I want to create something beautiful, something that affirms life and fulfills lives. I want to celebrate humanity, praise our collective effort to rebel against the injustice of nature. I often catch myself, mesmerized by the profound mysteries of existence, of being conscious of my experience in this infinite and silent universe. The structures and systems of our world, our rebellion against nature’s indifference, reveal their true absurdity from such a distance. It’s scary out there. But it makes me love it here even more, among others. There are days when a layer of low clouds stretches from Westport to the base of The Mountain. Not flush against her slopes, but hanging back just enough so that the warmest sunlight swarms down from the laughing Greece-blue skies hiding above the clouds. The flat gray lid overhead presses down, condensing the atmosphere. The sound from the city below travels clear enough that I can hear the silences between the traffic. I’ll take another acting class this spring, make a film, teach kids to surf this summer in Neah. I want to go to Europe to help with the refugee crisis, but could I? I mean, do I have the courage for such a selfless act? Maybe I’ll just stay here and volunteer to help local veterans. I know I have the courage for that. Things are catastrophic in this world. There is so much suffering. It’s so easy to despair. Outside, the wind blows deep through the tall firs. The sharp contrast of the trees against the backdrop of fast-moving colorless sky reminds me of our limits. When friends visit from Southern California they often refer to the Douglas Firs as Pine Trees. But Doug Firs have flat needles, less pitch, and they burn hotter and longer. It’s easy to overlook nuances in a place you don’t understand. Later, I will take the bus downtown. A large South Pacific man with dark skin and curly black hair will stand at the front of the bus. I will stare at him from my peripheral along with everyone else. Eventually, he will thank the lady who was sitting next to me, a woman with white pocked skin and baggy jeans, her dark oily hair pulled back into a pony tail. Getting off the bus, she will stop and give the man her mittens, “Here man. These go good with your outfit.” And I’ll watch her blow into her cupped hands as the bus pulls away and everything but the beauty of the moment fades into history.