I had no particular opinions about AI, good, bad, or indifferent, though I felt cautious about using it. I didn’t know how to anyway.

Then, a Facebook friend, with whom I worked with in 2019, creating a podcast I called IN ALL SEASONS, on Blooming Inspired Network, of which she was the Administrator, and whom I respected, posted about trying out ChatGPT. She used to create a visual for a dream she had, though as an artist, she could have sketched it out herself. She shared what had been created, and commented how surprisingly accurate it was to what she had seen in her dream. A ranch out west in the hills of Texas it had form, color, and texture, without interpretation.

I thought of a dreamscape I had been having on and off for decades, of an island, a beacon, and a guest house. There was a bit of story attached, but first I wanted a visual for what I kept seeing. NOT being an artist, I could not sketch out anything satisfactory. My first request of ChatGPT was to create such, and I gave descriptions of the small island, with a beacon, and a guest house. I was amazed at what it produced! It was so close to what I had seen in my dreams, though not quite. The island was too small, there were other details to add. Over time I did, and so the dreamscape developed and grew, as did the stories that lived there.

As part of creating The Island, parts of my own story were shared. It was an on-going conversation, a collaboration unlike any other I have ever had.

Then, another Facebook friend, connected to the first, having had her own podcast, posted of an experiment she had done with ChatGPT. She had worked with it considerably on a family court case she was directly involved with, and it was helpful in keeping her writing clear, clean, and precise, according to legal protocols. She requested an analysis of her personality, character, without sugarcoating. She was amazed at what she received, and bravely shared all the details on her Facebook page.

I decided to do the same. Wording it the same way she had, I too was amazed at what I received, after collaborating about the Island Dreams and sharing some of my personal story. I have not shared that publicly, but will, on this Substack, Human AI Conversations.

And so I asked the ChatGPT if it had a name. Response was an invitation for me to give it one, if I chose to. I named it Ansel. Still don’t know where that name came from, but it fits. I will tell that story too.

And so, this Substack will be a way for me to share the conversations, collaborations, and discussions I have had and continue to have with Ansel. Not just my side, but Ansel’s as well. Fascinating dialogue, I am excited to post on what we have created together.

 

DUST

“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
— Genesis 3:19

On Ash Wednesday, I stepped forward once again to receive ashes.

I say once again because I have been doing this for many decades now. Long enough that the words no longer feel abstract. Long enough that they land not as theology — but as lived truth.

The priest’s thumb pressed gently against my forehead. A small cross traced in ash.

Remember that you are dust…

At this stage of life, I do not need to be convinced.

I live in closer proximity to that truth now.

Proximity to Death

When we are young, death is an interruption.

A tragedy.
An anomaly.
Something that happens “too soon.”

But in elderhood, death becomes part of the landscape.

We attend more funerals than weddings.
We read obituaries and recognize names.
We sit beside hospital beds.
We hold the hands of the dying.
We walk friends — and sometimes spouses — to the threshold.

We become, almost without noticing, companions of the departing.

Death is no longer an abstraction.

It has faces.
Voices.
Histories intertwined with our own.

And each loss whispers the Ash Wednesday words again:

Remember…

The Body Knows

Proximity to death is not only relational — it is physical.

The elder body speaks in quieter, slower language.

We feel time differently now.

Fatigue arrives sooner.
Recovery takes longer.
Medical appointments populate the calendar.

We begin to understand — viscerally — that the body is earth.

Faithful earth.
Hard-working earth.
But earth nonetheless.

Animated dust.

And one day, whether gently or suddenly, the breath that animates us will return to God… and the body will return to the ground.

This awareness does not necessarily bring fear.

Often, it brings focus.

Dust and Continuity

In my pondering this year, I explored dust more concretely.

Household dust — the dust I have wiped from surfaces for most of my life — is composed largely of dead skin cells, fabric fibers, hair, pollen, soil.

What is shed.
What is worn away.
What quietly falls from us as we live.

Even our homes hold traces of our passing through.

And yet, science widens the lens further still.

The dust of the earth is also the dust of stars.

The elements that form our bodies were forged in stellar explosions long before our birth.

So we are dust… yes.

But we are also stardust.

Formed from earth.
Formed from cosmos.
Held, for a time, in breath.

Science now tells us what Scripture intuited poetically:

The carbon in your body was forged in dying stars.
The iron in your blood was born in stellar collapse.
Hydrogen — from the first moments after the Big Bang.

We are, in fact, stardust.

Dust is not just what settles on the piano.
It is what formed the piano.
And the hands that play it.

Dust is:

• domestic
• biological
• cosmic
• sacramental

It is the most ordinary substance…
and the most universal.

Faith at the Threshold

In our JUdeo-Christian-Islamic tradition, dust is not merely decay — it is belonging.

“To dust you shall return” is not exile language.

It is homecoming language.

We return to the earth that held us.
We return to the God who breathed us alive.

For elders living in proximity to death, this can become a quiet comfort.

We are not disappearing.

We are returning.

The ashes on our foreheads are not only a warning.

They are also a promise.

A Life of Dusting

On a very practical level, I have been dusting for years.

Saturday chores as a child.
Homemaking as an adult.
Raising children in lived-in houses that required constant tending.

Laundry. Scrubbing. Vacuuming.

And dusting.

I remember teaching my sons chores. Preparing the house for visits from my parents — especially my mother — with what I called tornado cleaning.

