Project Hail Mary: The Substance of Things Hoped For

4/10/2026 — I’m prone to having moments.

Project Hail Mary—both the audiobook, and last night the movie—were two such moments.

There is a moment in the story when a character experiences something profound and simply says:

“I’m having a moment.
Give me a moment.”

It’s when the veil peels back…
and life just is GOOD.

A restoration of faith.

Or more clearly—
the substance of things hoped for.
The delivery of your faith.

Things that are not just good…
but GREAT.

But not in the loud, yelling,
“this is fucking great” kind of way…

In the deeper, quieter way—
the kind you feel in your heart.

And I got to share it with my family.

Some moments, you share alone…
and some moments, you share with others.

Blessings on every one of you reading this.

I bless you with moments—
experiences that pause your soul,
so you can witness and participate
in the vast magic and abundance flowing through us all…

right now.

This moment is good.

I spent years fighting to feel even a little okay
in a situation that wasn’t okay.

Now I’m learning how to fully feel okay…
in a life that actually is.

And here’s the strange part—

This is harder than it sounds.

Because part of me is still scanning…
still bracing…
still remembering.

Like it might all disappear
if I relax too much.

But right now—

Nothing is wrong.

Nothing is collapsing.

Nothing is being taken.

This moment is good.

And I’m learning
how to let it be.

Birthday for the Kittens

4/8/2026 — Two years ago today…

Essie D. Fluffie gave birth to 4 — no, make that 6 — little barn cat kittens in my basement.

It was one of those things.

She had walked in from the outside world, plopped down in our basement, refused to leave, and trusted us to have her babies.

I don't know how to express the gratitude, the excitement, the magic of that birth — and the two years since.

All of these little fluffers are full-grown cats now.

It was one of those moments of grace and magic and miracles. Watching day in and day out as Essie was such a good Momma to Telamus, Zeus, Marshy, Rosie, Beetlejuice, and Blackjack — it always confirmed to my heart that there is good in the world.

It did me good to see a good momma do her thing.

Like I said, words can't make it make sense. But it healed and elevated a huge part of my soul.

Thank you, Essie.

Happy birthday, boys — and Rosie, the one lady in the barn cat bunch! 🐾

I Sat

This morning I sat.

Fans humming.
Breath in the nostrils.
Chair rolling over plastic.
Cats somewhere far off.
Birds — layers of them — songs, chirps, whistles.

And underneath it all…

Silence.

Not the absence of sound.
The source of it.

So I opened.

Wider than the room.
Wider than the walls.
Wider than the idea that "I stop here."

Be the corners.
Be the space between them.
Be the field everything is happening inside of.

Then I listened out.

Past the room.
Past the walls.

Not waiting for sound to come to me —
reaching toward it.

Then I smelled out.

Coffee.
Morning air.
The particular quality of this house, this hour.

Something shifted.

The field got bigger.
And I got… less.

Less defined.
Less boundaried.
Less certain where I ended.

Then —

Jennie.

Not "over there."
Not separate.

Same field.

And it didn't come as pictures.

It came as a feeling.

In the chest.
Through the heart.

Honest.
Immediate.

Mine… and not mine.

That's not imagination.
That's contact.

Less separation.

And then —

come back.

Because you're not here to dissolve.
Not yet.

Death can have that.

Right now you're here to touch the infinite…
and return as a man.

So I contracted.

Pulled the field back in through the senses —
through the smell, the sound, the breath —
back into this body, this chair, this moment.

And then I felt it.

The skeleton in the stone.
The song underneath the silence.

You don't create it.
You get quiet enough to find it.

So I sat again.

I wrote.

I felt out, came back, and offered this —
through the heart — as a gift.

That's the return.
That's the action.
That's this.

Gift of Getting Sick

4/7/2026 – The Gift of Getting Sick

I got sick.

Fever. Puke. Diarrhea. Foggy. EMOTIONAL.

The kind of sick that humbles you because your FUNCTION is not fucking functioning.

And something interesting happened…

Underneath the physical symptoms, old thoughts came back online.
Old wounds. Old patterns.

Like the system got stripped down and showed me what was still running in the background.

