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This is a space where men can share their perspectives on their inner journey. The form can be prose, poetry, photographic or handcrafted images. The purpose is to stimulate, even minutely, the transformative process. All art strives to move us to a different place, that place of the soul, that initiatory space, where the call is heard and identity found. Please reverence the space by respectfully entering and sharing.

August, 2003

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I have always been fascintated by those roads you see while driving along the interstate. Some run beside the highway for a stretch then turn and wander through a field or a stand of trees, past a decrepit barn or living pasture—up over a rise and then where? Others seem to start at the berm and if you take your eyes from the road and glance the opposite direction you’ll see it’s other half, coming from a somewhere as mysterious as the its counterpart is going. Once those two roads, the coming and the going, were one road, a road that went someplace in both directions. Someplaces where life was lived and death died, perhaps still is, but with only a roundabout connection now. The highway, coming and going to places a committee in yet another someplace deemed more important, cut the old road in half.

Donald Walker - drwhome@one.net