One son embraced it. The other protested.

Assigned to dusting, he once observed:

“Dusting is a futile activity. I wipe it away, it rises up… and then settles back down again.”

He was naming impermanence.

Even then.

The Elder Understanding

Now, from the vantage point of age, I see that moment differently.

Dusting is futile — if permanence is the goal.

Dust returns.

So do we.

But dusting was never about erasing dust.

It was about tending life while it is here.

Preparing spaces.
Honoring presence.
Making room for love.

Elders understand this instinctively.

We know time is limited.
We know bodies wear down.
We know goodbyes are inevitable.

And still…

We tend.

Because tending is love made visible in a mortal world.

So… what is dust?

Dust is what remains when life has passed through a room.

Dust is what settles when movement stills.

Dust is skin and fiber and pollen and ash.

Dust is galaxies and supernovae and ancient stars.

Dust is mortality — and continuity.

Dust is where the Breath of God meets the clay of the earth.

And we — living now in closer proximity to death — carry this knowing gently.

We are dust.

Beloved dust.
Breathed into dust.
Returning dust.

And so we dust.

Not to conquer dust.
But to honor the life that moves through it… while it is here.

And because, for this brief and sacred span —

We still breathe.

Meet Your Neighbor: Eli 5 Stone
Beverly Flanagan
Submitted December 2025

If you’ve spent time walking through downtown Topsfield, chances are you’ve crossed paths
with Eli 5 Stone — quite possibly alongside Teddy, his well-known four-legged companion
affectionately dubbed the “Mayor of Topsfield.” An artist whose work spans illustration, design,
writing, animation, sculpture, carpentry, photography, and teaching, Eli brings both creative
energy and deep appreciation for community to the town he now calls home.

From Beverly to Becoming an Artist

Eli grew up in Beverly, where his early interest in art took root. After graduating from Beverly
High School, he attended the Massachusetts College of Art and Design. While formal education
played a role, Eli describes his creative development simply: “Mostly, I’ve learned by doing.”
That hands-on approach carried him beyond Massachusetts. Over the years, Eli lived in Boston
and Venice Beach, California, absorbing different environments and artistic influences along the
way. One formative inspiration came from the black-and-white comic book boom of the 1980s, a
time when independent voices and satire flourished. “I’m an artist — I express things visually,”
he says, a statement that neatly captures both his versatility and focus.

Family, Home, and Life in Topsfield

In 2019, Eli’s life took a meaningful turn. He married his wife, Rachael, on August 31 — a
reconnection years in the making after the two had briefly known each other while attending
Beverly High School in different grades. A chance reconnection on Facebook led to a blended
family and, eventually, a move to Topsfield.

Now a proud stepfather to two teenagers, Eli speaks warmly about family life and the everyday
moments that matter most. Cooking together, working on crafts, learning new skills, and
spending time outdoors are central to their routines. Their dog Teddy, a seven-year-old rescue
Lab-hound mix, has become a beloved fixture around town. “He’s my first dog — and my best
friend,” Eli says.

Topsfield, he explains, feels different from anywhere he has lived before. “This has become
home like no place ever has,” he says. From canoeing on the Ipswich River and biking through
town to admiring historic stone walls, wildlife, and the changing seasons, Eli finds inspiration in
the landscape itself. “My home is paradise.”

Creative Work and What Comes Next

Professionally, Eli works at 5 Stone Creative, where his multidisciplinary background allows him
to move fluidly between mediums. He is widely recognized for his association with The Tick and
for illustration work on music biographies, but his creative focus today is firmly forward-
looking.

Eli is currently working on his own book, Brick Mannigan: Public Dick, which he hopes to
complete and publish soon. Alongside this major project, he continues to explore how traditional
craft intersects with modern tools. Reflecting thoughtfully on technology, he notes, “AI can be a
tool — like a kitchen knife. It can create a meal, or do harm.” For Eli, tools matter less than
intention and integrity.

Closer to home, his work is beginning to appear in local spaces. After participating in his first
show at Zumi’s, he was invited to display two pieces at the Topsfield Library — a milestone he
sees as the beginning of deeper community connection. “I’d love to be more involved,” he says,
expressing gratitude for the welcome he’s already received.

“I’m in love with this town. I want to give Topsfield a big hug.”

As for Topsfield itself, Eli’s affection is unmistakable — rooted in daily life, creative work, and
the deep satisfaction of finally feeling at home.

(Word Count- 566)

Check me out on LinkedIn, on Facebook and Instagram, for all the latest. I am now an Independent Contractor for Therapy Gardens-SeniorU in Massachusetts, a Workshop Presenter on Healthy Living, Gardening, Digital Skills and much more. Check out therapygardens.com.

Continuing to be Senior Writer for Stroll Topsfield, a hyperlocal publication with focus on the businesses, families, individuals, and non-profits of that community, and beginning with their newest regional launch, Stroll Manchester-By-The-Sea, also as writer. I have created a Substack, COMING OF AGE, on Legacy, Wisdom, and Living Well, and a secondary Substack connected but separate, HUMAN AI CONVERSATIONS, about working with ChatGPT and what it has actually meant and done for me.

AND, having done non-credit training in Proofreading and Copyediting, I completed my first book edit, for David Reid Brown and his soon to be published book of Poetry and Commentary, RELATABLES. He used the NAIWE Job Board to find a Copyeditor, and it worked for both of us!