There’s a polarity here:

Sickness…
and the sudden, undeniable desire for health.

Someone once said,
“If I take the air out of the room, you forget everything else you want… and only one desire remains: air.”

That’s contrast.

It doesn’t just clarify things in your mind—
it INSPIRES things in your heart.

You can’t name them.
You can only FEEL them.

And now?

I feel back.

And it feels AMAZING.

Not just because I’m healthy again…
Because I felt what it’s like not to be.

That’s the magic.

Contrast doesn’t just hurt you—
it sharpens you.

Burns away the noise.
Reveals what actually matters.

I’m not chasing health in some needy, grasping way.

I’m just… aligned with it.
Returned to it.

Clean. Clear. Present.

And out of that?

Energy. Joy. Creative fire.

Like the feminine current of life itself is flowing back through me…
Radiant. Playful. Alive.

All things are set to surprise and delight me.

The pain?
It served its purpose.
I don’t need to carry it anymore.

ACCEPT THE JOY.

Man, I fucking love these acceptance gates.

So yeah… I got sick.

And I’m grateful. No bullshit.

Because this feeling right now wouldn’t exist without that.

Now I remember what it feels like to be fully alive.

Who is King in the Kitchen? Men or Women?

Who is King in the Kitchen? Men or Women?

I noticed something this weekend watching Peter cook ragù.

I saw it a month ago when my client cooked gumbo.

I don't think I've seen it before.

It's not about man or woman.
Male or female.

I saw it first.
Then felt it.

It wasn't just that these men were focused.

And it wasn't just that they were holding the space.

It was both.

At the same time.

One part of them was everywhere.

Aware of the whole room.
Holding it. Holding everyone in it.

The container.

But another part of them…
at the same time…

Was locked in.

Just the knife.
The pan.
The stir.

The center.

Most men — me included — live in one or the other.

Too wide… and nothing lands.
Too narrow… and everything else falls apart.

But when both are alive…

when a man can feel the edges of the room
and stay locked into the center of the work —

something happens.

An arc of electricity forms between presence and focus.

You could feel it in the food.
You could feel it in the room.

It wasn't just dinner anymore.

The space came alive.
Something arrived.

And she only comes
when the ingredients are held like that.

Abundant Cooking

4/6/2026 — Monday

"Sit down. I'm taking over your kitchen."

About a month ago, a client came through with his parents.

His dad… old school.
Louisiana roots. Quiet strength, presence, humor.

At one point he looks at me and says,
"I want to cook you my gumbo."

I laughed.
"No. You're paying me for a meditation, you are in my home. I cook for you."

He didn't flinch.
"No. I am paying you. And one of the things I want… is this."

So we went to the store together.
He tried to pay.
I overrode him.

I buy. You cook.

We both knew exactly what we were doing.

Later that night… he stood in my kitchen and brought that place to life.

Slow. Intentional. No rush.

He'd obviously done it a thousand times.
No recipe. All in his head.

Explaining as he went, teaching… constantly teaching…

how the core of the whole thing was the roux —
and the attention to detail as he fenced with the hot oil and flour with a wooden spoon.

We ate that gumbo…

…and then we ate it again the next day.

…and the next.

A whole week of it.

Every bowl felt like something more than food.

Then this weekend…

I've been sick. Off all week.

Didn't plan a thing for dinner, though we had plans to hang with Peter and Tracy all day Saturday.

My friend Peter shows up Saturday morning, arms full of ingredients.

"Don't worry. I got it."

That night — lamb ragù.
Fresh noodles. Slow cooked. Dialed in.

I take a bite and I just… stop.

"You've gotta savor this."

Because I could.

Because for the first time all week, I could actually taste again.

Jennie's laughing.
Peter's got that look.

You know the one.

And I just…

savored it.

Two men walked into my kitchen this month.

Both arrived smiling. Arms full. Certain.

Twice in one month I get to practice radical reception.

Who gets to live like this?

Sick

4/3/2026 — Sick

I don’t get sick very often.
And I fucking hate it.

It angers me.

Because everything I’ve built—
my frame, my clarity, my depth, my presence…

gone.

Just like that.

