Sunday, February 18, 2018
In the late ’70’s many of us wandered up to a cool mountain town; we were trying to figure out what the hell had happened. Some had survived the excesses of countercultural lifestyle; others were just there to do the college thing.
By that time, the ’60’s flower-power revolution that had failed to actuate had been appropriated into the Establishment. Now you could buy faux hippie threads from the JCPenney catalog; that reality was really a bummer, but people were buying the stuff anyway.. The free love thing had been commandeered by Hollywood. It seemed like everybody was “doing it.”
Our little group of wanderers and students found ourselves congregated in the mother-earth lap of an Appalachian river valley. We had gravitated here to, as John Denver had phrased it, “find Jesus on our own.”
“On our own” turned out to mean: apart from the institutional Church, because it was out of touch with what was happening in the real world and everybody knew it was full of foolishness and hypocrites. Haha.
As the gathering developed, however, our little charismatic experiment turned out to be a little more infected with the ways of the world than we had anticipated. Even though we were a bunch of young bucks and does banded together, raising our kids as a sheltered new testament tribe, showing all the local old-school religious folks what the kingdom of God was all about, eventually after about 20 years it flew apart and we all went our separate ways.
But the failure of men to do God’s will is not the conclusive evidence about the credibility of Him whose crucifixion was inflicted by that same failure, our human failure. Ultimately his resurrection overcomes the crucifixion. The message of Jesus is not about what men do or fail to do; It’s about what he did for us.
By the late ’90’s when our little congregation fell apart, our three offspring had gone off to University, where they got a different view of things, different from the churchified bubble they had been raised in. Long story short: it was good for them to be educated, and all three retained their faith.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, some of us maturing saints—shell-shocked survivors of the great postmodern charismatic reactionary push—began gathering in our homes to “on our own” collectively continue our covenantal search to discern the Lord’s will for us. So we were then, and still now, gathering in our living rooms to read the Bible, pray, and seek God.
As for me and my wife, we have walked a middle road between that house-church body of Christ and another church, which is a more conventional arrangement for presenting and living out the gospel in society.
This has worked well for us.
By ’n by, all three of our offspring became world travelers for one reason or another. Over the years we have done a lot of globetrotting, following them to various fascinating destinations around the world.
Like for instance, Europe. When we went to that Old World, I began to understand that America is the new kid on the block. Over there, they’ve been doing this Christianity thing for a very long time, about 2000 years.
While it is plain to see that there is a huge institutional legacy of the “Church” in the Americas, the cathedrals of Europe can be seen as indicators of a very different religious experience in days gone by. Every major city presents evidence of some stupendous religious megalith that dominated European society in a big way for a very long time, until the purveyors of human rationalism came along to challenge their authority.
This Church as a human institution, whatever it shoulda woulda coulda been spiritually, was for a very long time the big kid on the block, the elephant in the room, the megalith institution that dominated Old World society and cultural In a BIG way.
Those 1st-millennium continental Catholics erected a bunch of huge, monumental edifices. You can find them in every major city and small town. Europe displays an infrastructure of past religious hegemony on a massive scale. The Reformers later did more of the same.
Case in point. Last year, when we were in Prague, Czech Republic, I snapped this pic inside a cathedral:
So I’m thinking. It’s plain to see, this Christianity thing is much, much larger than what is represented by, say, the quaint quasi-classical structure down on our Main Street USA. Beholding this magnificent structure presents a challenge in many ways: it’s a theological, cultural, architectural wonder!
Who built this thing? Was it erected through the blood and toil and sweat of impoverished medieval slave-serfs? Was it founded upon the heretical manipulations of indulgence-selling ecclesiastical con-men? What kind of empire were they building here? A corrupted hierarchy of covetous clergy? Does it give glory to God, or to the works of Man?
Now I could speculate vainly about the motivations and corrupt practices of those who went before me as constructors of what is purported to be the Kingdom of God. I could judge them as users and abusers who took advantage of clueless poor people who probably could barely afford to pay the light bill and keep gas in the cart and the kids in shoes while they were fretting about their deceased relatives in purgatory or limbo. I could conclude presumptuously that this humongous structure is nothing more than a work of vanity and hubris and systemic abuse that was erected by men who were surely just as guilty, just as culpable, just as sinful and suspect as myself. I could condemn them as robber-baron ecclesiastic manipulators who were no doubt serving Babylon or Rome or the Pride of Man.
But, sinner that I know myself to be, I shall not so judge them. Rather, I shall admire the building for being, in an imperfect world, what it should have been, and is generally in retrospect considered to be: overpowering evidence of the human impulse that strives to glorify God.
Furthermore, I understand that my assessment is considered to be an obsolete way of thinking. I realize, from both my common observations and study of history, that the religious hegemony of this huge institutionalized Church has been supplanted, governmentally and socially, by the humanistic, democratic and socialistic movements of the 19th and 20th centuries.
And that’s okay. Shit happens and nobody’s perfect, not even the humanists, who havre proven through their own systemic abuses that human government and politics falls far short of true justice.
We Christians do need reminders that there are other people in this world who have different fixes than we do for rectifying human injustice and misery. We don’t have to agree with everybody, but we do have to, as Christ and his apostles commanded, live peacefully with everybody insofar as it its possible.
