Bunny's Burrow: Hopping into Life

 Losing a friend has a way of making you stop and ask questions you didn't know you needed to ask. Not because every ending is someone's fault, but because every relationship leaves something to learn from. I've been doing a lot of thinking about who I am, how I communicate, and where I can grow. It's easy to point outward when we're hurting; it's much harder and often more worthwhile to look inward. I don't want this experience to make me bitter. I want it to make me kinder, wiser, and more intentional with the people who are still in my life. Sometimes the hardest lessons come wrapped in goodbye, and all we can do is thank them for what they taught us and keep becoming a better version of ourselves. ❤️

  The People Who Quietly Hold the Sky Up Some people make history by stepping onto the biggest stage. Others make it possible for someone else to stand there. I've been thinking lately about the second kind of person. It's easy to celebrate astronauts, elected officials, military leaders, or anyone whose work is visible. Their accomplishments deserve recognition. We should applaud excellence wherever we find it. But behind many remarkable lives is someone doing an entirely different kind of remarkable work. Someone keeping a family together. Someone carrying the emotional weight no one else sees. Someone remembering birthdays, making difficult phone calls, checking in on friends, welcoming strangers, comforting children, and somehow finding enough energy to encourage everyone around them. Gabby Giffords is one of those people. Most know her story. They know the unimaginable challenges she has endured. They know the courage it took to rebuild a life after violence tried to steal...

  This morning began with the usual start of the day negotiations. Coffee convinced the kettle to do its job. Outlook remained unconvinced I was, in fact, myself. Again. I remain convinced Outlook and I are in a long-term relationship built entirely on mutual distrust. Allegedly.... 😂 I settled into work, opened the programs I'd need for the day, and, as usually happens, my mind wandered off before the rest of me had quite logged in. I genuinely enjoy my job. After some of the twists life has thrown at me, that's something I don't take for granted. Still, every now and then I'll stop halfway through an email and wonder what the kids are doing. Who's making everyone laugh? Who's discovered the greatest idea in recorded history? Who's quietly helping themselves to the snack cupboard while hoping nobody notices? (Bet it's Cade for the last one) Children have an infuriating habit of making complicated things wonderfully simple. I've never heard one intr...

  Enlil, Enki, and Nisaba as a Functional Triad in Mesopotamian Thought The ancient Mesopotamian flood stories... the Eridu Genesis , the Atrahasis Epic , and Tablet XI of the Epic of Gilgamesh are usually reduced to a single dramatic sentence: humanity multiplied, grew too noisy, irritated the gods, and provoked a deluge. That summary is accurate as far as it goes; it simply stops too soon. What if the flood is not merely a tale of divine anger? What if it also preserves a deeper vision of how Mesopotamians understood civilization itself to function? Let's slow down. Ancient religions are often read as collections of colorful divine personalities engaged in rivalries, negotiations, and occasional acts of astonishing pettiness. The myths certainly preserve those personalities. Yet beneath them lies something remarkably systematic. Again and again, the same gods occupy complementary roles in maintaining cosmic and social order. Ancient myths rarely function as systematic theology in...

 God's Name Was Never Just a Name Why ancient Israel heard something very different when God spoke of His Name "Sometimes the smallest words carry the biggest ideas." Put the Kettle On... There are verses you can read a hundred times before one ordinary word suddenly refuses to behave. Mine was name. Not because I didn't know what a name was. Because I assumed the Bible meant the same thing I mean when I say, "Hi, my name is Bunny." It doesn't. At least... Not always. The deeper I wandered into the Hebrew Bible, the stranger that little word became. God keeps saying His Name is somewhere. His Name dwells in the Temple. His Name is placed upon Israel. Jerusalem bears His Name. Eventually, even the nations are described as being called by His Name. That's... odd. Because the very same Scriptures insist that heaven itself cannot contain God, much less a building made of cedar and stone. So what exactly is His Name doing there? Now I'm curious. We Re...

Letters from My Desk: What the Silence Taught Me July 10, 2026 Привет, dear readers. I am Bunny (not the name my parents gave me.) I come from the frozen beauty of Yakutia, in the Sakha Republic . I live in the United States now, but some places never leave your nervous system. People often imagine silence as emptiness, but Yakutia teaches something different. Silence is full of life. Stand outside on a winter night long enough, and you begin hearing things you never noticed before: the distant crack of trees as the cold tightens its grip, the soft scrape of snow beneath your boots, a raven somewhere beyond the forest. Silence doesn't erase the world; it sharpens it. I didn't understand that lesson until years later. One evening I found myself sitting alone in a room so quiet that the refrigerator sounded almost impolite. Family conversations had slowly become holiday emojis. Friendships hadn't ended with arguments or betrayal; they had simply drifted, as so many relations...

  The Book of the Dead of Djedhor A Ptolemaic Window into Theban Afterlife Practices RMO AMS 47a vel 9 / Sheet 9 There is something wonderfully misleading about the title Book of the Dead. It sounds final. Closed. A book placed beside a body because the story has ended. The ancient Egyptian title points in precisely the opposite direction: Spells for Going Forth by Day. Not a manual for remaining dead, but a manual for movement—for opening doors, for remembering names, and for keeping the soul intact when the world has changed shape around you. On one fragile sheet of papyrus in Leiden, a Theban priest named Djedhor is still doing exactly that. Sheet 9 of his funerary papyrus, now preserved in the Rijksmuseum van Oudheden under inventory number AMS 47a vel 9, belongs to the Ptolemaic Period, between 305 and 30 BC. It is not visually enormous... roughly 38 by 41 centimetres... but size is a poor measure of ambition. This little sheet was built for eternity. It once formed part of a ...

  Привет, dear readers. I am Bunny (Not the name my parents gave me), a wandering soul from the frozen beauty of the Yakutia area in Sakha Republic but now USA. In Yakutia, the brief, magical summers teach you to hold warmth exceptionally close. I still remember a soft summer evening years ago. The air carried the scent of pine and wildflowers, and there she was.. the beautiful and older Anya. A pretty Russian girl with laughing eyes and hair that caught the golden light like threads of silk. We’d been talking for hours at her place. She was older, but we bonded over maths. We laughed, joked, and found a happy place lost in deep conversation, our hearts racing with unspoken questions. Then, in a quiet moment, our lips met. Gentle, tentative, electric. My first kiss with a girl. Time slowed, the world narrowed to the warmth of her touch and the flutter in my chest. It was sweet, surprising, and perfectly imperfect. John Michael Montgomery sings about this exact sort of momentum in ...

Project Origins: Case File 001 The Flood Tradition Part I  The Oldest Flood Story We Can Actually Read Notebook opened.   Question for today: what is the oldest flood story we can actually read? If you are joining this investigation from the middle of the river, the first notebook page is here: Project Origins: Case File 001 — The Flood Tradition . That introduction explains the method we will use throughout this case file: separating observation from inference, keeping speculation politely labelled, and letting the evidence remain complicated when it needs to be complicated. Today we open the first evidence box. Not the most famous one, and not the one most of us met first as children, but the older and more awkward question waiting underneath it: when people talk about “the oldest flood story,” what do they actually mean? I thought that question would be simple. It was not. The moment I started following the tablets, the word oldest became slippery ...