these antagonists, for they possess sharp and sly intellects.

Beware of their talents in the arts of sorcery and witchcraft. A villain who possesses these powers becomes a supervillain. Watch out for a sorceress, a villainess who wields these magical powers, for sorcery and witchcraft are often associated with supervillainesses. These super-antagonists are the most dangerous people alive, yet they subject themselves to their second death.

The sorcerer's archenemy is indeed a magician; yet, a magician's archenemy is a sorcerer.

Now you know, my friend, the knowledge of a hero and a villain. No one is born a hero or a villain; you will know them by their fruits. A pure fruit is a hero or a heroine. An impure fruit is a villain or a villainess. The right to be a hero emerges within ourselves through genuine love and sacrifice for others.

Selecting a UAV motor is not a matter of finding the largest power figure and attaching a propeller. A motor sits inside a complete propulsion system that includes the battery, electronic speed controller, wiring, connectors, propeller, airframe, cooling path, flight controller, and mission profile. A good integration process therefore starts with aircraft requirements and finishes with measured evidence. The motor is one important component in the middle of that process.

The UNITED UAV T-MOTOR MN5212 KV340 Navigator UAV Motor is a useful example for explaining this system-level approach. The current UNITED UAV listing identifies it as the KV340 version in T-MOTOR's Navigator range and presents CW and CCW ordering options. It is positioned for professional multirotor, VTOL, and fixed-wing UAV projects. This guide does not declare the motor suitable for every aircraft in those categories. Instead, it shows the questions an engineer, integrator, or experienced builder should answer before choosing it.

Start with the mission, not the catalog

Before looking at motor data, define what the aircraft must do. Record the target maximum takeoff mass, normal operating mass, desired flight time, expected payload, takeoff method, cruise condition, maximum climb requirement, operating altitude, ambient temperature range, and acceptable noise envelope. A multirotor that carries a camera over infrastructure has a different propulsion duty cycle from a mapping VTOL that climbs vertically and then cruises on its wing. A fixed-wing pusher motor may spend most of the mission at moderate throttle, while a lift motor on a VTOL may experience short, demanding vertical phases followed by cooling time.

These differences affect the meaning of every electrical figure. A brief maximum-power value is not a continuous operating target. A system that survives a short bench run may still overheat during repeated climbs, hot-weather hovering, or low-speed operation with weak cooling airflow. The design requirement should specify both peak and sustained conditions, together with a reserve appropriate to the aircraft and mission. If the operating envelope is unknown, motor selection is premature.

Understand what KV340 tells you

KV is commonly described as unloaded revolutions per minute per volt. The MN5212 version discussed here is identified as KV340. That number is useful, but it is not a thrust rating and it does not tell you the correct propeller by itself. Actual speed under load depends on battery voltage, voltage sag, ESC behavior, propeller torque demand, winding temperature, and mechanical losses. Two systems using the same motor can produce very different current, thrust, noise, and efficiency results when their propellers or supply voltages differ.

The current product information lists a 4-8S operating range, a short-duration maximum power value of 840 W, and a listed current limit of 35 A. Treat these values as boundaries to be checked against the latest manufacturer data, not as instructions to operate continuously at the boundary. The useful design point is normally below the limiting condition and must be established with the intended propeller, battery, ESC, and airflow. The system should retain electrical and thermal headroom for manufacturing variation, aging, weather, maneuvering, and voltage changes across the discharge cycle.

Build a complete power budget

A propulsion power budget should account for every motor at the same time. For a multirotor, multiply the measured per-motor current by the number of active motors, then add avionics, payload, pumps, communication equipment, and conversion losses. For a VTOL, calculate the vertical-lift and forward-flight groups separately, but also consider transition states in which more than one group may be active. The battery must support the real combined current without excessive voltage sag or unacceptable temperature rise.

ESC selection requires similar discipline. Its voltage rating must match the battery, and its continuous and transient current capability must exceed measured demand with an engineering margin. Timing and firmware settings should be appropriate for the motor and propeller combination. Wiring, solder joints, connectors, distribution boards, fuses where applicable, and current sensors must be sized for the same current path. A high-quality motor cannot compensate for a connector that heats, a cable that is too small, or a distribution board with inadequate copper area.