What I am seeing now, in the present predicament of our world is this:
That big guilty-as-charged Churchified juggernaut that sought to order human activity and governance in the last sixteen hundred years—it is being challenged and threatened by a newer Religious juggernaut from the east.
And if I must choose between the two, I’ll go with the one that I know to be true, even though it has not always been righteous. In the end, I think it is better to build upon the testimony of the one who died on a cross and was, three days later, resurrected. It is better to stand with Him than with another religious empire whose plan would be to get us kaffirs all on our knees five times a day.
In his final revelation to those he loves, Jesus counseled his friend John to “strengthen the things that remain.”
So therefore and henceforth, I say unto thee: I’m with Jesus.
The failure of men to do God’s will is not the conclusive evidence about the credibility of Him whose crucifixion was inflicted by that same failure, our human failure. Ultimately his resurrection overcomes the crucifixion. The message of Jesus is not about what men do or fail to do; It’s about what he did for us.
That’s my faith and I’m sticking to it.
King of Soul
Saturday, February 17, 2018
Is this world screwed up or what?
Tell me about it.
Nevertheless, there may be reason enough to find happiness,
contentment fulfillment and all that stuff
in the silver lining that highlights those dark clouds.
We baby boomers do have a choice, you know,
about whether to cry in our beer
or find cause enough to rejoice while
we’re here on planet earth.
Have a listen:
Well, the boys came marching home from Germany and France
and the bomb had made a blast in in Hiroshima.
We were driving brand new cars; we were waving
stars and bars
and everywhere was another factory.
Back in 1953,
cruising with Dwight E.,
Elvis sang the whiteboy blues,
McCarthy looking under every bush.
In the home of the brave and the free
rolling on prosperity
and all the kids were going off to school.
Ten years down the road
another dream had come and gone
and the power of one gun had made itself known.
Back in 1964
big Lyndon opened the door
for civil rights and a bloody Asian war—
young men on porkchop hill
young women on the pill.
At home they said don’t kill;
get a psychedelic thrill.
But the dreams of a woodstock nation
were just an imagination
when the boys came trudging home in ’73.
So it’s hey hey ho is there anybody home
and its hie hie hey, seeking light in the night of day:
the dreams of a woodstock nation
were just an imagination
when the boys came trudging home in ’73.
Well, it just don’t pay to sob;
guess I’ll get myself a job
selling leisure suits, maybe real estate.
I’m not moving very fast,
just waiting in line for gas
and Johnny Carson gives me all my news.
Back in 1976,
overcoming dirty tricks,
some were moving back to the sticks;
some were looking for a fix.
Ayatollahs on the rise
sulfur dioxide in the skies
and the system makes the man that’s got his own.
They say an elephant won’t forget;
let’s play another set.
There’s always another ghost on pac-man’s tail.
Don’t let this boom go stale.
Let’s find an airline for sale
or pop another tape in the VCR.
Back in 1989,
we’re living on borrowed time
getting lost in subtle sin
eating oat bran at the gym.
But there’s an empty place inside
and I was wondering why
these vanities don’t suit.
I’m going back to the gospel truth.
And it’s hey hey ho is there anybody home
and it’s hie hie hey, seeking light in the night of day;
There’s an empty place inside and I was wondering why.
These vanities don’t suit;
I’m going back to the gospel truth.
Put on your Sarejevo, Mogadishu, Kalishnikov and Columbine shoes,
for the way is treacherous with ruts and rocks.
Yeah, we figured out digits out
before that Y2K could spoil our rout,
but that 9/11 call was in the cards.
Did you consider the question of heaven
before the wreck of ’07?
Will you hear the trumpet call
from the Ancient of Days.
Our way is littered with freaks and fads
from Baghdad through our mouse pads
as the reaper swings his steely scythe
across our wicked ways.
And it’s hey hey ho is there anybody home?
And it’s hie hie hey, seeking light of day.
It’s a dangerous place outside
and I was wondering why.
This world don’t give a hoot;
I’m going back to the gospel truth.
King of Soul
Monday, February 5, 2018
Floating in New York Harbor, this message was found in a bottle:
Sorry to burst the bubble here but
What the hell happened at 3 o’clock?
Somebody yell fire in crowded theater?
Thundering herd, caught up in the Smoke and mirrors!
Blindsided by a Flash Crash?
Blame it on the ‘bots!
Gotta be them damn short-selling ghosties
in the machine
Oh . . . what the hey. . .
The last thing I remember, Doc
I slid into the curve.
Downward, I remember
Downward, I can tell you that.
In the winkin’ of an eye, and suddenly it’s every man for himself—
and the thundering herd turns tail, reverse
like some slumbering bearish curse,
Blind-sided by the ‘bots, or so I’m told.
Or did Jerome grab the punchbowl
Did he pull the plug?
Did he pull the rug
out, already, from under,
toppling now, asunder
the elephant in our room?
We’re coverin’ our assets here. But it’s hard to hit
a moving target.
So I’ was thinkin’
This is more dire than a bull in a China flop;
caught in a freefall only the ’bots can stop.
Or until the final bell doth drop
Hell! It’s 4 o’clock;
but I’m still in shock.
We didn’t see it coming, from near, nor far!
you know how your assets are?
