Suits and a Mine

Sometimes the universe hands you a scene so perfectly absurd, you just have to stand back and let the Tao laugh through you.

Today was one of those days.

The Lobby of the Absurd

The morning air was cool, not cold—like the breath before a detonation, quiet with promise. I stood at the mine entrance in jeans, a polo, and a hoodie, steel-toed boots scuffed from prior adventures. I was ready.

Then I saw them.

Two dozen executives. Full suits. Polished leather soles. Cufflinks glinting under the mountain sun.

They looked like they were about to close a merger with the earth itself.

I glanced at my boots. Then at their wingtips. Then at the sign that clearly said: “BOOTS REQUIRED FOR DEMO AND TOUR.”

No one had told the suits.

Their faces? A gallery of quiet panic. One adjusted his tie like it might save him from falling rock. Another whispered into a phone: “Do we have liability coverage for… limestone?”

They were here for high-level research— stuff that I can’t explain sadly. In my case I was here for stuff that bridges mining and infosec in ways I can’t disclose. But right now? They were just expensive dust magnets.

Thankfully, I wasn’t with that group.

I was escorted up the mountain. To the explosives lab.

The Temple of Controlled Chaos

We entered the lab like disciples entering a dojo of destruction.

A tour. A demo of detonating cord—thin, flexible, deceptively calm. A lecture on emulsion explosives, shock tubes, and the poetry of pressure waves.

Then: the observation deck.

We waited.

Below, in a reinforced tank of water, they’d laced a grid of DET cord—a spiderweb of precision violence.

Cameras rolled at 1,000,000 frames per second.

The call “Fire in the Hole” breaks the silence and the countdown began.

3…
2…
1…

BOOM.

Not sound. Presence.

A white flash. A bubble of force. Water turned to mist in slow-motion glory. The shockwave rippled outward like a mandala made of physics.

I didn’t flinch.

I didn’t think.

For once, my mind was quiet.

Just the blast. Just the moment. Just being.

The Sprain and the Spark

I didn’t stay for the rest.

A sprained ankle (from a misstep earlier—manual transmission + mountain roads + swollen foot = bad combo) sent me limping back down the switchbacks.

But on the drive home, one conversation replayed:

Professor: “We’ve got a PhD program in Explosive Engineering. Ever thought about it?”
Me (laughing): “I was looking at a second master’s in 3D printing…”
Professor: “We don’t have a doctorate in printing. But we do in blowing things up. With math.”

The idea lodged like shrapnel.

Dr. Half-Assed Taoist?

I got home. Told the wife.

“I’m thinking about a PhD.”
“In what?”
“Explosive Engineering.”
long pause
“You’re serious.”
“Deadly.”

Decision made.

I’ll spend the rest of the year researching programs. There are two solid ones in the field. I’ll aim for one.

No, I don’t need it for my career. Infosec pays the bills. This would be for joy.

First PhD in the family.
Another feather in my cap.
A fallback plan in case AI takes over and replaces me (or needs to be addressed during an uprising).
A fall forward.

After guest lecturing last week, I realized: I like teaching. And with a doctorate? I could do it deep into retirement—blowing up students’ assumptions, one controlled demo at a time.

The Taoist Thread

How does this fit with Taoism?

I’m not sure yet.

Maybe it’s wu wei in action—flowing toward what feels natural, not forced.

Maybe it’s balance:

Suits in the mine (rigid, out of place)
Me in boots (aligned, ready)

Maybe the blast was a koan:
Destroy to create. Contain to release. Study the explosion to find stillness.

I’m too sore, too tired, too alive to overthink it tonight.

For Those About to Blast

The path won’t be easy.
It won’t be hard either.
It’ll be long, precise, and rewarding—like laying DET cord in perfect symmetry.

I’m ready.

Next step: applications.

One day, someone might call me Dr. Half-Assed Taoist.

And I’ll smile, hand them a hard hat, and say:

“Let’s go make something disappear… with science.”