Moses Medgar Martin Mountaintop

Moses Medgar Martin Mountaintop A long time ago, in a land far away. . . Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo, to the top of Pisgah. The Lord said to him, "This is the land which I swore to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, saying that I will give it to your descendants. I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not go over there"

Then thousands of years passed. Then later, in 1963 A.D., civil rights pioneer Medgar Evers was assassinated in his own front yard in Jackson Mississippi.  Medgar carried a vision of freedom and dignity for his people, but he did not get to, in this earthly life, the promised Constitution/Emancipation Proclamation liberty and justice for all.

Later still, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated in Memphis, April 4, 1968.

On the night before his death, he spoke: "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. And so I'm happytonight; I'm not worried about anything; I'm not fearing any mine. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord." Hear about it here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3hQNMr0A48&list=RDK3hQNMr0A48&start_radio=1

King of Soul

Can you see?

Oh say can you see, in the 2021 light What we so proudly maintained  after a riotous fight? That broad dome and wide steps through the perilous fight O'er the barricades we watched was so gallantly retained! As our Congress did dare, with teargas in the air, giving proof through the fight that our Congress was still there; O say does that Capitol Congress remain?. . . with our Presidency, o'er the land of the free, Democracy!

Glass half-Full

Human Folly

Human folly was overflowing. When I was seventeen, a seventeen minute tape gap closed the door on Nixon's dirty tricks: no more tricky dick when flood of watergate burst open every dam dirty trick that white house plumbers could contort . . . as fate and deep throat did utter in concrete caverns the secrets of their luminati break-in games. . . oh what fools these plumbers be. . . contempt of court doth rule, when such fools these dirty tricksters be. . . alas, poor richard we knew him well, until bernstein woodward did move against nixon's game. pudd'n and tane; ask me again and I'll tell you the same. Anyway, who'd have thunk it? But human folly, you see, was overflowing. . . alway was, always will, somewhere, some time, when you least expect it. Oh, but I digress. Anyway, no matter how you cut it, decades passed; time keeps slip-sliding away. . . And then, and then. . . after the dot.com bubble had not sustained. . . and when yonder-coming frothy Y2K had done gone down the drain, in the sweet buy and buy, and the scurry sell and sell and what's under the derivatives bell. . . when the froth had gone down the MBS drain, when the CDOs took the last train to clocksville, they said it wasn't like the crash of '29, no, just a blip in wall street time;

 it wasn't worth a dime or even a wooden nickel; 't'was just a wrinkle in time. . . but meanwhile back at the tranche, up on fifth avenue the joker was descending from his glassy tower, the man of fate and power for the hour, spewing spooky spiffs: stand back, stand by, for your piece of insurrection pie, and so, them standby three percent of boys, them oath-bleepers and the proud trumptoys, advancing in the mall, answering the dog-whistle call, insurrecting as the joker's toys, them 0 so proud boys did don their insurrection hoods, as dunces in their joker's game

 against our Constitution game, and did mount up their wing-dings like beagles on the hunt, with nooses hanging loose, for to find VP pence. . . and so they did maraud their way beneath the dome, forcing Jefferson out of his home, electrocuting Franklin's kite with all their gangly might. . . just put your john henry on these 2-century legacies. . . yeah, yeah, I say unto thee. Human folly is overflowing, and I think its going to flood today, or anyway, it may, except . . . this is January. Oh well. . . but that's a deep subject, as deep as the drifting snow. . . you just never know. . . what will happen. Suffice it to say, human folly is overflowing. . . singing folly wolly doodle all the day. And I told him that! Glass half-Fullhttp://www.careyrowland.com

I am, I think

A long, long time ago, the founder of planetary literacy was out in the wilderness, pasturing the flock of his father-in-law.  Moses later reported: "The angel of the Lord appeared in a blazing fire in the midst of a bush; and he looked, and behold, the bush was burning with fire, yet the bush was not consumed." In that unprecedented setting, Moses and the Creator of the universe had a conversation. After receiving an assignment to deliver his people, the Hebrews, out of Egyptian slavery, Moses was seeking a point of clarification when he asked the Lord to identify Himself. "They may say to me, 'what is His name?' What shall I say to them?" God said to Moses, "I AM Who I AM". The encounter was something like that. The Lord's identifying Himself has been reported in various iterations: I AM WHO AM. I am the One who IS, Yahweh, Jehovah, Yahweh, YWHW. So Moses was a prophet in ancient days. Meanwhile, back at the planetary ranch, thousands of years passed. God sent His son, Jesus, whose crucifixion provided an historical platform demonstrating that human Life does indeed survive death itself. Seventeen centuries after Jesus, Rene Descartes was pondering his own existence, trying to figure it out. He came up with a phrase that later set the course of modern philosophy: "I think, therefore I am." Descartes' puzzling about his own existence eventually led to a wider contemplation among men and women about existence itself, a searching that included a school of thinkers whom we call existentialists. "Why am I here? Who am I? What am I supposed to do with this life that was given to me?" As the centuries rolled by, humans became smarter and smarter. Eventually, they figured out ways to have machines do work and thinking for them - to do the heavy lifting of heavy objects in the physical world, and to do the heavy lifting of figuring out a all the other details as well. And now that we've turned so much mental heavy lifting over to the computers, we've reached a stage where the computers are smarter than we are. And furthermore, just as the ancient Hebrews hitched their identity to YWHW, and then later encountered opposition and defeat in a land called Ai, modern humans have encountered unexpected difficulties - even in some cases a formidable resistance - in the field of technology that is called Ai. As we venture further into the 21st century, we are encountering the presence of what may seem to be an alien presence, or entity, as we slouch toward our destiny on this planet. But Ai, a creature of our own making, originated as a tool. Could it be that our created step-child has surpassed us in mastery over the web in which we live and move and have our being? Back in the 1960's, the Moody Blues produced a song that touches on these developments. The song includes Rene Descartes' famous reasoning, but takes it step furthr: "I think. . . I think I am, therefore I am. . .I think." 