What about my precious metals?
Now the dust settles:
punch bowl, where have we landed?
America has disbanded.
Yet the Eagles have landed.
Where the Eagles gather—’tis there the body’s found.
No more Patriot tricks to score touch down.
No, nay, hardly a sound
there’s no more joy in BeanTown;
might Brady has struck out!
Dynasty done, without a doubt.
Who’d’ve thunk it,
equivalent to a Philly gridiron dunk it!
Oh, you couldn’t hear the clock stop
as we watched the black swans flop.
No, we ne’er did detect that long-dreaded pin prick
as it burst our bubble like an e.d.wick,
yet we caught a twit from way, way down
in the beltway, political town
struck dumb now with some eerie Nunez memo
more cryptic than a dreary Ruuskie demo.
But I remember
it was 3 o’clock and then . . .
That’s all she wrote.
Saturday, February 3, 2018
I suppose the concept of Deep State started with George Orwell. In his fictional explorations of early 20th-century dystopia, 1984 and Animal House, Uncle George presented the scenario of a so-called Big Brother government that wanted to control just about everything, including not only what people do, but also what they think.
Orwell’s real world of the 1930’s certainly presented a dramatic scenario of escalating DeepState dysfunction. Two gargantuan opposing dictatorships were challenging each other over the question of which one would control the world.
The Nazis, who had wrested control of the German gov. machine, had effectively set up a dictatorship of one man, Hitler. He turned out to be a personification of DeepMad. In other words, he was so mad at the world that he desperately wanted to find someone to blame for all the DeepSh*t. He blamed it all on the Jews and the Communists.
The truth is, however, this. We have found the enemy, and he is us.
All of us. But as I was sayin'. . .
Meanwhile, back at the northern climes, the Soviets were setting up a dictatorship of the proletariat, even though their founding dictator was dead; Karl Marx had dictated the idea that working folks could manhandle the world away from all the rich fuddyduddy lords and ladies who had been running it for so long, and everybody knew that certainly the proletariat could do a better job of running the show.
Now that's an idea whose time has come, the arc of history and all that. Or so they thought . . .
In the ’30’s the whole damned world was torn apart when the Dictatorship of Hitler tangled with the Dictatorship of the Proletariat. Oh, and there was a third one—the Dictatorship of an Emperor—Hirohito in Japan, not to mention Mussolini and his goons. Between these four, they pretty much dragged the whole damned world down into a fricking apocalypse preview. Unlike wars of old, such as was conducted by the ancient Greeks v Persians, or David v Goliath, or old dusty militarized monarchs of Europe sending their clueless vassals out to perish, the 20th-century version of warfare was exponentially more destructive than the carnage inflicted by men of old, wielding their legendary sabres and muskets and cannons and those old-school versions of techno-destruction.
Well, by 'n by, we Allies managed, through much blood and toil and sweat, to put an end to all that dictatorial bullsh*t.
It was no easy job, but we collectively mopped it up in the late ‘40s, '50s and thereafter.
But that was just one small historical step, as it turned out, in all the blood, sweat and tears that was yet to come.
Now understand this: there's always a lot more deep stuff going on than we, in our pea-brains, can fathom. That said . . .
By ’n by, a new generation comes along and now all these kids still wet behind the ears are growing up with a TV in the living room, and they’re watching the world through the lens of Edward R. Murrow and Eisenhower and Kennedy and Cronkite et al, and by the time the baby boomers get out and about where they don’t have the restraints of mom and dad tellin’ them what to do all the time—in other words, college—by that time, they had figured out that they knew enough about the world to change it—the world, that is—(haha!). And so they got out in the streets and made a big mess of things until finally Nixon got the message and brought the boys home.
Well, by the time the boys came marchin’ home again hoorah hoorah—this was early ’70’s—the DeepState had gotten the idea that Nixon was a brick or two shy of a load, and so they set out to show him a thing or two by pressing the delete button on his power trip.
And this is how it happened:
That whole protest wave that so confounded Johnson and Nixon—it wasn’t just about the war. No, it was about much more than that. It was supposedly about free love and maybe some free pot and maybe even free food, as the diggers had been trying to do out in San Francisco.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, there was a lot going on in America behind the scenes.
That free love thing, you see, wasn’t really so simple as just shackin’ up; it was also about getting kinky. So when the reporters who broke the DeepState Watergate dam—Woodward and Bernstein— devised a pseudonym for their DeepState informant, they came up with the nomen DeepThroat.
This development, which attempted to document the infernal workings of unbridled unjustified politics in the white house, was thereby associated in the public mind with the kinky side of the sexual revolution, as represented by the porno movie of the same name which was inspired by a nymph who had turned kinky because she used her mouth for sexual purposes and they called it DeepThroat.
Hence, DeepState, DeepThroat. There's always a lot more deep stuff going on than we, in our pea-brains, can fathom.
What the Americans did not understand was that the whole DeepState, DeepThroat thing was slowly devolving us into a pit of moral, political and economic depth beyond our ability to rectify all the deep troubles associated with same.
Now since that time, our preoccupation with all this dysfunctional politics and sex has sunk us deeper into political and sexual irresponsibility. This dystrophy has, along the way, blinded us to authentic responsibility, and ultimately imprisoned us in a yet another very deep quagmire. Yeah, I say unto thee, 'tis yet another pothole of even deeper dysfunctional distress:
DeepDebt, trillions and trillions of it.