Energy planning should use measured watt-hours rather than relying only on the battery's nominal amp-hour label. Record voltage and current throughout the representative mission, include the intended reserve at landing, and repeat the test with an aged or conservatively modeled battery. This produces a more honest endurance estimate than dividing a nominal battery capacity by a single current reading.

Match the propeller through evidence

The propeller determines much of the load seen by the motor. Diameter, pitch, blade count, airfoil, stiffness, manufacturing tolerance, and operating speed all matter. Even a small change can move current and temperature significantly. Use current manufacturer thrust data for the exact motor winding when available, then verify the candidate on a calibrated test stand. Do not substitute results from another KV version without recalculating and testing the system.

A useful bench record includes supply voltage, current, electrical power, rotational speed, thrust, ambient temperature, motor temperature, ESC temperature, propeller identity, and run duration. Test several throttle points, not only full throttle. For aircraft that hover, spend enough time near the expected hover condition to observe thermal stabilization. For fixed-wing or VTOL cruise propulsion, reproduce the likely continuous load and cooling airflow as closely as practical. Stop if vibration, noise, temperature, or current becomes abnormal.

Propeller safety is essential. Use a guarded test area, secure the test stand, keep people out of the propeller plane, wear appropriate protection, and establish an immediate power-disconnect method. A motor-propeller combination stores substantial energy even when the aircraft itself is not moving.

Plan the mechanical installation

The current listing publishes dimensions of approximately 59 by 33.5 mm and a motor weight of 249 g. It also lists a 24N22P magnetic configuration. These details help with preliminary layout and mass calculations, but a mechanical drawing and the latest manufacturer specification should govern the final mounting design. Confirm the hole pattern, shaft and propeller interface, arm clearance, cable exit direction, fastener diameter, and permitted screw depth before installation.

Mounting screws that are too long can contact internal parts. Screws that are too short, improperly torqued, or installed without an appropriate retention method can loosen under vibration. The motor mount and arm should be stiff enough to prevent harmful deflection while avoiding unnecessary mass. Route phase wires away from sharp edges, hot surfaces, antennas, sensors, and rotating components. Provide strain relief so cable motion is not transferred directly to solder joints or winding leads.

Balance must be considered at the component and aircraft levels. A balanced propeller can still create vibration if its hub does not seat correctly or if the motor mount is distorted. Compare vibration data across equivalent arms after installation. One arm that consistently differs from the others deserves investigation before flight. Sources may include propeller imbalance, fastener condition, bearing damage, arm resonance, cable contact, or inconsistent assembly.

Treat CW and CCW as ordering and assembly controls

The current UNITED UAV product data lists CW and CCW options. Direction labels must be handled carefully because different manufacturers may use them to describe motor configuration, thread direction, or intended propeller rotation. Confirm the meaning in the latest product documentation and match it to the aircraft's motor map, propeller, and retention hardware. Do not rely on a label alone.

Create an installation record for each aircraft position: motor SKU, selected CW or CCW option, propeller part number, ESC identity, rotation direction, fastener specification, and commissioning result. During the first unloaded check, remove the propeller and verify rotation at low power. Correct a reversed direction through the approved ESC or wiring method before installing the propeller. After installation, conduct a second low-power check with the aircraft restrained and the test area controlled.

Design for cooling across the real duty cycle

Cooling depends on more than outdoor temperature. Hovering near the ground, operating inside a partial enclosure, carrying a large payload at low speed, or using a propeller that demands excessive torque can reduce thermal margin. VTOL lift motors may experience intense heating during takeoff and landing even if the average mission power appears moderate. Fixed-wing installations can receive good airflow in cruise but weak cooling during ground operation or slow climb.

Place temperature sensors where they produce repeatable, useful information and define an inspection method that can be repeated across tests. Infrared measurements require consistent surface emissivity and viewing geometry. Embedded sensors provide a different view and should be installed without weakening insulation or obstructing airflow. Evaluate the motor and ESC together because either can become the limiting component. If temperature continues rising rather than stabilizing at the intended continuous condition, the configuration needs to change.

