Wisdom?

Word found in an old book:

Who among you is wise and understanding?

Let them show by their good behavior their deeds in the gentleness of wisdom.

But if you have bitter jealousy and selfish ambition in your heart, do not be arrogant and so lie against the truth.

Such "wisdom" is not that which comes from above, but is earthly, natural, demonic.

For where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there is disorder and every good thing.

But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, reasonable, full of mercy and good fruits, unwavering without hypocrisy.

And the seed whose fruit is righteousness is shown in peace by those who make peace.

Glass half-Full 

US Embassy Paris 1937

 Here is a scene from chapter 21 of my 2015 novel, Smoke. 

The year is 1937. Philip Morrow, the story's main character, is a young American doing business in Europe. In this scene, he accompanies the Hezekin family to the US Embassy in Paris. Having fled Munich, the Hezekin family feels fortunate that they have escaped the increasingly oppressive Nuremberg Laws, although they were forced to leave  their deli business behind. They are fraught with discouragement because their son, Heinrich, is still imprisoned in a place called Dachau. 

Being interviewed by a Mr. Breckenridge, a US State Department bureaucrat, the Eschens answer questions about their meat business in Munich, which they hastily abandoned when an escape opportunity had suddenly bee made available to them.

 “And where is Heinrich now?”

       “He is in Dachau prison,” said his mother, beginning to display her grief.

       For the first time, young Mr. Breckenridge leaned back in his padded chair with a relaxed demeanor. He swiveled slightly in his swivel chair. He glanced at the wall behind them, looked up at the ceiling, tossed his pencil on the papers. He looked directly at Philip, then at Hezekin. Slowly, he said, “So I suppose this is why you have no dossier from the German police? If there is a dossier on you, it probably will be of no benefit to your cause.”

       “What difference does it make? Hezekin asked, sincerely. “The police in Munich are now criminals. They are controlled by the SS!”

       “Surely, Mr. Breckenridge,” said Philip gently, “this is not the first case of this type that you have seen.”

       “No. We can see from here what it is happening in Germany. But we do have rules.”

       “Ah!” exclaimed Philip. “But I bet your rules were written before the National Socialists stole the government of Germany from the German people. So, perhaps, Mr. Breckenridge—what was your first name?”

      “Lou.”

      “So perhaps, Lou, it is time that the U.S. State Department change its rules pertaining to political refugees,  to reflect what is actually happening here and now in Europe.”

       “Easily said, Mr. Morrow, easily said. But that would require an Act of Congress.”

       “I think not. If you look into this, you will probably find that these restrictions are administrative rules that have been promulgated by people in your own State Department.”

       Lou looked sideways toward the man behind the next desk. “Hey, Earl,” he called.

       The man redirected his attention away from his own dutiful inspections. “Yeah, what?”

       “This requirement for the good conduct form—how long has that been on the visa list? And is it from Congress, or administrative?”

       “Ya got me, Lou. Ask Larry.”

       But Larry, in the third desk, was listening. “I don’t know Lou, but it is still a rule. You know that.”

Smoke

A Walk through the Fourth Dimension

It took a long time for this world to become what it is now.

No matter how you look at it—whether you think it all evolved via chemical processes and natural selection, beginning billions of years ago. . .

Or, maybe you believe that God did it, as Moses had documented long ago:

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.”

Either way you look at it, it took a long time for all this stuff that we find in the world, a long time to become what it is now . . . to evolve or develop from whatever it used to be, back in ancient times, to become what we have here today.

So we can comprehend that creation—whether the long version or the short version, with or without a Prime Mover— takes time. Time is, as Einstein discerned, the Fourth dimension: fourth, that is, after the first three, width, length and depth. Everything on earth has width, length and depth, being continuously reshaped by the Fourth dimension, Time.

And we see that time is the framework in which the other three dimensions do their thing, working together to make a world.

But we also notice that time destroys.

 Consider these  huge tree trunks that I encountered on a Kauai beach walk: they were once alive, growing. . . getting bigger and stronger  by day, year by year, maybe century by century.

But they happened to be growing near the ocean. After they had grown tall and strong, a powerful storm came along—a typhoon or hurricane—and washed out the soil and sand in which these great  structures were fastened to the earth. Their stability was slowly undermined. 

These once-mighty trees,  their strong roots anchored in the ground , become victims of an ocean storm surge. These once-mighty trunks and limbs topple over; they fall into the ocean.