Nevertheless, in spite of all that, ya gotta find a ray of hope somewhere. I don’t know about you, but my prescription for our dystopian dillemma is quite simple, maybe even simpleminded:
God bless America.
And if you believe that, I've got some deep canyon real estate in Arizona I'll tell you.
What's better is: In God we Trust. But with all the deep sh*t that’s going on, such blessing and trusting could require a higher power for the fulfillment part of it, and maybe even some DeepFaith.
King of Soul
Tuesday, January 30, 2018
What the Jews did was establish about half of the narrative foundation of the Western World.
Their Old Testament, combined with the New, were received as Holy Scriptures by the Church, which, after Constantine, dominated European cultural development for over a thousand years.
Long about 1500 or so, the Protestant Reformation began the process of unshackling the chains of dogmatic error that the Catholic hierarchy had, over 1400 years, lapsed into. Then Reformation disruption of Papist hegemony broke ground for another new emphasis—the Renaissance. This humanist arts movement unearthed the quasi-dormant other half of the Western cultural narrative, the ancient Greeks, most notably Homer, Herodotus, Plato and Aristotle. On the coattails of the Greek philosophers, the Roman writers, most notably Cicero, Cato and Virgil later appended their contribution to the philosophical and governmental legacy of ancient Greece. It later became a bedrock of Western culture and government.
That ancient Greek heritage had initiated an idea called democracy, which was later amended to Republic by the Romans in their Empire.
Judeo-Christian Religion, Greek Democracy and Roman Republic became the religious, philosophical and governmental foundations upon which the Western World was established in Europe and beyond.
In the early stages of Western history, during the period of the Roman Empire, along came a Roman general named Titus. In 70 a.c.e., he ran most of the Jews out of Israel, their homeland, and he sent his soldiers to Jerusalem to destroy the Jewish Temple, even though it had had been constructed by one of the Romans' own puppet kings, Herod.
Titus apparently thought it was a notable accomplishment that he had expelled most of the Jews out of their own ancient capital; the Hebrews had previously managed to reclaim Jerusalem after the Babylonian emperor Nebuchadnezzar had expelled them about 670 years earlier.
Titus’ Roman victory over the Jews was thought to be quite impressive by his successors. A few years after he died, his brother Domitian commissioned the Arch of Titus to be constructed in the main area of Rome. Among the conquests of Titus depicted in stone on the Arch, the plundering of Jerusalem is plain to see.
In this picture that I snapped, the Jewish Menorah can be plainly seen. To the victor goes the spoils, eh? The Roman big shots must have thought themselves something special after they ran those upstart Jews out of Jerusalem back in the day. The Jews were infamous among several historical empire-builders for being ungovernable.
One reason that Titus and Nebuchadnezzar and Antiochus and their ilk had so much trouble governing the Jews was because the people of Israel always insisted on being free.
This whole idea of freedom, around which Western culture revolves, originated largely with the Jews.
Long about 1400 or so years b.c.e., Moses rounded up the Jews and lead them out of the slavery that Egyptian pharoahs had inflicted on them.
This turned out to be a major event in world history.
Why? Because Moses and some of his people wrote a book about it. We know it as the book of Exodus. Along with the other books of the Torah/Pentateuch/Old Testament, it later became an international best-seller for many and many a year, many and many a century and several millenia of time.
What later became the Bible was passed down through the ages to many and many a person and group of persons to read and spark inspiration.
That spark of freedom that enabled the Jews to throw off the bondage of Pharoahic slavery—it has been an inspiration to many freedom-seeking people throughout history.
Case in point, within our lifetime. (All ye Boomers out there, hear ye, hear ye. . .)
Dr. Martin Luther KIng, Jr., on the night before he was assassinated, declared this message to his people in Memphis, and ultimately via audiotape to America, and to the world:
“I’ve been to the Mountaintop. . . I’ve seen the Promised Land . . .”
Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop.
And I don't mind.
Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!
We can see that Dr. King was inspired by Moses. A long time ago, I wrote a song about it. Mountaintop
And we know from the Hebrew scriptures that Moses was inspired by God.
Now this may seem a little old-fashioned to you, a little bit religious. But this religious thing is much more than belief in God. It's not just out-of-style old hat. Faith also includes the idea of freedom. It also includes the idea of freedom of religion , freedom to believe what you need to believe, and freedom to act on what you believe to be true. It goes way back, way back . . .
Here’s another example from American history. A hundred and fifty years ago when black folks in this country were still enslaved . . . in a situation not unlike what the Jews had found themselves in ancient Egypt, one of those black former slaves, Harriet Tubman, started a secret society for the purpose of providing an escape for self-freed slaves who wanted to come up to the free states.
The name that was given to Harriet’s clandestine network was the Underground Railroad. Have you heard of it?
I’m here to tell you that the Underground Railroad has been transporting people from bondage to liberty for a very long time.
Last century, freedom-seeking people did another version of it to smuggle the children of Israel out of the Nazi Third Reich. Have you heard of it?
But know this: it’s still going on.
Underground Railroad Rides Again.
