The kinds of questions around mystery that end up drifting because they're not allowed to land — in this lifetime — without permission.

The unfolding of Chapter Seventeen's architecture and approach feels compelling. I’m thinking aloud here about potential areas of research.

Six months from now, on a dull day, when someone stumbles through the Stage Door into Chapter Seventeen, thinking — Where am I?

It’s amazing how you can look at an ordinary sofa and automatically find yourself thinking of three sitcoms and the Muppet Show.

When I got a new mobile router, I was staring at Spicy Ginger Biscuits. The whole thing got me started on memories of 1980s Olympic-style evangelism. That's technology for you.

It was a sad day when we heard Catherine O'Hara had passed away. But AI told me not to worry.

I'm thinking aloud about Chapter Seventeen, but you're welcome to listen or read, climb in or create, write or study, collaborate or unplug — and carry on doing all the same things in the real world…

How can I say this loudly enough. There are sites that get the job done, and there are sites that don't think that alone was the point. Stewards and Advocates for each other. Salt and light. Ambience. Flavour.

These things would only ever happen in church or in a crisis. (Like Tom Hanks with an ice skate — needs must. Sometimes. Other times it's inappropriate, dangerous, outrageous and misguided.) Hence my new fancy word, ship-wreck-less-ons. The kind of things any one of us might learn in Chapter Seventeen.

Fork handles. Scaffolding poles. Metal things and metaphors that might be in a box out the back, but I'll have to look. Was this what they meant by theological imagination?

The way I think about things like this — like Hezekiah's story — is like walking around a shed filled with metaphorical mechanisms. But then, my grandfather was a toolmaker.

Yes, I know it looks like what I'm doing here is creating a website. After all, I'm creating a website. But don't misunderstand me. The website isn't really the point.

What in the world…? The Stage Door was only the beginning. There's an unfolding rabbit warren of possibilities by the look of it. According to the Keyholder, he doesn't know, and you'll need to see the Architect. But no one's seen the Architect.

Here's a word-based mind worm for you. Not that you probably wanted one, because that's not how mind worms work. Sorry, but you've come this far and there's no going back.

More notes on my thinking around metaphor and metametaphor — and how metaphor can provide scaffolding for ideas, thought experiments and meaning.

So many things to say about the nature of reality as seen through plastic hammers for babies and how teachers — like, God, for example — teach.

My website looks quite standard until that menu item — Stage Door. It's what happens with a literary imagination birthed in Bible and Bagpuss.

Am I alone in finding everything I encounter brings up a thousand other things? Now apply that to reading the Bible. I know.

There's a gap here, but it's not nothing. It's between the actor and the audience, the words and the meaning, and between artificial intelligence and — Spirit and Truth, perhaps?

Not another thing! How on earth can someone be expected to rejoice when they've just heard the flock is even cut off from the fold now?