Suddenly I’m tired.
Emotional.
Ungrateful.
Irritated.

All that work…
out the window.

And it’s humbling.

Because we walk around touching something divine.

You feel it at Ultra.
You feel it staring at your cats.
You feel it with your woman.
You feel it in the work.

Moments where it’s like—

God is right here.

Flowing through you.
Alive. Electric. Infinite.

And then…

You get sick.

And there’s no divinity.
Just a body that doesn’t work.

A fever.
A foggy brain.
Emotions all over the place.

You’re not a god.

You’re a sack of meat
that’s malfunctioning.

I’ve always been fascinated by this:

The feminine can overwhelm the masculine.

Not woman—
the feminine force itself.

Storm.
Wind.
Emotion.
Life.

I remember driving through Provo years ago—
winds ripping trees out of the ground.

Just power.

A reminder:

You are not in control.

Men think:

“If I get strong enough…
nothing will shake me.”

No.

That’s not how it works.

You get stronger—
and life rises to meet you.

The storm grows too.

And this week, I felt it in my own body.

Fever high.
System overwhelmed.

My own emotions got so big…
my masculine couldn’t hold them.

That was… fascinating.

And humbling.

Now I’m coming back online.

Friday.
Feeling better.

I can feel the swagger creeping back in—

“I’m good. I’ve got this.”

And somewhere deeper…

a quieter voice:

Careful.

Because a little virus…
a little fever…

and it’s all gone again.

So yeah—build strength.
Build presence.
Get sharper.
Get deeper.

But stay humble.

Because life will humble you anyway.

And here’s the twist:

That humility isn’t punishment.

It’s access.

Because art…

doesn’t come through the channel of
“I’ve got everything handled.”

It comes through the cracks.

The openings.

The places where you’re not in control.

Even sick…

something real can move through you.

If you let it.

Miami Adventure

Miami. Ultra. Brotherhood.

Last weekend, me and a couple of my mates did something simple.

Someone said,
“Hey… let’s go to Ultra.”

And instead of overthinking it…
we just went.

Flew out of Salt Lake.
Watched Interstellar at 30,000 feet.
Landed in Miami alone.

Beer. Burger. Bed.

Quiet before the storm.

The next morning the boys arrived from different corners of the world.

And just like that…
we were back.

Older.
Busier.
But something underneath hadn’t changed.

Ultra was chaos… in the best way.

150,000 people.

Every color. Every language. Every rhythm.

Latin. Asian. White. Black.
I swear I heard Italian walking past me.

No one arguing.
No one posturing.

Just people…

dancing.

There’s a different kind of diversity that doesn’t need a label.

It doesn’t preach.
It doesn’t divide.

It just… happens.

When people come together
for something real.

Music. Energy. Movement.

We missed one set waiting in line.

Didn’t matter.

Because then…

Illenium at sunset.
Skrillex lighting the whole sky on fire.
Martin Garrix b2b Alesso.

And somewhere in there…
I stopped thinking
and just felt it.

Days blurred.

Late nights.
Deep talks.
Then dumb talks because we were too tired to be smart.

Laughter. Silence. Presence.

No one needing anything from each other.

Just… being there.

Final night.

John Summit.

100,000 people singing Where You Are
word for word.

And for a moment…

you could feel it.

All of it.

Life.
Joy.
Connection.

Here’s what hit me:

The best parts of life aren’t complicated.

They don’t come from planning every detail.

They come from a simple move…

“Let’s go.”

And then you go.

No drama.
No performance.
No over-optimization.

Just friends.
Music.
And a willingness to step into it.

Came home tired.
Maybe even a little wrecked.

But full.

Grateful.

More alive than when I left.

Ready to love my life even more.

Sometimes that’s all it takes.

Pack the bag.

Say yes.

Go.

Adventures

Remember when?

We used to just go.

Someone would say,
“Hey… why don’t we go do this?”
And that was enough.

No overthinking.
No calendars.
No optimization.

Just… movement.

I heard Flea talking about this—
how back in the day, one of them would throw out an idea…
and they’d just get up and go.

One time they headed into the Sierra Nevadas
with nothing but backpacks full of candy.

That was the plan.