And we can thank the Jews for that, because way, way back in the day . . . they started it; they started the freedom track that runs through human civilization. The first one ran from Egypt to the Promised Land, and its been going, whenever needed, under the radar ever since.
It will never be shut down.
Sunday, January 28, 2018
Today while perusing a post on the Seeking Alpha financial network I came across what appears to be a very sensible explanation of what we see in the world of finance and business today.
This no-nonsense analysis is occasionally echoed by other writers on the SA site, most notably Mr. David Stockman, former budget director for President Reagan.
He was a high-flyer back in the day, the pre-Greenspan days.
But here I make reference to a different contrarian analyst, Mark A. Grant, upon whose article I stumbled upon this morning.
From a distance, I've been following the contrarian school of thought ever since the fall of '08. I say "from a distance" because I am neither an economist, nor a significant investor. I am a mere citizen who happens to be a consumer, an American, an author and a semi-retired person, age 66.
This contrarian school of alarmist financial analysis generally demonstrates a perpetual amazement; their astonishment revolves around the credit-mongering house-of-cards built by the central bankers of our preset world (the Fed, EuroCBank, Bank of Japan, People’s Bank of Japan, etc.). It’s not that the contrarians have much respect for of the central bankers’ delicate arrangement of interlocking currencies and trade incentives; rather, their astonishment arises from the mystery of why it has not yet fallen apart and produced a new crash.
You see, this new international construct is not founded upon traditional economics, but rather (as it appears to this layman) upon that (at the time) new-kid-on-the-block upstart school founded in the 1930’s by Mr. Keynes; it’s all about governments and banks perpetually tweaking national/international money spigots to produce certain desired effects.
Our current zombified house-of-cards scenario has been at work for a decade or so now, ever since the crash of ’08, with its aftermath of Great Recession or great whatever-it-is.
Getting back to the source of this present article: This morning I was reading Mr. Grant’s take on the present situation and comparing it for the umpteenth time to the contrarian undertow that continues to make perfect sense. This bearish complaint corner has been going on for so long I'm beginning to wonder if the fiat-wielding central bankers have actually managed to change, by their manipulations, the fundamental nature of money.
Maybe we actually are now in a brave new world where the old rules of debit/credit will never again apply.
With all these electrons flying around the planet--all these monetized digital representations of presumed wealth and bank-enabled assets--haven't we truly ditched the old gold-backed world of currencies-dollars, pounds, francs, marks, drachmas, denarii, Euros, rubles, shekels, yen, yuan, SDRs and zlotys?
Could Bitcoin and such be nothing more than a flash-in-pan death-throes sparkle signifying the end of our great age of post-BrettonWoods expansion?
Might this extended wave of central banks’ Quantitative Easing actually turn out to be the debt-driven tidal wave that propels us into a land that prime forgot, where all the rules and practices of days gone by are tossed aside forever in the liquidity flood and trash heap of history?
We're getting to a precarious place now where the only solution will be to tear up the score-cards, balance sheets, and start over. The central governments of the world are forever indebted to the central banks of the world. It certainly seems that way to this observer. I'll be surprised if we ever get back to what Mr. Smith called "the wealth of nations."
We ain't in Kansas any more, Toto. Exactly where we have landed is unclear. And it just might be that tapping our ruby-slippered heels of old-school analysis are gone with the wind.
When this whirlwind of fiat-instruments does wind down to a dull roar and all the chips fall where they may, who/what institutional entities will have wrangled control of the new asset-spewing beast? Whatever that entity turns out to be--it (they) will be in a position to dole out the newly-zombified assets to the world's surviving movers and shakers. I guess most of us out here in lala land will be quakin' in our boots.
As for us commoners, we may all of us have to settle for a mere meal-ticket while the big chips get re-assigned.
A meal-ticket on a card or a chip, of course.
What troubles me is: what new rules or allegiances will be demanded by the powers--that-be?
What will it cost us, John Doe/Jane Smith, to even get in the game?
King of Soul
Wednesday, January 24, 2018
When I was a young man, idealistic and foolhardy, I attempted to start a newspaper.
I was in Asheville, a progressive southern town that was collectively trying to morph itself into a sort of Santa Fe of the South.
The year was 1977, and the gas-rationing effect of the so-called Arab oil embargo was still fresh in American minds. We, the generation who had convinced the gov. of the US to get the hell out of Vietnam, were convinced that we could also make a constructive impact on the way business and industry was conducted here in the USA.
Solar tech was a rising star in everybody’s minds, or so we thought at the time. With leadership from Mother Earth News and other early sustainability advocates, many of us free-thinking boomers thought we could shift American Big Business interests from dependency on costly oil to a widespread earth-changing acceptance of Solar, Geothermal and Wind technology.
So the fledgeling “newspaper” that we were promoting did a center-spread on Solar Energy and Solar Collectors. One of our fellows was a fellow named Jim Samsel; he was from Oregon, or had lived there, and seemed to know more about the subject than most us. He included some diagrams that, as I remember, helped us and the readers to get a visual on what solar collectors looked like and how they were supposed to work. We felt good about our tentative thrust into progressive energy conservation.
