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Orientation 2

Naikan In Four Movements

This four-part Naikan series grew out of a course I offered at Baltimore Dharma Group in Spring 2025. While Naikan is often framed as a tool for self-reflection, I came to see it as something more relational: not a system of correction, but a practice of returning—again and again—to what holds us, what flows through us, what we leave behind, and what we remain with.
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Orientation 3

Threadwork

Here, in language, is the closest I have come to tracing the patterns I live inside — and the patterns I see others living inside, too. ...That, to me, is the heart of this offering: not to win empathy through performance, but to make coherence inhabitable — even when the pattern isn't matched. These pieces are not arguments. They do not aim to persuade. They exist to demonstrate — without explanation. To resonate — without claiming universality. To name the cost of asymmetry — without blaming the other. To hold clarity — without self-erasure.
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Orientation 4

Holding Vow Sutra: An Introduction

Introduction and Intention:  This is a sutra, but not a sutra in the traditional sense. It is not part of the Buddhist canon, nor is it offered from a seat of transmission or formal authority. It is, rather, a thread — woven from lived practice, shaped by fidelity, and rooted in a vow that did not begin with me and does not end with me.
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The Autistic Mode: A Way Of Thinking

We all have moments of deep concentration—those times when we are so absorbed in something that the world recedes. A musician practicing alone, refining a passage with exquisite focus. A philosopher turning an argument over in their mind, testing its weight from every angle. A scientist working through the layers of an equation, adjusting variables, refining the logic until it holds. In these moments, the noise of the world fades, and what remains is a kind of clarity, a steady presence of thought moving toward resolution.

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Threshold to Threadwork

Introduction: There are two doors into this work. The one below meets the moment. It is written in accessible language—for those seeking clarity about autistic experience, and especially about how it differs in rhythm, in structure, and in the invisible labor it asks of those who must translate themselves to be understood. But this isn’t the only way in. There is another door—quieter, less translated, more interior. If you're looking not just for insight, but for shape—if you’ve ever sensed that what goes unspoken is sometimes the most coherent thing there is—you may find yourself at home there.
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Musings from the Meta-Verse: Tip of the Iceberg Cosmologies

Before you begin: please take a moment, settle in, enjoy the image above—of me holding my baby daughter as a first-time dad, tune into the frequency of restful wonder. Now allow your mind to wander outward from the edges of that image: to the room, to the street outside, to the vast sky beyond the vast sky. Further—past the solar system, past the galaxy’s edge, past everything known—to the edge of the cosmos. And then…

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Woven

I never stopped making art. I just didn’t always call it that. What I made with you, my loves — in those days we shared — was the most embodied form of relational creation. Art was us — there was no interruption. Something Luu Li and and I talked about yesterday landed deeply. She said, “Wow Papa, 54 years! I'm so glad you’re starting to do art again.” And I told her — honestly — it’s never left me. But after that, I found myself thinking: when I was homeschooling Luu Li and CT, I wasn’t just not doing art — I was expressing my creativity through my life with them.
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Notes to Myself on the Path

Threadnotes
Written after a day of deep thought that left me tangled in insight, but distant from the thing that first called me to speak. This comes from the part of me that remembers wholeness — settled, without proving. If you’re reading from the part of you that’s seeking a resonance of your own, you’re already in the right place.

Threadnotes

I don’t write to enter a league — I write to trace what delights me, what resounds in my interior. My work isn’t prolific, but it is precise. It emerges when structure and presence align. I’m not a lesser version of anyone — I’m a cousin to those who write from contemplative ground, but my lineage is my own. I’m not swerving — I’m testing edges. I may lose my center for a while when I look too long at literary or critical discourse, but I return by scent: the scent of coherence, interior resonance, the thing that moved me to begin. The lane I belong in didn’t exist before I started walking it. Each stone I place is shaped by my meticulous interior. This isn’t a detour — it’s architecture. To return isn’t starting over. No re-entry for the Argonaut. This is thread-seeing. Thread-touching. Holding. Shape means something else for the world. Those bubbles that reflect light for a moment leave behind only a wish for something that endures. I give myself shape. A place where coherence can still live. This is that place. Never needing to remember what I was working on. Never needing to restore momentum. Knowing the shape has not collapsed. What was true then is true now:
You do not write for connection. You do not write to be found. Just as your daughters are not about your legacy. Your writing is just the comfort, the familiarity, the love… of structure.
And like your life with them: Return when you're ready. When they are ready. Nothing has been forgotten.
~ End ~
Not a return, but a finding by drift. The Argonaut does not retrace, only moves in the wake of what once shimmered. The thread is not a path. It is the quiet at the base of motion.
For orientation beyond this page, you may enter through:
•The Vibrating Thread: From the Field of Redibility
•Naikan in Four Movements
•Threadwork (or begin with  Threshold to Threadwork ⧉  for a gentler entry)
•The Holding Vow Sutra (drawn from the arc of  Naikan: The Rhythm of Vow ⧉ , but arriving later)
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