Today is the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. At home in Canada, the sun rises before 5 a.m. and sets after 8:40 p.m., giving nearly sixteen hours of daylight. Yet after two weeks in Fife and Moray, Scotland, Canada’s longest day feels almost short. There, as we travelled northward through the days leading up to the solstice, it often seemed that the summer sun never truly set. Evening stretched past 10 p.m., darkness never fully arrived, and the sky retained a lingering silver-blue glow through much of the night before dawn returned a few short hours later. Over those two weeks, we gradually lost our sense of where afternoon ended and night began. Harbours, village streets, and coastal paths remained illuminated long after we expected darkness, creating the feeling that the day was continuous—a single extended northern summer day unfolding from one sunrise to the next.
Energy Consumption is not the Problem
Energy consumption is not the problem. The Sun provides more renewable energy than humanity could ever need. The problem is our stubborn dependence on oil for profit and power, and the carbon emissions that continue to destabilize the climate.
Resource consumption is not the problem either. With abundant renewable energy, we could recycle far more effectively and eventually access resources beyond Earth. Energy is the limiting factor.
Artificial intelligence is not the problem. Why cling to unnecessary corporate jobs when abundant clean energy and intelligent machines could help provide the essentials for human flourishing? The challenge is not technology itself, but how we choose to organize society around it.
I Don’t Worry About AI Wrecking Writing Skills
I don’t worry about AI wrecking writing skills. I don’t worry one bit. I learned to write from story tellers, drawing comics, reading poetry, and music listening.
We are Going Through a Climate Winter
We are going through a CLIMATE WINTER in which we stay silent about carbon emissions, climate policy, and renewable energy out of fear for THE ECONOMY and ALBERTA and TRUMP. How long until Spring? 🌼
Me and My Shadow is Now Available for Free Forever via Library and Archives Canada
Me and My Shadow is a comic work I created during the pandemic under my pen name, Jan Andreas. It follows Jay, an isolated man in the early days of the 2020 lockdown, who begins noticing his only constant companion: his shadow. I published 50 print copies and distributed them free to the first 50 people who asked. Last year, I published it as an e-book through Snail Books, where it is still available for purchase. I also made an open-access legal deposit with Library and Archives Canada. The work is now available to view online for free, forever. Enjoy.

An update is coming to Slow Reading
The article is from 2012 but I’m honoured by the mention, especially since my name is cohabiting space with Amy and Jimmy Carter.
You are the first to know: an update is coming to Slow Reading this year, with new chapters by myself and two literary colleagues.
Animals Eat Animals
On eating, being eaten, and the uneasy ethics in between

Veganism makes a compelling claim: that humans do not need to eat animals. I am largely in agreement. I eat increasingly vegan, and I object, deeply, to the scale and anonymity of violence in factory farming. And yet, I still eat meat. Not often, and not casually. When I do, it is usually local. It comes from a place I can name, from a life that was part of the same landscape I inhabit. I also respect Indigenous practices of hunting, where the act is not hidden but understood as part of a relationship.
A vegan friend challenged me on this inconsistency. The argument was simple: if we do not need to kill animals, why do it at all? My answer felt insufficient at the time, but it has stayed with me. I countered that animals eat animals. Life feeds on life. The question is not easily resolved by declaring ourselves outside of that pattern. Are we so separate, so superior, that the rules no longer apply? Of course, it is not a perfect symmetry. We industrialize death in ways no other species does, and we distance ourselves from it. That distance may be the real ethical rupture.
Still, I live close enough to the edge to feel the older pattern. On my rural property, my dogs keep watch, barking and keeping coyotes and wolves at bay. Bears come to the apple trees. My house is not just a home but a fortification. When I camp, I hang my food to protect myself. I am not outside the food chain.
The boundary dissolves further when I look closer. Bacteria live on and within me, entire ecosystems sustained by my body. At death, the exchange becomes more visible. Worms, insects, and microbes will do their work. We resist this with coffins and chemicals, as if permanence were an option, but it isn’t. Nature takes us back, slowly and completely. For my part, I find myself wanting to accept that exchange, not as something abstract, but as something literal: to return what I have taken, and to allow my body, in the end, to feed the same world that sustained me.
This does not resolve the ethical tension of eating animals, and it doesn’t make the question go away. But it places it in a wider frame. We are not outside the cycle. We are participants in it, whether we acknowledge it or not.
The Neuroscience of Meditation and Indigenous Storytelling
From inward attention and self-regulation to shared meaning, memory, and relationship

It is now widely accepted that Western neuroscience has something meaningful to offer the modern practice of meditation. By identifying neural correlates of attention, awareness, and emotional regulation, it has helped clarify mechanisms that practitioners have long described from within. What remains less clear is how this same lens might extend to other cultural practices, such as Indigenous storytelling. If meditation has been understood as a disciplined training of attention, storytelling may reveal a different but equally structured mode of mind, one that binds attention to memory, identity, and relationship. I am not Indigenous, but I offer these reflections with care, with the view that neuroscience can provide meaningful insight into aspects of this practice, even if it cannot fully account for it.
With meditation, the science has largely focused on the regulation of attention and self. Studies often point to changes in the default mode network, the prefrontal cortex, and the insula. These correlate with reduced rumination, steadier focus, and heightened awareness of the body. The practice is often solitary, deliberate, and method-driven. The brain findings map neatly onto that structure.
With Indigenous storytelling, the experience is less about directing attention inward and more about being drawn into a shared field of meaning. Neuroscience suggests several overlapping processes at work. When we listen deeply to a story, the brain enters a state of narrative absorption. Sensory and associative regions activate as if we are partially living the events. The usual analytic voice softens. This begins to resemble meditative immersion, though reached through story rather than breath.
At the same time, storytelling strongly engages memory systems, especially those linked to identity. The hippocampus helps bind narrative to place, lineage, and personal meaning. Repetition deepens this encoding. What is being trained is not just attention, but belonging.
There is also a social dimension that meditation research is only beginning to touch. In group storytelling, listeners’ brains can synchronize with each other and with the speaker. Rhythm, tone, and pacing entrain attention across the group. Emotion is co-regulated. The experience is not confined to one mind. It is distributed.
Imagery and metaphor add another layer. Stories guide attention through images rather than instructions. The brain’s perceptual systems engage as if encountering the world directly. In this sense, storytelling becomes a way of training perception itself, shaping how reality is noticed and interpreted.
So where meditation trains attention to stabilize and observe, storytelling may train attention to participate, remember, and relate. Neuroscience does not reduce one to the other, but it shows that both are structured ways of shaping mind and experience. One clarifies the mechanics of focus and awareness. The other reveals how identity, community, and world are carried and renewed through attentive listening.
Seen this way, the contribution of neuroscience is not to explain storytelling away, but to quietly confirm that something real and trainable is happening there too.
I study the brain
I study the brain
and see a pattern reflected
Entropy gathers matter into planets
slow collisions, quiet accretion
Evolution gathers matter into mind
layer by layer, folded inward
The universe continues
and begins to notice
What is the name of the universe?
Its name is John
Its name is Amina
Wei, Mateo, Léa
Red, Blue, Node-17
yours
Driving an all electric car is like driving a cell phone
🚗📶 Driving an all electric car is like driving a cell phone. The software drives the experience. The windshield is lined with sensors. And I’m always minding the battery. Range is the new signal strength.