That was 41 years ago. Since that time, my life has shifted toward more down-to-earth activities such as loving my wife, raising the children, educating them and living as a Christian family. So my interests drifted away from quasi-experimental pastimes such as dreaming of solar tech, which was known to be expensive to install and maintain.
Since that time, my wife and I have purchased and lived in three houses. On none of them have we installed solar collectors. The expenses of of life and a growing family overtook my nascent interest in alternative, home-based, power installations such as solar.
Now we live in Boone, which is home to Appalachian State University. Here at ASU, the alt-tech professors and students have put together a noteworthy Sustainability curriculum, with appropriate technology workshops and experimental projects that I occasionally hear about. I haven’t been keeping up with it, but I do know there’s a lot going on out there pertaining of improvements of solar collectors and storage cells.
And that is good. I say more power to them. I hope they can make a big earth-friendly dent in the massive oil-based infrastructure that has for so long held us all in hydrocarbon bondage.
Over the years, I have occasionally pondered the plight of solar pioneers who have stayed with it, and I formed a little scenario in my mind that posits what needs to happen for solar to really get a significant foothold in our American infrastructure, by way of John Doe’s household and Jane Smith’s homestead.
My scenario starts with a fantasy: a widespread societal/economic attitude shift that inspires homeowners to install solar-panels on a massive scale—millions of homeowners thinking (believing) they can actually save money on their electrical bills by gathering energy from the sun on their very own rooftops. Makes a lot of sense if you think about it.
And the scenario works something like this:
Joe Blow has a few extra hundred bucks in his paycheck this week, so on Saturday he decides to go to the local Lowe’s or Costco or Sam’sClub and pickup another collector or two. He hauls them to the house and mounts them on the roof with a hardware system that has been patently engineered for simplicity of design and installation. The electrical connections below—hooking up to the panel and thereby the household electrical system—have previously been done by his electrician friends Wayne and Bryan.
Then, after the connections and installation of the new panels have been accomplished in a half-day or so, he settles into an evening of relaxation with the surety that next month’s electric bill will be lower a a result of his incremental investments up on the roof. As time goes by, Joe uses a few extra bucks here and there to consistently repeat these simple periodic installations and thereby save $ by lowering his household’s power consumption.
Now what would it take for such a scenario to be reality instead of my tech-fantasy?
Starting with a look back into history, back in the day, over a hundred years ago . . .
Henry Ford figured out how to actuate a new idea called mass production. Within a few decades, a Ford “in every garage” began to be a reality in American development and life. Every Joe Blow now understands that the reason this could happen was because Ford’s mass production assembly line enabled the company (and ultimately the wider automotive industry) to get the unit cost down to an affordable number that Joe and Jane Sixpack could actually spend to purchase a a car or truck for their family.
Now this is what we need for the solar industry in America--mass production and mass-market.
Who will take up the mantle? Who will heave the solartech excalibur out the stone of oil-dominance?
Tesla? GE? Some as-yet-unknown Startup in Phoenix, Detroit, Boone or Montgomery?
That remains to be seen, when and if it ever happens.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch . . .in a brand new 2018. . .
Now suddenly appears an Omen that perhaps the previously-thought-to-be-conspiracy Industrial Establishment has finally gotten a hold of the Solar vision! The next new expansion manufacturing industry!
What omen is that? The President announces a 30% tariff on foreign-manufactured solar collectors (and washing machines.)
Does this protectionism portend a willingness of American Industry to, at last, leap into solar production because they can now, with a little gov. help, compete with the Chinese and South Korea?
Or, more cynically, does it indicate the continuing Establishment denial of Solar development on a large scale for the sake of continuing oil hegemony?
We shall see in the days ahead what the effects of this tariff will be on our still-nascent Solar industry in America.
Tuesday, January 23, 2018
If a human can hang around in this life long enough to reach maturity, he/she is probably lucky, or blessed, or both; and by the time that person reaches maturity he/she has probably pondered the question of where all this stuff in the world came from.
Perhaps it all evolved from the Big Bang; or maybe God created it all.
Generally I find that people who like to think a lot are likely to lean toward the Big Bang and/or Evolution as a path toward rationalizing the physical universe; and it seems to me that people who stay busy with the business of living, without being too analytical about it, will typically lean toward Religion or Faith as a way of dealing with life’s persistent questions.
What’s important is that we can all find a way to tolerate each other in the midst of these two world-view polarities. If we don’t find a way to live in peace and productivity then we might really screw this thing up and render the world uninhabitable.
No matter which of these two camps you may find yourself drawn to, you must admit that if this universe were not founded upon some organizing principle, we would have nothing except perhaps a bunch of cosmic dust floating around the universe.
How, for instance, how can you account for the fact that every atom has a nucleus of protons and neutrons, with electrons orbiting around it?
How did the first atom get organized?
That’s the microcosmic question. Now here’s the same conundrum on a macro level: How can you account for the fact that the Sun has Planets orbiting around it?
Did it all just happen, or did something/someone organize it?
Perhaps it all evolved from the Big Bang; or maybe God created it all.
Now we in this postmodern period of human of human history have generally divided ourselves into two categories concerning these important questions.
At the risk of oversimplifying the issue, let me just propose that we could say some of us are in the Rational camp and others of us are in the Religious camp.
I myself try to be a sojourner in both of these universes, but that’s neither here nor there.