It reminded me of a time I dropped in on Tom Mecham in St. George—
on the way to a Blue Öyster Cult concert.

He didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t check his schedule.
Didn’t think it through.

He just got in the car.

Recently, some friends asked if I wanted to go on an adventure.

I felt the old energy rise up.

“Why not?”

Let’s go.

I’ll pack a bag of candy.

A Way of Living

There’s a way of living
where you stop trying to perform…
and start telling the truth.

Not the polished version.
Not the acceptable version.

The real one.

The one that moves energy.
The one that creates something in the space between people.

That’s where my work lives.

Not fixing you.
Not teaching you.

Drawing out what’s already there—
and staying with it long enough
for it to become art.

Polarity isn’t a concept.
It’s what happens
when truth is allowed to breathe.

And the edge I’m living right now is simple:

Can the same raw, sacred, unapologetic expression…
be the thing that feeds my life?

No split.
No performance.

Just truth—
fully lived.

Mechanics

Sometimes the problem isn't resistance.
Sometimes you just don't know the mechanics yet.

That's a different kind of humility.

Because it's easy—especially when you've done a lot of inner work—
to assume everything is emotional… energetic… subconscious…

Sometimes it is.

But sometimes…
you're just not very good at the thing yet.

You say you want more money—
but you've never actually learned how to make an offer.

You say you want deeper connection—
but you've never learned how to tell the truth cleanly.

You say you want momentum—
but you don't have a system that creates consistency.

That's not resistance.
That's mechanics.

And when you confuse the two…
you keep going inward, trying to heal something that isn't broken.

There are places I've looked for a block…
when the truth was simpler:

I just haven't done the reps yet.

And when you see that clearly—
it's not heavy.

It's almost a relief.

Because the path isn't:
"fix yourself."

It's:
"learn the thing."

Practice it. Refine it. Stay with it long enough to work.

Because sometimes…
there's nothing wrong with you.

You're just early in the process.

Resistance

A lot of people aren’t failing to get what they want.
They’re resisting having it.
That’s a different problem.

It’s easy to look at the outside and say:
“I just haven’t figured it out yet.”
“I need a better strategy.”
“I need more time.”

Sometimes that’s true.

But sometimes…
you can feel it.

You want something—
more money, deeper love, real connection, momentum—

and right behind the desire…
there’s a tightening somewhere in your body.

A hesitation.
A quiet “not yet.”

Or even:
“Not me.”

That’s the part most people don’t look at.

Because it’s subtle.

It can look like patience.
It can sound like wisdom.
It can disguise itself as:
“I’m just waiting for the right time.”

But underneath…
there’s often something else.

So you reach…
and pull back.

You move forward…
and stall.

You say you want it…
but you don’t fully open to receiving it.

And you feel betrayed in your gut because the thing pushing it away is you.

Because on the surface, you’re trying.
But under the surface, you’re resisting.

I’ve been seeing this in myself lately.

Not as some big dramatic sabotage…
but in small, almost invisible ways.

A hesitation here.
A question there.
A subtle sense that I need to “earn it more” before I can fully have it.

Not forcing.
Not grinding harder.

Just noticing:
Where am I not actually available for the thing I say I want?

Because sometimes…
nothing outside needs to change.

Just your surrender.

Money Problems

Some people don’t have a money problem.

They have a meaning problem.

They want money…

but they also carry a story that money means:
greed,
corruption,
shallowness,
selling out,
or becoming the kind of person they never wanted to be.

So they split.

Part of them wants more.
Part of them resists it.

Part of them wants to be supported.
Part of them wants to prove:

“I’m still worthy without it.”

That conflict is the crux. It's always an interior conflict. That's how you know you have found it.

Because if money unconsciously means
betrayal,
ego,
or becoming like your parents…

you won’t just go make it cleanly.

You’ll hesitate.
Delay.
Complicate it.
Spiritualize it.
Judge it.
Push it away…
while still wanting it.

That’s a brutal loop.

The shift, for me, is not becoming someone who worships money.

It’s simpler than that.

It’s admitting:

I already have value without money.

And I’m allowed to have value
while making money too.

That changes the whole game.