Altitude also changes propulsion behavior. Lower air density can reduce propeller thrust and cooling while prompting the control system to demand more throttle. A system validated at sea level cannot automatically be assumed to retain the same margin at a high-altitude operating site. Use a performance model, apply appropriate correction, and confirm with local testing when the mission justifies it.

Commission the propulsion system in stages

A staged commissioning process makes faults easier to isolate. Begin with a receiving inspection: verify the exact model and winding, check for shipping damage, rotate the motor by hand, inspect leads and connectors, and confirm that the ordered direction option matches the installation record. Next, install the motor without a propeller and verify mounting, wiring, sensor readings, ESC communication, and rotation direction.

Then perform a restrained ground test using the intended propeller. Increase power gradually while monitoring current, voltage, speed, vibration, and temperature. Compare equivalent motors rather than evaluating each result in isolation. If one unit draws more current or runs hotter at the same command and propeller, stop and find the cause. Only after the propulsion group behaves consistently should the aircraft proceed to a low-risk initial flight.

The first flight should use conservative mass, weather, altitude, and maneuver limits. Review logs immediately afterward. Look for unexpected throttle asymmetry, voltage sag, ESC desynchronization, vibration peaks, temperature growth, and control saturation. Expand the operating envelope one step at a time, keeping a record of the configuration used for every test. Changing a propeller, ESC setting, battery, firmware version, or mass distribution creates a new configuration that may require partial revalidation.

Maintain condition after entry into service

Reliability is not established by a successful first flight. Create inspection intervals based on flight hours, cycles, environment, and mission consequence. A basic check should look for abnormal bearing play, roughness, unusual sound, heat discoloration, damaged insulation, loose fasteners, propeller-seat wear, connector movement, contamination, and changes in vibration or current. Operations in dust, moisture, salt, chemicals, or abrasive material require more frequent attention and cleaning methods compatible with the motor and aircraft.

Trend data is especially valuable. A slow increase in hover current, temperature, or vibration may reveal degradation before a visible failure appears. Compare data under similar mass and environmental conditions, and distinguish motor changes from battery aging, propeller damage, or airframe problems. Define removal criteria before an operator is under schedule pressure. A questionable motor should not remain in service merely because it still rotates.

Apply the process to different aircraft types

For a multirotor, the central questions are hover efficiency, reserve thrust, thermal behavior, arm-to-arm consistency, and safe control after foreseeable disturbances. The propulsion calculation must use the complete aircraft mass and account for the number of motors. For an inspection aircraft, long hover periods and low forward speed may make cooling and endurance more important than a brief maximum-thrust result.

For a VTOL, analyze vertical lift, transition, and cruise as separate phases. A motor used only for lift still needs evaluation over repeated takeoff and landing cycles, including a possible rejected transition or go-around. If the MN5212 is considered for forward propulsion, the propeller and cooling environment may differ from those of a lift installation. Avoid transferring test conclusions between the two roles without evidence.

For a fixed-wing aircraft, the design point may be continuous cruise power plus a defined climb requirement. Propeller clearance, pusher or tractor airflow, fuselage interaction, launch method, and ground cooling can become dominant. A bench test is necessary, but an installed test is also important because the airframe changes the airflow and vibration environment.

Use a procurement checklist

Before ordering, confirm the exact MN5212 KV340 model, quantity, CW or CCW option, voltage plan, intended propeller, ESC model, mounting geometry, connector strategy, and required documentation. Check the current product page rather than relying on a saved screenshot or data for a different winding. If a thrust calculation depends on a value that is not clearly documented, request clarification before purchase.

Also plan spares and configuration control. A spare motor is useful only if its winding, direction option, connectors, firmware-dependent ESC settings, and mounting hardware match the approved aircraft configuration. Record serial or batch information when available and keep acceptance-test results with the aircraft maintenance history. This makes replacement faster without turning it into an uncontrolled component substitution.

Final selection perspective

The MN5212 KV340 can be evaluated as part of professional multirotor, VTOL, and fixed-wing propulsion designs, but the product name and published limits are only the beginning. A defensible selection connects mission requirements to a complete power budget, exact propeller data, mechanical integration, staged testing, and continued condition monitoring. That process is more work than choosing from a catalog table, but it produces evidence that operators, maintainers, and engineering teams can use.