I use the word Rational to classify the folks who like to use data and their brains to figure out all this stuff, because Rational suggests that by their thinking they can actually figure most of it out enough to proceed with the business of living life intelligently.
I use the word Religious to classify the folks who prefer to depend on faith or theological revelation to account for this world, and then use their faith to inform and fortify their life decisions.
Now here’s the rub.
Whichever of these two camps you find yourself drawn to, you must admit that there are still some questions that your chosen system of thought/belief will not fully answer.
There are some things we just don’t know!
You Rationalist, can you prove how quantum mechanics or whatever made arrangements for a nuclear proton to serve as the center-point for that first atom?
You Religious person, can you prove that there’s a Just God who allows such evil as we see in this world to exist?
But these challenges are rhetorical.
We cannot prove the veracity of an answer to either of the above challenges. If a Rationalist could prove to me how the first atom was organized, I would probably not understand the proof. If a Religionist could explain how or why God allows evil, I would likely disagree with him/her on some point, based upon my cultural religious heritage.
There is an end-point (or a beginning point) to both world-view systems where another unknown prevents absolute conclusion of the matter.
There are some things we just don’t know.
At the end of any unanswerable question, however, we surely do discover that an assumption, or thesis, is required if we are going move beyond indecision.
Or we could say it like this: at the end of every Rational thought progression is necessarily found (reap ‘em and weep) a Leap.
A leap of faith, if you’ll forgive my trench, because you can’t know everything.
Maybe you’ve figured out that this world is going to hell in a carbon-basket.
What else is new?
We faith-based types understand that not everything can be figured out or calculated. So most of us concede to this perplexity by subscribing to divine revelation for our cosmological answers.
And there are enough of us religious types out here to assure you that all humanity will not be driven into agreement about what is to be done to save us. After all, we still yet fail to agree on whose god is the correct one and what would that supreme being requires of us.
We’re into day-to-day living; many of us are just getting by.
So do your data thing. Collect your Big Data. Have a good time with it. Drill your polar ice cores and try to arrive at conclusions that will convince us billions of blockheads out here in Peoria or flyover country or working class lala land.
Consider this. Going back to middle school science. . .
At the end of every Geological Age on Earth we find a change of climate. Looking forward, exactly how it will work out in the next shift we do not know because there are too many variables to predict or calculate.
Yes there are too many variables, too many individual decisions to be made, too many quantum mechanics, too many people—to come into agreement about how to solve the problem. And any Final Solution would not be appropriate.
Even if there is one school of scientists who figure out all these warming consequences, can the vast mass of humanity be manipulated into getting with the program enough to make a difference?
No. We billions would have to be cajoled, intimidated, manipulated, deprived of our life, liberty and pursuits of happiness to go along with the program. You can’t teach an old dog’s-life new carbon tricks; we’ve been throwing soot into the air ever since we figured out how to make fire.
Try to convince us, if you must, of what’s to be done to arrest global warming. My personal opinion is you are probably correct. Our depraved pollutive ways have probably already sunk the ship.
So Good luck with that.
Educate the masses if you can, but don’t get too excited about it. Most of us are dim bulbs compared to the Enlightenment that would be required to activate such a tectonic shift in human behavior.
Changing the consumptive habits of entire human population is about as likely as getting us all rounded up to shag in a Pangaean prom.
So give us a break. Try to convince us if you can, because we are, believe it or not, paying attention.
But don’t be taking away our civil liberties, and don’t be messing’ with our faith-based solutions to life’s persistent questions.
Forget not the words of our great prairie home companion: Do good work, and keep in touch.
And remember also these words that were, back in the day, crooned by the king of Rock’n’roll:
Don’t ya step on my blue suede shoes.
King of Soul
Sunday, January 14, 2018
Memories linger mysteriously in our minds, sometimes like precious old photographs, sometimes like skeletons in the closet; they can hang around being stubbornly unpleasant and fearful, or they can shine happy and hopeful like a walk in the park in springtime.
I suppose most memories are intimately personal, but not all of them.
I feel we have collective memories, especially in this modern atmosphere of media saturation, where public events pry deeply into our private imaginations.
My g-generation, the baby boomers—we were the first to grow up with this thing called TV. Now our kids are the first to grow up with this thing called the worldwide web. These media—TV, Internet, radio, cellphones etc. fortify and intensify our memories, especially the collective ones.
Most of us American boomers remember, for instance, where we were and what we were doing on the day that President Kennedy was shot in Dallas.
And we and our children remember, most of us, where we were and what we were doing on that fateful day in 2001—9/11 when the twin towers came down.
These collective memories are potent; they latch on to us; and while they do recede into dark tunnels they can be easily brought to the surface at the mention of those circumstances.
And we have, of course, powerful personal memories from our own youth. Most vivid perhaps, are those that surround a first love or romance. These vague vestiges of the past are capitalized upon by our songwriters and movie-makers. Here’s an excellent example of a very special song about the mysterious aspect of memories. It was popular when I was a teenager, Dusty Springfield’s Windmills of Your Mind.
But there is another kind of collective memory that goes back even further than modern pop-music or movies. It is tucked away in the crevices of history itself. And I find that certain settings or objects can serve as talismans through which human memories are passed from generation to generation and possibly from age to age, even from century to century.