Now money doesn’t have to prove I matter.

And rejecting money doesn’t prove I’m pure.

Now it can just be what it is:

Support.
Resource.
Exchange.
Fuel for the mission.

There you go. Boom!

We Tried War

We tried war.
Men vs women.
Power. Control. Damage.

We tried neutrality.
“We’re all the same.”
No edges. No tension. No spark.

And now?

We sit in a quiet, polite…
deadness.

Here’s the truth no one wants to say:

Energy without structure is chaos.
Structure without energy is lifeless.

The feminine expands.
That’s what it does.
Like a river. Like fire. Like a storm.

The masculine contains.
Not to control—
but to give it form.

The river needs banks.
The sun needs gravity.
Even atoms bond.

Not oppression.
Structure.

And here’s the part that scares people:

You have both.

Your feminine wants to move, feel, explode, create.
Your masculine must be strong enough to hold it… and guide it with heart.

Most men? Collapse.
Most women? Overflow.

No judgment. Just untrained energy.

But when it’s refined…

When structure meets flow
without fear…

Something else happens.

Not safety.
Not control.

Magic.

We don’t need less polarity.

We need
conscious polarity.

On Mars

3/22/2026 – On Mars

Today I finally set up On Mars again.

This game has been sitting in my orbit for about a year.

Not because I don’t want to play it.
Because it’s a beast.

Heavy game.
Complex game.
The kind of game that creates what I call turbulence in the mind.

That feeling of:
“I don’t know enough yet.”
“I need one more video.”
“One more rules pass.”
“One more round of preparation before I begin.”

And yet I’ve learned a lot of hard games.

So it’s always interesting when the mind still reacts like the unknown is a threat.

That’s what I noticed today.

I was setting it up…
feeling that old pressure…
that old background anxiety of
“Damn it, I should have learned this already”—

and then another voice cut through:

This is fun.

That changed the whole field.

Because it is fun.

It’s challenging.
It’s mentally demanding.
It asks something of me.

But that’s part of the pleasure.

I don’t actually need to eliminate the turbulence before I begin. I just need to begin.

That’s true in board games.
Probably true in half of life.

One of the worst ways for me to learn a game is when someone tries to explain every rule before the first move.

My way is simpler:

Start.
Make a move.
Be confused.
See what happens.
Learn by entering the system.

Not elegant.
Not perfect.
But real.

There’s something deeply satisfying about continuing to learn hard things.
New systems.
New patterns.
New maps.

It reminds me that even when the mind gets dramatic,
it is still capable.
Still adaptive.
Still alive.

So today’s scrapbook entry is this:

Mars.
Complexity.
Mental turbulence.
And the quiet satisfaction of not backing away.

Sometimes the move is not to understand everything first.

Sometimes the move is just to sit at the table…
and play.

One Piece Season 2 Review

3/22/2026 – Review Sunday

Finished Season 2 of One Piece last night.

It’s loud.
Colorful.
Absurd as hell.

Snail phones.
Rubber pirates.
A blue-nosed reindeer doctor.

On paper… it shouldn’t work.

And yet—it does.

Because underneath all the chaos…
there’s heart.

Real heart.

You’ve got Luffy—Monkey D. Luffy—

this reckless, smiling idiot genius
who just decides:

“I’m going to be King of the Pirates.”

No backup plan.
No strategy.
No apology.

Just belief.

And somehow…

He keeps being right about people.

Then his crew—

Zoro, discipline and steel.
Nami, sharp, grounded, the one who actually sees the map.
Sanji, fire and flavor and devotion.
Usopp… the liar slowly becoming the man he pretends to be.

They’re different.
They give each other shit.
They clash.

And they’d die for each other.

That’s the magic.

It’s not the powers.

It’s the crew.

The whole world is stitched together from chaos—

bits of culture, myth, nonsense, brilliance—

like someone took everything they loved as a kid
and refused to let it die.

And instead of making it “cool” or “serious”…

they made it true.

That’s the rare part.

There’s no wink to the camera.
No hiding behind irony.

Just:

Dreams matter.
Loyalty matters.
Heart matters.

And yeah…

part of me wonders if this story ever ends.

