I have nearly died more than once. The stranger story is what happened every time I woke up.
These are the pieces of my story that pass through this color. Some belong here completely. Others touch several prisms at once. Together they reveal one angle of a life that has never fit neatly inside a single story.
My last steps looked almost like dancing. There was no one there to see them. No music was playing in the kitchen. I was simply doing something I had done hundreds of times before, sliding my feet across the cool tile...
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By the time Indianapolis became my playground, Lighthouse Mission had become the place where I returned every night. It was where I slept, showered, kept my duffel bag and learned the peculiar choreography of living i...
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In the summer of 2006, everything I owned fit inside a duffel bag, and every night I slept with my head on top of it. I was staying at Lighthouse Mission in downtown Indianapolis with roughly two hundred other men. Ab...
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Return to the spectrum and choose another prism, or step into the complete archive and follow the stories wherever they lead.
