Choosing the Right Hemisphere

Choosing the Right Hemisphere 

July, 2026

It's hot, so we're swimming laps in the pond early in the day when the water temp is reasonable. By mid afternoon it feels more like a hot tub, which is fine for soaking but lousy for a swim.

We stepped out this July morning under an absolute cloudless sky and a radiant sun promising another sweltering day. I was thinking of a video from last night—meteorologist Chris Gloninger reporting that Salt Lake City was 109 degrees, the hottest temperature recorded in 152 years of monitoring. Billings, Montana, was 111, and Barcelona, Spain logged its highest temperature in 112 years—105 degrees. "Stop calling it weather,” Gloninger said. “This isn’t a heat wave, it’s a pattern, and we’re the reason."

I slid into the pond, remembering a clip featuring Sam Neill of Jurassic Park fame. He said he’d like a night with no dreams and a morning when there's really nothing on the news. No pestilence.  No war. No aggression. People just leaving it alone and getting along with each other. Chickens laying eggs in the coop, a game of football on Saturday that someone might win, but more likely it will be a draw. Neill was looking for a day when really nothing happens. “That's my dream,” he said. “It'd just be nice."

As I swam, reaching and stretching with each stroke, aware of my form, my breath, the sound of water, I thought of brain scientist Dr Jill Taylor who had a stroke that damaged the left side of her brain. It would take eight years to recover. She recounts the experience in a Ted Talk called “My Stroke of Insight”. 

The left side of our brains holds our memories, our language, our fears, ambitions, routines. Dr Taylor lost it all. She was limited to the right half, responsible for creativity, spatial abilities, and emotions. The two hemispheres work together but process things differently. 

With her left side out of commission, she couldn’t walk, talk, read, write, or remember faces . Yet, she was aware. The right hemisphere is about the present moment. It thinks in pictures, gathers information from our sensory perceptions and creates a collage of what the present moment looks like—the smells and tastes, the sounds, the feelings.  

As the effects of her stroke were taking hold, Dr Taylor experienced euphoria when function was limited to her right hemisphere. She knew she was having a stroke, and in the early stages the remnants of her left hemisphere would creep in and  remind her of unfinished work, appointments, deadlines. She had things to do! But she didn’t want to let go of the euphoria, the peace and overwhelming comfort it offered. 

The ordeal would convince her that we are all energy beings, one human family connected by consciousness, here to make the world a better place—perfect, whole, and beautiful. She had found Nirvana, and she knew that anyone at any time could “step to the right of their left hemispheres and find this peace.” 

 

Some, like writer Linda Carroll, took the story further: “In 1992, scientists discovered that the electromagnetic field of a human body can be measured in a bubble around us, roughly the size of our outstretched arms. They can use sensors to measure it. The National Institute of Health says it’s our biofield, short for biometric field. A measure of the electrical energy emanating from our hearts.”

According to Carroll, when the left side of Dr Taylor’s brain shut down, she experienced colors in the biometric fields of people. When her doctor entered the room and said the left side of her brain had shut down and only her right brain was showing activity, she didn’t understand the sounds coming from his mouth. But she liked the colors in the bubble around him, so she smiled and watched, mesmerized. 

A stranger entered the room. Dr Taylor did not recognize her but liked her colors, and allowed her mother to crawl into bed with her. But not everyone’s colors were welcomed. Some were grey and dark, and Taylor would scream until they left the room. 

If the biofield theory is legit, it could explain how we respond, negatively or positively, when someone approaches close enough that our energies mesh. It may give credence to first impressions or gut responses. 

As Dr Taylor was slowly finding her way to recovery, she kept reminding herself to not forget what she felt when controlled solely by her right brain. She saw it as the key to true contentment and peace, available to all, and she is sharing her story like a prophet. 

I’d like to think that Sam Neill had learned to step beyond the endless chatter of his left hemisphere. For a few laps in the pond this morning, I did. As the planet warms, oceans rise, and fires burn, as wars and corruption dominate the news, maybe we need to remind ourselves that alongside our ambitions and fears and baggage is another way of being—one rooted in attention, compassion, and the present moment. Dr Jill Taylor says it’s ours for the taking. 

Fantacies and Inevitabilities

Fantasies and Inevitabilities

July, 2026

We've just entered July and the heat of summer is already old news. Temperatures in the Midwest have been running higher than normal since January. Heat warnings are routine. And it's not just happening here. Europe has been cooking. The oceans are warmer than ever recorded.

The garden responds accordingly. The spinach, lettuce, and arugula bolts. The radishes get woody. But the tomatoes, peppers, and sweet corn take to the heat like a Finn to a sauna.

The people of the world carry on. Construction crews pace themselves, try to stay hydrated. Air conditioners hum, stressing an antiquated grid. Banks funnel money to fossil fuel companies in support of more fracking and drilling and pumping. Data centers appear like dandelions, demanding excessive electricity and water. A blanket of heat-trapping atmospheric gasses grows more dense by the day, as do its consequences. Decades-old climate predictions come to light even as promising green technologies enter the mainstream. A realization settles in: civilization’s influence on global climate will not end well.

There is a trilogy of books titled 2034, 2054, and 2084, novels by Elliot Ackerman and James Stavridis. The books imagine the future through the eyes of two men uniquely qualified to understand how it could unfold.