If “the One Piece” is real
or just the thing that keeps them moving.

But as a viewer?

I want both.

The journey…

and the treasure.

Either way—

I didn’t expect this show to hit like it does.

But it does.

Tony Tony Tony Chopper.

Illenium

The Sphere

Introduced to EDM by my son—through the portal of Excision—I’ve since become a fan.

So when Illenium announced his short residency at the Sphere, I called my daughter and said,
“Let’s go.”

I did the research.
Got the exact tickets I wanted.
And then waited… six months.

The day finally arrived.

I was already in Vegas for a board game convention.
Amethyst flew in, Ubered over, and we got ready.

Toast!
Energy building.
Then up… up… up the escalators…
and into the arena.

People say you have to see the Sphere.

They’re wrong.

You don’t have to.
But if you do…

…it’s better than expected.

Way better.

There are things in life I recommend if you’re inclined.
The Sphere?

It blows past recommendation.

It’s BUILT for EDM.

Illenium put a year into that show.
You could feel it.

It wasn’t just good.
It was transportive.

And the wild part?

You didn’t even need to be an Illenium fan to enjoy it.

(Though it didn’t hurt…)

As an Excision fan, hearing I Prevail, Gold, Zombie—
those collabs hit different.

But the real moment?

I kept looking over at my daughter.

Eyes wide.
Fully lit up.

And I thought—

Who gets to do this with their daughter?

What a gift.
That she came.
That we shared it.

Pure magic.

We even met people in the row ahead of us—
also from Utah.

Of course we did.

After the show, standing in the taxi line at midnight…
t-shirt, shorts…

Perfect weather.

Vegas, just… cooperating.

And then the cherry on top—

Back at the hotel,
Tom and Jennie were (kind of) awake.

Tom held strong longer.

We sat there… talking it all through.
Still buzzing.

My recommendation?

Do the small things daily.
You know I believe in that. Core 4. Discipline. Alignment.

But every once in a while—

Do something big.

Something memorable.
Something that cracks life open a little wider.

You’re worth it.

And so are the people you love.

Intimacy Needs Constant Attention

Intimacy isn’t like a skill.

People say,
“Relationships take practice.”

Sure.

But it’s not like picking up a guitar again after 10 years.

Alex Lifeson and Geddy Lee can step back in,
fumble a bit,
run scales,
get their fingers back…

And the guitar just sits there.

Patient.
Neutral.
Unaffected.

It doesn’t feel neglected.
It doesn’t close down.
It doesn’t test you.

But intimacy?

That’s alive.

You don’t “pause” it.

You abandon it.

And when you come back…

you’re not picking up where you left off—

you’re meeting whatever grew in the absence.

Distance.
Resentment.
Walls.
Withdrawal.
Silence.

Or sometimes…

a quiet ache that says:
“Are you really here this time?”

Skills wait for you.

People don’t.

They adapt.
They protect.
They change.

So yeah—intimacy takes practice.

But not the kind where you disappear for a while.

It’s a living thing.

And it knows when you’ve been gone.

Intimacy is Art

Intimacy is art.

You can study technique for years.
Say the right words.
Touch the right way.
Breathe, lead, soften…

And sometimes…

…it still falls flat.

No spark.
No opening.
No magic.

And then another night—
with less effort, less precision—

something opens that feels almost divine.

It’s strange.

The same man.
The same woman.
The same bodies.

Completely different result.

If this were just technique,
we could master it.

But it’s not.

It’s art.

Even the best musicians walk off stage some nights thinking:

"That was incredible."

And other nights:

"That sucked."

Same skill.
Different mystery.

And the worst thing you can do?

Try to recreate the incredible night.

You remember exactly how it felt.
You try to set the same scene.
Same mood.
Same moves.

But you're not present anymore—

you’re hunting a ghost.

And ghosts don’t come when called.

The grasping is the thing that kills it.

So maybe this isn’t about controlling the outcome.

Maybe it’s not even about repeating what worked.

Maybe it’s about showing up
honest… present… available…

and letting whatever happens, happen.

Because in art—

magic doesn’t come on command.
It doesn’t come on replay.

But if you keep playing…

it visits.