Review the current T-MOTOR MN5212 KV340 product page, or contact UNITED UAV for product-selection and quotation support. For the broader catalog, visit the UNITED UAV store.

Publisher: UNITED UAV Official

Our Prime Minister knew that the CUSMA trade agreement was up for review this summer. Months ago he assembled a team of economics experts who would negotiate new trade deals when the time came. I, just a random nobody Canadian citizen, with very limited knowledge of politics and economics, am not even slightly surprised by the news that the trade negotiations collapsed. There is absolutely no way that our team of experts didn't anticipate this happening. In fact, I think that I (and our team) would have been more surprised if they had walked away with a deal.

I bet most of what they have been working on as a team has been based on the assumption that it would turn out exactly this way. I picture them maybe briefly pondering the possibilities of a logical and fair deal for both countries, but likely not wasting too much precious time on it.

They would have been like, ok then, now that we've figured out what would be best for both countries, lets forget about that, and move on to things more likely to occur with this fucking failure of a regime.

We sent the best of our best to the table, to meet with the worst of their worst. Our people went there to make beneficial deals. They met with our (supposed) allies who were sent to the table only to take and take. Likely a bunch of unqualified bootlicker morons like most in the regime. Their boss says, lick, and they say, where exactly would you like the licking to occur (wink wink), oh glorious bully, and for how long shall our licking go on?

Forever subservient to the dilapidated old clown who really needs to specify which Americans he means when he says America First. He certainly doesn't mean, and has never meant, the majority of the American population. America First is not about the working class consumers who suffer the most for his endless failures. Most likely, like everything else he has ever done, it is all about the top one percent, the richest of the rich. They come first, above all. Or maybe to him there really is simply no one other than them.

America First also means, fuck (over) everyone else on the entire planet. A fair deal is a fail. Generosity is a fail. Helping is a fail. Really anything contributing to the success of humanity, that a real world leader in his position should be striving to achieve in 2026, is a complete fail to him. The deal has to be maximum taking, taking, taking, for himself, the regime, and for the billionaires they serve, or no deal at all.

I've noticed quite a lot of similarities between what he is trying to 'accomplish' in America, and what The Taliban has 'accomplished' in Afghanistan. He wants to be dictator of an isolated and feared country that chooses warfare over diplomacy. Bombs for the enemy, bad deals for the ally, and fuck all the citizens he claims to be 'a leader of'. He wants 'those people' to be desperate, endangered, broke, uneducated, silenced, hungry, diseased, scared, and to be stripped of all their rights.

And yet he still has supporters. ? ? They must be excited about the ballroom they will never get near. The ballroom with a million dollar cover charge, mandatory orifice and strip search at the entrance for staff and guests. How much are they spending on gold paint? Will they make the statue of him look as though he's healthy, or will they make it look like the unhealthy sagging blob that he actually is? Have the designers and builders ever designed and built anything before? Are they familiar with 1940's Germany decor? Will the merch table be in the lobby or in the corner of the ballroom? Fucking ballroom. Who even uses that word anymore? Like, what next, will there be a cotillion in the ballroom? Is there really a secret bunker under it? A gigantic sealed tomb for the scared man-baby leader to hide in. If it's secret then why does everyone know about it? How thick are the walls? Will it have a door like a bank vault? Will they sneak him in there in a catering truck?

It is that time of the week where I do my weekly update without really saying anything. This one will be much the same.

This past week was rough. There were a few days that were exceptionally rough. The week isn't just a blur. Really the whole month is a blur. This morning, someone I speak to every day, said that this is the first day in a month where I sound like myself. I was admittedly slightly offended because I thought I do very well at hiding when I don't feel well. And I have made extra effort to do so. I'm going to have to work on that.

I don't have a lot to say on it all. I haven't had this kind of stomach issues and migraines in a while, I think. Not for so long. It's still not over. But at least it's livable right now. There was one day, where I would not have minded if it had just taken me out.

I get eyes rolled at me quite a bit or told I'm being too sensitive when I say I can't do something or I can't eat something. I get why people think that. If it's minor and I've been really strict with myself for months, the discomfort that it will cause me is not something that I really show or acknowledge even to myself because I just don't acknowledge pain until it reaches certain levels. When you live with very high levels of chronic pain for decades and you have experienced extreme amounts of acute pain, your brain and nervous system kind of starts to rewire what pain is to you.

