I try to see the world through my father’s eyes, his sense that everything looked like science fiction.


Surveillance signs say Krishna is Watching. A life-sized plastic elephant sleeps in the parking lot.


Making darkness visible during the holidays.


Snapshots from Greece and a meditation on the end of a world.


His ashes curled through the water in a pattern that conjured nebulae and galaxies, a reassuring image that I keep pinned to my mind.


Each time I pick up a pen these days, I am reminded of Ingmar Bergman’s admonition that “the only worthwhile subject is man’s relationship with god.”


After receiving a lung and transforming himself into a grand old man, my father slipped suddenly from this world.


Read the writing on the walls. This is America muttering to itself in the kitchen before stumbling off to bed.

James A. Reeves

Notes from the end of a world. Searching for faith in the digital age. atlasminor.com

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