By James Wadman

I thought back to childhood today.

One day you grow up and it is no longer acceptable to see what isn’t there.  What was once imagination becomes an intolerable surrealism, and the world begs us to see the world as it is rather than how it could be.  One day a limit is placed on how far the mind flies and how courageously the heroes fight for dreams that never before seemed out of reach.   That day is different for everyone, and sometimes I feel it is better if we never grow up.

I thought back to childhood and I thought about today.

Ships Off Course

Poetry by James Wadman

I count the city stars on one hand
I wonder who chose which ones get to shine.
The clouds flutter to the end of the earth
like ships off course
I wonder what they meant
I am alone with just words in my head
Before the night goes silent.


The Prayer

The Prayer, By James Wadman

Who knows if a prayer that never
reaches heaven will fall?
But if it should land again on this earth,
may my words be a seed
to a farm with no flower
or the rain to a village
that dreams not to thirst?
May my prayers be heard
by the child who believes
but just needs more power
or the man and woman
who put their love first.
If heaven can’t hear my words,
then may my words fall
may they scatter like the sunshine
so that my prayer is not for me—
my prayer is for all

Undocumented Experience

By James Wadman


To what extent do we understand the human mind?
I’ll let that question drift in the air for a while.

My idea for this new series of articles begins late at night, as I listen to music that will hopefully soothe me to sleep.  My ego is partial to reverie but my mind is at peace with its wakefulness.  I listen to music I have heard before, and the places the melodies take me are familiar.  Memories construct a picture in my mind to go along with auditory frequencies that once were recorded in a studio, but even further back they were an idea that exploded into physical emotion.  I can close my eyes and be wherever I want, even places I have never been before.

Tonight I can be in the sky, miles above my bed.  I can hover above the pale blue clouds beneath the stars that shine beside our beloved white moon.  I can be in the future or before the genesis of mankind, because the particles in my body once knew what it was like to be inhuman.  So tonight, I too can be inhuman.  I can be the air above the clouds, the frequencies of a song, the love a man never knew when every atom in his bones had a heart that ached and smiled and wept and rejoiced.  May I drift away tonight?  May I be now what I never have been, but at any moment I know I could be?

The song will end and I will return to my body.  All these miles I have traveled in a matter of minutes because of the notes of a melody and the serenity of an hour passed midnight.

On Experience

By James Wadman

I’d rather leave my mind to wonder than to experience all that is not magical and forget what it is like to dream.




This is merely an introduction to what I will be writing about in the coming weeks and months. I hope to cover the contrast of experience and hallucination, the overlap of empiricism and mysticism, and our understanding of the mind as it relates to what we are as observers on our elegant world. For now, I just wanted to post something while it is late enough at night that my words can be honest.

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