  Then the waves, over years and decades of time, push the huge trunks around, rob them of their bark, saturate them with a constant assault of salt water and rips apart their structural integrity. 

Now these wood bones are just skeletons of what they once were, splintering  and rotting. Time, partnering with cannibalistic natural earth processes,  slowly but steadily transforms  these formerly giant structures into . . . elements, dirt, the stuff from which future trees will grow. Hey, life goes on in the Fourth Dimension. Time waits for no Tree.

Here's a thought I had while strolling: Like it or not, this is what you and I will also eventually fall prey to. Death will knock us down; earth processes will rot our flesh and leave skeletons where living flesh and blood once dwelt. The soul has fled to . . . (fill in your blank.)

Bear with me here. We tend to think about these things when our 7th decade of life rolls in like the tide. It could happen to you as it has happened to me.

But because I am human, a child of God, so to speak, I have a SouI. I know where my Soul will be going: same place where Jesus went after his death, having been nailed like a criminal to a tree. But he was resurrected three days later. I don’t know of any other man or woman in history who has accomplished such a feat.

And hey, this has nothing to do with politics or so-called christian nationalism. This is personal. Surviving death is a pretty notable accomplishment.

Maybe your soul will go somewhere, when you pass from this life, according to what you think or believe. If you can believe that you will live forever by following the One who has already trodden that path, then go for it! Join the parade of victory over death.

But I progress.

 

Here is a view, peering into what Time will do, is doing, and has done as seen while peering through these deadwood roots.  I noticed this perspective on my first trip walking southward along this Pacific beach on the east side of the  island, Kauai.

On my return trip, walking, I caught another look-see moment while gazing through that same lifeless, windblown roots entanglement. . . a natural portal for catching a freeze-frame of time, catching thereby a glimpse into the Fourth dimension . But this time, I noticed a person in the background, a woman reading. 

I couldn’t really tell, but I imagine she was reading a blog that some fool wrote about the Fourth Dimension. Or maybe she was reading the parable about not building your house on sand.

Glass half-Full 

Ke'e Musing

 I was strolling out there on the edge

of the world

or so it seemed to me

walking that beach

On Ke’e

where our nation meets the end

of land, the end

of sand

the far edge of that ancient island

where Wai’ al’e al’e had flung his first

lava up into the blue depths of

Pacifica

out there in the middle of nowhere

where long ago tectonic plates had parted

had given right-of-way to magma

spewing from the center of the earth.

It’s a place where you feel the gravity

of death

knowing you could dive into Pacifica

and float all the way to China

or somewhere over there

the other side of the world

maybe wake up dead 

before the sharks could have you for dinner.

Yes, looking now up at that sheer cliff

high above me on the edge of Napali coast

where Wai ale’ ale had had

his first fling with Pele

when ancient Alii kings and queens had

walked upon these islands

making kapu proclamations

for Hawaiians to live and die by

until that fateful day at Waimea

down there on the south shore

where Waimea River flows into Pacifica

that fateful day when Captain Cook

sailed into the esturary

bringing wonders from a so-called

civilized world

and a way of life that assigned a different place

for the Alii

And now here I am

contemplating the crack

that changed that world

assigning royals to a different place.

It’s an island where I feel death from on high

when gazing up at Wai al’e al’e

and his/her companion peaks

along the ancient spine of Kauai

shrouded in misty mystery

casting streams down to the sea

from whence Puff and Jackie had sailed

back in the day.

But now,

looking back down, here on Ke’e

there I am in the present again

gazing at this crack

and someone had carved: 

Alii

Then I remembered

Queen Elizabeth died a week ago today.

What would Captain Cook do now?

Glass half-Full

God Help the King!

Pertaining to the Christian Faith in Britain, and Charles' accession, here are a few thoughts from this Yank Christian, who hath visited Britain on several occasions:

Elizabeth's expression of faith was appropriate for her time and seasons of mankind. Charles' broader expression of faith is more appropriate for this age, a modern era of widespread revision in spiritual matters, and the religious expression thereof. 

That broadening expression of faith and spirituality must remain free in a free dominion. Charles seems to have the optimum balance.

Where the King should make concessions--for the sake of updating and strengthening the monarchy and strengthening Britain itself, if such a thing can be done in the 21st-century--is this:  the Crown's payment of taxes, and a certain amount of conceding royal properties back to people of Britain and beyond.

