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When ancient words unravel modern chaos.

Where scripture meets neuroscience, AI, and the search for meaning.

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In the Beginning, There Was a Body: Saartjie Baartman, the Gaze, and the Coin of Costless Consumption

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In the Beginning, There Was a Body: Saartjie Baartman, the Gaze, and the Coin of Costless Consumption In the Beginning, There Was a Body Saartjie Baartman, the Gaze, and the Coin of Costless Consumption The Gamtoos River Valley, Eastern Cape was the home of Saartjie Baartman. A landscape of return and of silence. You scroll. A prophet is in the stocks, a woman is on a pedestal. The platform is different, the coin is the same. You pay with your attention, and you receive a regulated inner state: a hit of moral certainty, a thrill of transgression, a soothing of anxiety. The human on the other side of the screen is not a person; they are fuel. A stimulus for your biopsychological regulation. This is not new media. It is old sin, wired into the reward pathways of a fallen world. And its most precise, unforgiving historical map is the body of a woman named Saartjie Baartman. Her exhibition was not an anomaly. It was a litur...
In the Beginning — Start Here

Your guide to the origins of everything we explore — from neural sparks to ancient words.

3:00 AM Marginalia: On Quiche, Rain, and the Narrow Windows of Care | Theology of Everyday Life

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3:00 AM Marginalia: On Quiche, Rain, and the Narrow Windows of Care | Theology of Everyday Life 3:00 AM Marginalia: On Quiche, Rain, and the Narrow Windows of Care When the forecast threatens the precise hours you've chosen to care. Eternal First Words | February 1, 2026 It’s 3 a.m. in South Florida. The dark feels correct here. It’s its own kingdom, with its own logic. I can think here. My thoughts, tonight, are absurdly specific: a quiche luncheon. A fundraiser we’ve planned for weeks. A thing of pastry and eggs and community effort. The weather app shows a mercilessly precise prophecy: clear before noon, clear after two. But from exactly 12:00 to 2:00 p.m. —the sacred window of our gathering—a solid band of green and yellow, a 50% chance of rain. I find myself irrationally fixated. I wouldn’t mind the rain tomorrow morning. I’d welcome it tonight. But for those two hours, I wa...

Green and Black in the Office: The First Word Was a Color

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Green and Black in the Office: The First Word Was a Color Green and Black in the Office The First Word Was a Color A silent consensus, woven in cloth. The first word of the week was not spoken. It was worn. Green and black. A blouse here, a pair of trousers there, a sweater, a scarf. By Wednesday, five of us were aligned in a silent chromatic consensus. No one planned it. No one mentioned it. We moved through meetings and coffee breaks in a coordinated palette no one had decreed. The same week held heavier things: a colleague was let go. A replacement hire was delayed because the candidate's father fell ill. The rescheduled interview landed on the day of his father’s burial. This is not a story about coincidence. It is a story about **how a group, faced with the unspeakable, will invent a silent language to hold the tension between ending and beginning.** We think ritual requires intention. Som...

3:00 AM Marginalia: 3:00 AM Is Not My Enemy | Theology of Everyday Life

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3:00 AM Marginalia: 3:00 AM Is Not My Enemy | Theology of Everyday Life 3:00 AM Marginalia: 3:00 AM Is Not My Enemy The clock says 3:00 a.m. I want to smash it. But it’s just doing its job. Eternal First Words | December 2025 Three a.m. Wide awake. The week has been brutal—short nights bleeding into each other—and I was sure tonight would turn the corner. I read Scripture. Meditated. Played Bible verses designed for sleep. Listened to calm recitations until my ears hurt. Nothing. Still here, eyes open, body wired, mind circling the same drain: Why won’t it let me rest? Tomorrow I’ll pay. I know the script. Cranky from the first alarm. Petty over nothing—someone breathing too loud, a text taking too long to answer. Then the guilt spiral: hating myself for snapping, which makes me snap more. The version of me I despise most is already loading. And I point ...

In the Beginning Was the Architect: Imhotep and the First Separation

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In the Beginning Was the Architect: Imhotep and the First Separation In the Beginning Was the Architect Imhotep and the First Separation The first line drawn across chaos. Long before the scribes of Genesis set stylus to clay, a man stood in the Egyptian desert and performed the first human act of cosmic imitation. His name was Imhotep. His tool was not a pen, but a **line.** He looked at the formless, shifting sands—the *tohu wa-bohu* of the desert—and he drew a boundary. Then another. He separated sacred ground from wilderness. He defined "here" from "there." He stacked stone upon stone, creating the first pyramid: a **material word** spoken against the horizon. It was not just a tomb. It was a declaration: *Order can be built. Chaos can be bounded. The human mind can repeat the first divine motion.* Genesis is a text. The Step Pyramid at Saqqara is its first concrete footnote—proof...

In the Beginning Was the Wound: On Narrative, Neurons, and the God-Shaped Scar

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In the Beginning Was the Wound: On Narrative, Neurons, and the God-Shaped Scar In the Beginning Was the Wound On Narrative, Neurons, and the God-Shaped Scar Eternal First Words | April 2026 Two dreams of wholeness, born from two different aches. You did not choose your first story. It chose you. It was whispered into your sleeping infant ear, encoded in the lullaby, baked into the bread at the table, performed in the ritual you could not yet understand. By the time you gained consciousness, the story had already built the walls of your world. It had carved the grooves in your brain where your thoughts would now run, like water finding the path of least resistance. This is not education. This is neurological fate. Every culture, every faith, is an attempt to heal a primal wound—the terrifying awareness that we are separate, contingent, and doomed to ask "why?" The first story is the bandage applied to that ...

In the Beginning, There Was Awe: Einstein, Bread, and the Neurology of Wonder

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In the Beginning, There Was Awe: Einstein, Bread, and the Neurology of Wonder In the Beginning, There Was Awe Einstein, Bread, and the Neurology of Wonder Eternal First Words | April 2026 Where the Word meets the wiring. We have gotten Einstein wrong. We quote his line about “science without religion” as a polite truce, a call for mutual respect between two separate domains. We missed the revolution. Einstein wasn’t talking about religion. He was diagnosing a **neurological state**—the very one that makes both science and faith possible. He called it the “cosmic religious feeling.” You might call it awe. And your brain, in that moment, is doing the same thing whether you're contemplating a galaxy or the grace of God. "The scientist is possessed by the sense of universal causation. His religious feeling takes the form of a rapturous amazement at the harmony of natural law." — Albert Ein...

Most Read Articles

In the Beginning Was the Wound: On Narrative, Neurons, and the God-Shaped Scar

The Power of Genesis 1:1: How the Bible’s First Words Shape Our Understanding of the Universe

Neuroscience of Reward vs. God's Ultimate Fulfillment

In the Beginning, There Was Awe: Einstein, Bread, and the Neurology of Wonder

In the Beginning Was the Code: On AI and the Hunger for an Answering Voice

Genesis 1:1 Ex Nihilo: Chaos of Nothingness

In the Beginning Was the Grain: Egypt's Sacred Beer & Genesis