The computer replies: "Of course you are, my practical star; it riles them to believe that you perceive the web they weave." Well. . . who is "them" now? people or Ai? And the rest is history, yet to come. . . as we peck away, like ducks waddling through a planetary pond, almost seen. . . and the age-old question persists: Whose in charge here? King of Soul

Mississippi 1950's, where I was living

(excerpt from chapter 4 of

King of Soul)

By 'n by many of the black folks down south, inspired by the legality of recent innovative challenges, got busy as bees while the whites, unfortunately, got mad as hornets. But the times they were sho'nuff a'changin'.

Heretofore, the sleepy ole antebellum way of honky life would lay low and submit to a new master, whose visage was was darker, with features more universal and inclusive, and whose newly renovated integrity would ultimately endow the good old boys and gals with a rectified blend of African charm, and a revolutionary new testament of grace. But the racist honkies had not yet figured this part out, so they were in for a long, hard lesson. Black folks knew the lesson would be hard, because they'd been living it for over 200 years, but it took them awhile to figure just how stubborn and contrary the whites could be when they got that deer-in-the-headlights look in their eyes. But that's neither here nor there. Things got serious after Brother Medgar Evers was assassinated in his own front yard.  King of Soul

Blue Ridge Mountain Home

Well it’s been a quiet week at Appalachian, my chosen home. Long ago and far away, I left Dixie, traipsed out of the hot sunshine and declared my homestead in the high country. Here in the car this evening, traveling with my lifetime mountain home companion, mother of our three young’uns. They’re all grown, up now, having left the nest, flew off to Duke and Carolina. . . flown the coop. We’re driving home from Charlotte, after visiting kin folk in the Queen City where American independence was first declared, back in the day. . . 1775, I think it was. A car dealer on our route displays a super flagpole. Old Glory ripples largely in the evening breeze, assuring us that our flag is still there. We need not ask “Oh say, does that star spangled yet wave in the land of the free and the home of the brave?” In other old news, our North Carolina forests thrive, now in their bare golden winter glory, along these miles between our towns. Cruising Booneward on the highway, we’re slightly enlightened as red sails on the sunset, while gold enlightens the skyline of them there hills, up ahead, glowing brilliantly in the distance as we approach our home in dusky glory. We roll into our little town, where Daniel Boone had stopped for a spell, back in the frontier days, where visitors will visit Mast’s old general store, and they’ll stock up with vittles from Lowe’s pretty good grocery, maybe chomp a donut at the Local Lion, or sip vino at. Venture, on King Street downtown. . . maybe buy a book there too, maybe one of my novels (just sayin’). . . they might even set a spell on ole Mrs. Jones’ front porch and watch the visitors down on King Street. Maybe sit on a bench with local music legend, Doc Watson.

Just a block or two south of King Street, some pioneer, Yosef, started a university back in the day, to enlighten folks in them there Appalachian hills. Nowadays young whipper-snappers come from all over the state, and even from places far away, to learn readin’, writin’ and ‘rithmetic, and maybe a little coding along the way, since now in our 21st-century glory, we’re living in cyberspace. When America was new, and frontier land was free, or so we thought. Eventually, we honkies made peace with the native Cherokee folks and the Chippewas, the Mohicans, Hurons. . . and the rest is history. And so I pause to peck these purloined phrases from old memories of old friends sitting on the porch like bookends. Newspaper blown through the grass, disappears in the web, into cyber space, and falls on the old glows of the high peaks of this old friend’s memories. King of Soul

Greenland Fare Well

When I was a young lad, I'd listen to Judy Collins singing an old song, originally sung in the 1800's, by a Norwegian fisherman Fare well to Tarwathie

When I was a young lad, I'd listen, on the old 33 rpm LP player, to Judy Collins singing

Farewell to Tarwathie, old song, originally sung in the 1800's, by a Norwegian fisherman, Fare well to Tarwathie /media/ff58282818e81c16de4413ef739c9961 The cold land of Greenland is barren and bare; No productivity nor comfort is ever known there. North winds blow freezing; so humans beware! So there’s no sense for donald to blow bluster there. Ya, Denmark and Finland don’t like donald’s grab His covetous clutching’s as stupid as ole Cap’n Ahab. Finland, Norway condemn donald’s presumption Germany, France, reject his art of assumption trump brandishes tariffs like a whaler’s harpoon. he’d slap them on the Euros as if he hung the moon he’s mad at Norway cuz he didn’t get a peace prize. Integrity of the Nobel Committee he doesn’t realize. The cold land of Greenland is barren and bare; No productivity nor comfort is ever known there. North winds blow freezing; so humans beware! So there’s no sense for donald to blow bluster there. Glass half-Full