Which is to say, the King ought to pay taxes, like everybody else. And some of those superfluous royal estates ought to be returned to the British .gov to be auctioned off, and the proceeds thereof added to the public till. 

In King Charles' immanent transition, he ought to promote his progressive ideas about sustainability and appropriate technology, planet preservation and environmental protection. They are legitimate, and they are needed to restore our Earth's resiliency in a post-hyper-extractive Age. These conscientious environmental advocacies will gather more support from the green crowd and the liberals than stubborn insistence on archaic dogmas, and those revisions will improve wealth distribution in the realm.

What is more important, in this day and age, than religious identities, is the necessity for conservatory practice to sustain our World delicate balance of Mankind use and historic abuse of the World that God hath given us.

Christians do not need the support of the empire, the nation, the .gov or any other human entity, to sustain our faith. All we need, and all the Brit Christians need is the Lord's Holy Spirit, which he sent after His resurrection, and which we still have, every day.

King Charles certainly has, ahead of him, a long row to hoe, a herculean task in a very unstable Age of doubt and cynicism. May the House of Windsor be a wellspring  of environmental responsibility, fiscal generosity and spriitual freedom!

That said, We do not want the Church--whatever that means, institutionally--to end up like this:

. . . even thought the true Church of Jesus Christ is not dependent upon the structures, nor the institutions, nor the politics, nor the sanctuaries of men. We depend only on the Lord himself, as he hath revealed himself as Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

God help the King! 

World Waiting

 The world is out of whack and we are waiting for someone or something to fix it. 

Maybe a King, maybe a Judge maybe an Idea, maybe a miracle, maybe a wing and a prayer.

Maybe a Tortoise!

This will require some patience.

Patience is a virtue, a fruit of the spirit, a habit to be cultivated.

Start cultivating now.

Glass half-Full

With a little help from his friends

 This morning I was tapping the laptop while sitting on an island in the middle of the Pacific ocean. While reading Helen Thompson's article in Unherd, I pondered her message about Queen Elizabeth's humble way of performing her duties, setting an attitude example for any responsible citizen of this world.

I wrote a response to Helen's message. Then I decided to just share it with you here:

‘T’is not often, in history, that humility is found in a reigning monarch. But Elizabeth’s humility shone forth in her official functions.
The woman knew her place: demonstrating–even from her precipice of power– humility and grace in every act she publicly performed.
Even mean Mr. Mustard would venture out to catch a glimpse of her. Would that he now finds respect enough for Charles. . . to hazard, every now and then, a public show of support for the one man who is appointed by faith, destiny and a withering empire, to somehow display that mantle of humility.
And yet, we can discern that King Charles does definitely have a plan–a set of cherished values–for transitioning Britain and the world into a community that accepts, humbly but wisely, responsibility for–as Moses wrote– our “subduing” the earth. That’s a phrase which is, as we speak, being re-defined in a new world of "greening".

This global community is now struggling to repent of its rapacity, and take appropriate responsibility for our impact on the natural world.

Per chance, per Providence, Charles will succeed in his quest to become a responsible–not merely royal–citizen of this troubled world. Perhaps he will get by, in this prospect, with a little help from his friends. Perhaps he will ascend to handling, responsibly, the mantle and the sceptre for inspiring world citizens to take proper care of a world on which the sun never sets.
God save the King!

Here's a pic of  King George VI, Elizabeth's father, Charles' grandfather. 

His coronation in 1937 prompted the beginning of my third novel, Smoke, which is a story about a young American businessman who travels through England and France, in 1937, to a place called Flanders Field.

Smoke

What is so Urgent?

 

 Excerpt from chapter 2 of my novel story Smoke.

In the midst of  crowded London streets, Coronation day for George VI, May 12, 1937, Philip and Nathan have just witnessed the untimely death of an elderly man, right there on the sidewalk. As they depart from the scene, they are confronted by a stranger, who speaks urgently to Nathan: 

“Sir, I need to talk to you. This was no insignificant man whose death you witnessed today,” the man insisted.

     Nathan reversed his direction again. "I knew this man for about one minute." He looked intently into those large brown eyes, eyes brimming with a need to know.

     “What did he say to you?”

     “I didn't hear it all. It was more like a mumble than...Who are you, anyway? Who gave you permission to ask so many questions?”

     “I am Itmar Greeneglass, and Paul Wallris was a friend of mine.”