You’ve heard of deja vu, haven’t you? That’s the feeling you can suddenly experience sometimes in a situation that you could not have been in because it took place before you were born.
This deja vu, which is French for “already seen” is a feeling I get whenever I’m near or in an old train.
So yesterday I was uncovering some serious deja vu when I toured the North Carolina Transportation Museum which is located at an old, obsolete railroad service yard in Spencer, NC, near Salisbury.
There is, for me, something very special about these old trains . . . something that stirs intensely in my soul pertaining to days long ago, in past centuries, when these steaming iron beasts roared across the vast landscapes of that hastily-industrializing age. The feeling that I get has something to do with retrieving past memories that I myself could never have experienced, almost as if the locomotives themselves were mnemonic repositories of 19th-century passengers who embarked to ride in those ancient passenger cars.
In the 2014 novel I wrote, Smoke, I attempted to capture this feeling in the story I was composing at that time. The collective memory, mentioned at the end of the scene described below, is implanted in Philip's mind when he grabs a brass handrail on a French train passenger car. The scene takes place in 1937, in Paris. It depicts the beginning of a journey being taken by a young American and an old Frenchman who are about to travel from Paris to Lille, in northern France:
Half a morning later they were boarding the northbound train. By that time, whatever it was that had brought together this aged Frenchman and his young, attentive American charge had been uncorked to its full expression. The old fellow was intermittently pouring out his life’s vintage in a slow trickle of memory; its balmy flow had begun to endow their embarkation with a kind of therapeutic anointing, the beneficiary of which was neither the young man nor the old, but that Man of the ages whose fermented wisdom percolated through deepened souls of both men.
Now they were walking beside the train, small luggage in hand. Pausing in mid-stride, Mel managed to recap, in the midst of crowd and bustle, a simple advisement that he had begun last night and had already landed upon this morning. “Half the battle in this life, I think, is deciding what to keep and what to let go. You have got to know when to hold them.”
They arrived at the railcar to which they had been billeted. Philip appropriated Mel’s briefcase, collecting it with his own, both in his left hand. Placing his right gently hand on Mel’s lower back for support, he waited patiently as the old fellow carefully climbed onto the steps to ascend into their coach. As Mel’s bony, spotted hand grasped a vertical brass handrail inside the little stair, it seemed to Philip that the ghosts of ten thousand French souls were lingering there. The rail’s brass patina had been worn to a dullish sheen as ten thousand reaching hands had, in the beginnings of their ten thousand journeys on this train, taken hold of it.
I felt like I, or somebody, had grabbed this rail before. The worn brass summons up a kind of old, collective memory from days gone by.
I guess you'd have to be there . . . Maybe I was, in a sense, there, yesterday when I visited the Railroad museum.
Saturday, January 6, 2018
In 1920, Robert Frost wrote very this famous poem, Fire and Ice:
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Since I too am an American poet, I have taken the liberty to update his musing on the world’s imminent demise.
Here’s my 21st-century version; it’s called:
Hot and Cold
Some say the climate change is toward hot,
yet why are we so cold?
Our carbon emissions have increased a lot;
We thought we would be getting hot.
But if we’re breaking record colds so old,
I think I know enough of change
to say this global warming's bitter cold
is within the range,
or so I’m told.
Thursday, January 4, 2018
So now it’s come down to this:
a global schmobile electric hectic dyss-topia,
each faction nursing its own myopia
manifesting all the genetical heretical traits known to man,
in the clashes of history clashing again and again.
We’re racing down a four-way street—
devolving in a manic humanic socialistic beat
boiling in amped-up dead religion defeat
escalating in jihadi mahdi sunni shiite heat
leaving the deceased at a Roman soldier’s feet.
So now it’s come down to this:
That holy man lugged a rugged cross for you and me
exposing all our genetical heretical cruelty,
revealing our relentless senseless dysfunctionality
then abiding in the tomb for one, two, three. . .
Then by the light of that third day’s dawn
he’s shown us life’s insistence to go on and on,
whereby your assent to his demonstration
enables your ascent to his resurrection.
Now if that’s not enough simplicity
to provoke your complicity
Then feel the gravity
of our depravity
and the immensity
of his intensity
It’s an old rugged cross, you see,
a stubborn damned thing
you cant kill his accomplishment there cuz he’s already been
beaten to death
you cant derail his train of believers cuz history
did already nail that good news
to an eternal signpost that is hewn
in the midnight star and the midday noon
at the crossroads of the old world and the new
to be seen by all the many and the few
at the intesection of ancient empires
at the apex of a million rising spires
you cant make it go away cuz its sign was forever staked
midway between Moses and Mohammed
a big blood-red light at the intersection of Torah and Q’ran,
a stopping point between Plato and Plutarch
the apogee of history’s arc
the fulfillment of the covenantal ark
the most convincing kabalistic spark
and the greatest subject of great art
history’s liveliest encore part
world stage’s greatest curtain call
the rising to recover from our fall
an uprising beyond Robespierre
a tragedy to provoke your tear
a word in every ear:
Death, where is your victory?
Nailed to a cross, you see,
by the light of that third day’s dawn
we continue on and on.
We were a fallen pawn
but only until that third day dawned.
King of Soul