Elliot Ackerman is a former Marine Raider and CIA Special Activities Officer who completed five tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. James Stavridis is a retired four-star admiral and former supreme allied commander of NATO. Together they weave a cautionary tale rooted in emerging technology, geopolitics, and climate change. Though fiction, the books are based on solid science and a deep understanding of history, demographics, military strategy, and international power.

The impacts of a changing climate have influenced military strategies since the early 1990’s, when the Naval War College warned policymakers about its security risks. Since 2010, the Department of Defense included climate among its highest national security priorities—until the Trump regime took power.

The current administration has weakened considerations on climate change in strategic planning. Crucial safeguards and critical protections have been rolled back. The military’s preparedness for climate-related challenges have been compromised.

In the book 2034, the authors imagine a war between the US and China. In their follow-up novel, 2054, they explore a breakdown in American politics fueled by radical advances in artificial intelligence. And in 2084 they see a world devastated by climate change and threatened by yet another war.

From the website of Admiral Stavridis: “By the year 2084, the world is divided into equatorial countries that bear the brunt of the climate crisis—led by Nigeria, Brazil, and Indonesia—and wealthier countries like China and the US, beset by their own problems after a series of civil wars. Tensions between the two sets of countries have reached a breaking point, until finally the so-called Reparationist nations of the equator decide that only military force can bring them justice.”

This isn’t a Star Wars trilogy. It’s a plausible, cautionary tale based on current realities, written by a duo having a deep understanding of the threats facing our world today. But Admiral Stavridis remains optimistic, saying we can write a different destiny if we imagine it.

But will we?  Or will we continue to act surprised when weather extremes fully explained by a changed climate become more and more commonplace?  Will we divest from fossil fuels? Rise up against a corrupt distribution of wealth? Hold corporations accountable?

Stavridis, clinging to his unshakable optimism, says if we fail to adjust our trajectory and find our way to 2084 as his novel portrays, those standing will still find a way to carry on. That is optimism with a massive cost.

There are fantasies and there are inevitabilities.
We’re writing our sequel now, choosing our future with every barrel of oil burned, every forest preserved, every election, innovation, and act of indifference or courage. 

We’ll get to 2084 one hot July at a time, and history will judge us less by what we believed than by what we were willing to change.

What Raccoons Teach a Consumer

What Raccoons Teach a Consumer 

July, 2026

We have a problem with raccoons raiding our bird feeders. I heard about a gadget that could offer a solution—a solar-powered alarm triggered by motion.

  

Leaving bird feeders out overnight invites raccoons. Sunflower seed, suet cakes, sugar water for hummingbirds, fruit and jelly for orioles—everything gets eaten and licked clean by masked bandits. Feeders are often damaged or hauled off despite our efforts to make them inaccessible. We are forced to bring everything in before dark, which is an inconvenience and hassle. The alarm promised to make things better. I ordered it.

 

When it arrived I mounted it on a pole four feet from suet feeders hanging on the trunk of a big white pine. At dusk I ran a test. When the motion sensor detected me, red strobe lights flashed and the sound of gunshots and barking dogs rang out in deafening volume. This should work, I thought. 

That night, from our second floor bedroom, I repeatedly heard hounds and gunshots. The next morning the suet cakes were gone, the shepherd hooks bent, the hummingbird feeders disassembled. The alarm does what it claims to do with one minor exception—raccoons ignore it. It’s junk. 

A thoughtful man might see that the raccoons aren’t the problem—my unwillingness to tolerate a bit of inconvenience is. Maybe I should realize that every inconvenience doesn’t demand a solution, especially one involving a purchase. The impulse to buy, scaled to billions of people, becomes a culture that drives extraction, pollution, habitat loss, and climate change. A better solution is to accept a little inconvenience and live with fewer wants.

Edwin Way Teale was an American naturalist who wrote extensively about environmental conditions across North America from 1930–1980.  He said, “Reduce the complexity of life by eliminating the needless wants of life, and the labors of life reduce themselves.” It takes money to buy stuff. Money requires time and effort to earn. The less stuff we want, the less money we need. The less  we own, the less we have to take care of.

It’s not a novel concept, but a way of living espoused by Buddhists, early Christians, and Taoists. Socrates advocated for a life of moderation and simplicity. Thoreau promoted simple living as a way to connect with nature and find personal fulfillment. In the US, 86 percent of adults say they were raised in a religion, 70 percent as Christian. Minimalism as a biblical tenet has gained popularity in recent years. A commitment to a faith changes the way we think, live, and respond. A planet that allows life to exist deserves the same commitment.

 

We like convenience, but our desire to make things easier takes precedence over long term sustainability. Single use plastics permeate the environment and take centuries to break down. Microplastics flow in our veins, choke our oceans.  Ready-made foods, the newest fashion, the latest iPhone, an endless assortment of electronics, crowd the marketplace and distract us from what we really need. We’re quick to add to our wants without considering how they push ecosystems to breaking points. Consumerism contributes mightily to our environmental woes.

 

There’s irony here.  To avoid a little inconvenience I bought an electronic device with a plastic housing, solar panel, rechargeable battery, circuit board, shipping box, and instruction manual—the kind of stuff, when combined with the wants of a few billion people, fills cargo ships, expands mining operations, supports the oil industry, and occupies landfills. 

The best path toward sustainability isn’t another invention or fashion design or knickknack. Every impulse to buy doesn’t have to be followed. Every problem doesn’t require a solution. At the top of our list of wants should be learning to live comfortably with less, for our sake and the sake of an ailing planet.