For me, personally, there seems to be a line. I think I am subconsciously aware that things are there, but it doesn't register for me to do something until it's close to that line or has already passed it. At that point, it is too late. My ex used to say to me that he did not understand how I could be so sensory sensitive on the one hand, but completely oblivious on the other hand.

It's kind of true that I am like that. I can feel the most subtle of breeze or vibration in a room, but not realize that I'm getting too cold until I am already spasming extremely hard from being too cold. In fact, sometimes I feel hot and want to be colder. Right now I want to be colder. It is 65° in my apartment. I should be fine. I am this close to sweating. If I start sweating I will break out into hives. Alas, I actually need to turn my AC up because the morning is starting and dropping your temperature by 40 and 50° makes the AC very unhappy.

I am rambling just so I don't have to say anything. This time was bad. I really can't eat such things out of convenience. It sucks whenever you're hurting so bad that you really aren't capable of standing up very long. I do have food in the freezer that has been prepped and cooked. Absolutely delicious food. The very thought of it makes me nauseous. That is concerning, because it is my main staple. I'm not sure what to think about that right now.

Let's see... mental health. Where is mine? Probably okay until I start thinking. Thinking can get you in trouble sometimes. Especially if you are fond of understanding things. There is bliss in ignorance. I don't know.

I also got invited to go somewhere this week that would be nice to go to. I said no. I really don't get in cars with strangers. I especially do not go off on a long distance trip with strangers. Even if I do know one person that would mean that I am subject to someone's rules that I don't know and dependent upon them for safety for an extended period of time. That is really not in my wheelhouse. I understand that people do it all the time, but I am not those people. There is a very good reason why I have not placed myself out there in the dating pool extensively. I trust no one. 🤣

I did do the trust thing a few times. I don't think the guy realizes when I said that I think he might chop me up into little pieces that I was being serious. Jokingly serious. I really just don't like to be dependent upon someone if I don't trust them explicitly. Very humorous, really. I'm going to have to get over that. Or maybe not.

In my youth, I went to places with people I barely knew quite often. As well as in my early adulthood. I was in a lot better shape then. Also, ignorance is bliss. Even still, I was always wary. I don't know. I also paid for it a few times. I have paid for it with people I've known exceptionally well, also. I guess it is little wonder why I am the way I am today, but I do understand that most people don't quite grasp it.

There is a beauty to aging. There are also things that suck about it. Seeing the world more clearly, really sucks. I used to laugh when people would say that a decade makes a difference. I was quite mature for my age when I was younger. But, I would say that every decade does seem to make quite a bit of a difference. Not for everyone. For persons like myself, I think it does.

Some people will perpetually be 13 years old both in actions and thoughts. I wonder what my 60s will bring me. I would acknowledge it partially scares me. I do not like the idea of being old and less capable in a society and world that is determined to destroy everything. I do not like it at all. I think I am better coming to terms with it, though.

I did not keep up with my chores well this past month and it shows. I think I should consider that. Anyway, I lost a pound. One would think I would have lost more, all things considered. I don't really care either way at the moment. I'm very tired and still in a considerable amount of pain. I would happily gain several pounds back if it would just give me some energy.

With all of that said, I am in a positive mindset, and I'm determined to have a good day.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

JOURNAL 23 août 2026

L'hôtel moche est désert, on dirait que le mauvais temps a découragé les touristes. Nos copains étaient contents de nous revoir, ils trouvent super que nous ne on soit pas rebutées, du coup on a dîné avec eux dans leur repaire. On appelle ça une paillote en français m'a dit A. Le patron nous a à la bonne, surtout A forcément qui boit plus sec qu'un homme, ça lui inspire un profond respect😃.

Bon l'ambiance est top copain copain, ils nous ont acceptées comme si on était des mecs, très étonnés de notre facilité à surfer. Ma princesse surtout on dirait qu'elle a fait ça toute sa vie. Moi c'est moins spectaculaire quand même je trouve, mais eux disent non c'est vachement bien. Bon, on est un peu claquées mine de rien…

#surf