     “Well I am sorry for your loss, sir. But I must be on my way.”

     “What is so urgent that you cannot soothe an old man's curiosity about his deceased friend's passing?”

     Nathan’s decision to move forward was again arrested. “The crowning of an English king, sir.”

Smoke

Death happens

 

May 12, 1937, as Brits were congregating to crown King George VI, a man in the crowd was taken from this world. His death was the beginning of  the novel story in Smoke:

     "Doctor!  A doctor!" yelled Nathan, frantically. A thread of drool dripped from the old man's open mouth as Nathan struggled to lay his limp body down gently on the sidewalk. At the nearby corner on Haymarket, the lights changed, and traffic commenced.

      Nathan and Philip, speechless, knelt beside the stricken man, whose portly, suited body now lay motionless on the sidewalk. His eyes stared blankly upward into the morning mist. A crowd of people stood and stared. Nathan began pressing at the man's chest in what appeared to be a vain attempt at stimulating heart operation. In a sort of desperate gesture, Nathan gently slapped the man's joweled face as if to provoke him to attention.

     Then there was a parting in the crowd; a bobby was on the spot. "Stand aside, please," said the policeman, with accustomed authority. The two young men rose to their feet and backed off, allowing the bobby full access to this fallen gentleman's predicament. After conducting a few more ineffective chest compressions, the policeman gingerly turned up the old fellow's gold watch, which now lay inside his open coat on the ground, attached to the end of a gold chain that had strayed from the vest-pocket.  Philip could see that the watch showed 9:33.

     The officer looked up at Nathan. “Do you know this man?” he asked, while checking the pulse at his risk.

     “No sir.”

     “What happened?”

     “I was standing here by the window, looking in. I looked to my right. He was turning away, and slumping against the window. I took hold of him, trying to give him support. But I was in no position to bear his weight, so I let him down as gently as I could. He was, uh, blubbering, and that drool was beginning to come out of his mouth. I called for a doctor, and tried to, uh, somewhat, to stimulate his heart.”

     The bobby stood up. He looked directly into Nathan’s eyes. He had a gentle, though official, demeanor. “Did he say anything?”

     Nathan thought for a moment. “He did. He was going on about, uh, about the gold standard. . .” Nathan turned toward Philip. “Wasn’t that it?” he asked.

     “Yes, he said something about the gold standard, and monetary experiments,” replied Philip, looking at the policeman.

     The bobby looked down again at the body. He spoke slowly, “Do you remember. . .what his last word was?”

     Nathan and Philip looked at each other. Nathan was pursing his lips, trying to think about what had just happened. He shrugged his shoulders. “It was all so sudden.”

“Calamity,” said Philip.

                    Excerpt from chapter 1 of  Smoke

Puff the Magic Mem'ry

 Grok it, baby boomers: We were the luckiest generation in the history of the world!

Our parents had beaten the damn nazis and fascists and hiro-freaks back into their holes. The US armed forces came back to their land of the free, home of the brave, with victory in their strides, smile on their face and a melody in their heart.

They began building the largest economic expansion in the history world, with that Depression memory fading into the background. Through a sparkling new 1950’s American cinemascope they set out confidently to build the suburbs, drive their sparkling new cars to well-paying jobs, cook up scrumptious meals in pristine new kitchens, and make babies.

Yep, bubby, we were the babies who had it best, living in the lap of middle class luxury, like no other generation ever before us.

Still wet behind the ears, and half-spoiled, we had it made. We had TV. We had Davy Crockett, Howdy Doody, Mickey and Minnie Mouse, Donald Duck, Deputy Dawg and Buffalo Bill.  We had Disney wonderful world of color; we had Matt Dillon and the Ponderosa for our cowboy fantasies to roam around in.

We had toys, new toys, comin’ out the yinyang: hula hoops, Lincoln logs, erector sets, monopoly, dolls like chatty cathy and GI Joe. We had toys never seen before, newly manufactured plastic things that went “whiz” when they went, “pop” when the hopped and “whir” when they stood still.

Most of all, we had new Chevys, new Fords and Pontiacs. . . Pontiacs and Studebakers to ride around in, and new interstate highways for our parents to whiz up across as they drove cross-country, New York to LA, Miami to Seattle, where the space restaurant stood high in the sky. We had the Jetsons, Whirlybirds and widgets of all kinds. We had Chuck and BB, Elvis and Aretha to listen to, James Brown and his band of reknown and stereo sound. We had the Four Tops and the Impressions and Motown.

