I once asked my 85-year-old mother if she had any regrets. Only one, she said.

It’s gay pride month. Lots of parades. I attended my first while visiting my twin granddaughters in Albuquerque.

I met a Brood X cicada who spoke English. She agreed to an interview with The Devil’s Gift.

I broke out for breakfast last week. I was double-vaxed and rarin’ to go. My double-vaxed friend was too. We were inmates released from prison—sentence served, doors flung open.

My first book, Let Love Arise, outsold the Bible.

In case you didn’t know (or hadn’t noticed), I am a master of divinity.

I’m not sure labels such as fundamentalist, theist, atheist, deist, pantheist, animist, environmentalist, secularist, or humanist are helpful.

My post last Sunday prompted some subscribers to unsubscribe. Only two, but not just any two.

Jesus is dead, I said in my Easter Sunday blog post. A reader disagreed.

I saw Jesus napping in a hammock in my backyard. A transistor radio lay on his chest.