But my magic memory for today is Puff the Magic Dragon, who lived by the sea, and frolicked in a silver mist in a land called Hanalee:

Our newly-acquired Hawaiian island, Kauai, where a village called Hanalei is found, was just one little island westward from the Oahu, where Pearl Harbor is, where our first 911 disaster had been inflicted by the Japs, December 7, 1941.

The Japs didn’t like us then, but it’s all good now. Time heals all wounds. So that’s all Pacific water under the bridge now.

But there we were in the ’50’s, millions of baby boomers in our own suburban homes, with our very own bedrooms and our very own toys and plastic playthings. 

And along came Peter Paul and Mary with their ode to Puff:

      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vg2RcXC8KSk

Perhaps you will revisit their historic tuneful memory, because “ a dragon lives forever, but not so little boys. . . painted wings and giant strings make way for other toys”. . . as Puff slips back into his cave.

. . .the cave of generations past.

It's been nice knowin' ya.

King of Soul

Thrive Not on Chaos

"If possible, insofar as it is possible, be at peace with all men."

This exhortation, spoken and written long ago by the Christian apostle, Paul, is a timely truth for us now.

Furthemore, our President, Joe Biden, has called for peace among us, Americans. Listen:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JemWkV2Vcic

On September 2, 2022, our President spoke to our people, We the People of the United States, with a timely and bold message. At one point he addressed his words to those, our countrymen, who "thrive on chaos."

Joe Biden admonished us to choose a different path, a better path, the path of peace, because, he pointed out:

"This is a nation that honors our Constitution. We do not reject it. . .This is a nation that rejects violence as a political tool. . . We cannot allow violence to be normalized in this country. . .

"We the People see politics, not as total war--but as mediation of our differences."

As I listened to President Biden's message, just now, days later, his message reminded me of the exhortation written long ago,  for me and for all my Christian brethren:

"If possible, insofar as it is possible, be at peace with all men."

If, however, you do not profess, as I do, the gospel of Jesus Christ, perhaps you will allow me to remind us of the words spoken long ago by our President John Kennedy, when I was a young man, in the early 1960's:

"Ask not what your country can do for you, but what, together, we can do for the freedom on Man."

Glass half-Full 

Mississippi Madness: 1950's

In 2016-17, I was writing a fourth novel, King of Soul; the story included some memory elements from my childhood in Jackson, Mississippi.

In my historical research, I made use of Anne Moody's biography, Coming of Age in Mississippi. Anne was a Mississippian, like me, but she was a few years ahead of me. In the following excerpt from my King of Soul, I describe a lunch-counter encounter that happened in Jackson. In my novel scene, the character Aerlie is based on the very real experience, as described in her biography, of Anne Moody.

From chapter 4, Miss'ippi  Madness,  of King of Soul:

 Back in February, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People had held its annual convention in Jackson.  Jackie Robinson, the great baseball player, had moderated the convention. His relaxed, good-natured emcee style inspired all delegates and attendees to assume a new confidence about where their Movement was taking them. In the days and years ahead, they would sho’nuff need buckets of confidence.

       Aerlie Mufroe, an energetic senior at nearby Tougaloo College,  rode the seven miles down Highway 51 to Jackson to attend the convention, and her life was changed forever. Between Jackie Robinson’s relaxed Master of Ceremonies agility, Floyd Patterson’s Heavyweight champion-of-the-world clout, and a diverse assembly of dedicated civil rights activists from all over the USA, Aerlie found herself opening a new chapter of her life.

       With steady encouragement and direction from a dedicated professor at Tougaloo, Aerlie had managed to fill much of her free time during that last college semester with organizing black folks. They were planning rallies and boycotts to force the issue of new federally mandated   desegregation, right in the middle of Jackson’s stodgy ole honky business district. During her last week in school, Aerlie accompanied a small group of intrepid Negroes to order lunch at a downtown dime-store lunch counter.

         ‘T’was then the sparks began to fly in Jackson. Not that they hadn’t already been up in the air surrounding these desegregation issues. When Aerlie and her friends attempted to get some food at the honky lunch counter, the waitress got flustered. After a few minutes, she just threw her hands up, shut the lunch service down and closed the counter, rather than serve Aerlie and her friends.

Glass half-Full