The American Dream

Send us your huddled masses yearning to be free.

 Free at last, free at Last; thank God almighty we are free at least. But don't stop there. Teach your children well. . . that parents' hell will slowly go by. Make the best with what you've got. Do the best you can. We didn't start the fire, y'all; but we did declare that all men are created equal, and entitled to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Our soldiers have shed blood, sweat and tears. . . even their very lives, in perpetuation of these principles. I mean, we didn't start the fire, but we enkindled the flame of liberty in a venue and a strategy unprecedented in world history. We come on a ship they call Mayflower. We even put a man on the moon, in pursuit of that previously unreachable goal. You may think this is stream of consciousness; it is; we started with row, row your boat gently down the stream. . . but we find, along the way. . . All my trials, Lord, eventually be over; we work together, to get us to a place we never been before, a destiny, a God-ordained destiny that began long ago when Abraham left the land of the Chaldees, and then later. . . as the beat goes on, and the ancient story is told. . . like when Moses told Pharoah, Let my people go; then later much later. . .when the founders broke the cord, ignited it with the flame of freedom, the life-line of liberty. Then as times were a'changing, we built a raiload; once we built a tower way up to the sun. . .it takes Time, y'know, but who knows where the time goes?. . .I mean, the times were always a'changin'. Don't forget: Long story short. . .We come on a ship called Mayflower; we come on a ship that sailed the moon. Ask not what your country can do for you but ask what you can do for your country. But whatever happens, we gotta carry on; love is coming for us all. Young man, take a look at my life; I;m a lot like you. You know I keep thinking 'bout making my way back, whatevah! . . . Just row, row, row your boat gently down the stream; keep it going, never give up and all will go well with you. We are, ever and ever, embarking on the threshold of a dream, almost seen.Every now and then we catch a glimpse of it, as when Dr. King said, back in the day. . . I have a dream. . . then moving right along. . ..Merrily, merrily, verily, gently down the stream. . . stream, stream, stream of consciousness. "I was born by the river, in a little tent. . . and just like the river, I been running, ever since. It's been a long time coming, but I know, change is gonna come." I mean, that's what bro' Sam Cooke had prophecied, back in the day. But going back even further that that . . .Jesus said be ready, for you know not the hour that I come for you, 'cuz The ball is falling on Times Square; the sun is going down every day; but the sun also rises. . .brightening, day by day, the American dream. . . or bust! even so, In God we trust, 'cuz We shall overcome; deep in my heart, I do believe, we shall overcome someday! "How many years did some people exist before they were allowed to be free?" With that precedent in the rear view mirror, and In the wake of Abraham, Martin and John, we must not fail to go on, and on. . . and on, because the Underground Railroad still rides, y'all. Get on board! Don't get stuck in the mud of confusion or the fever of magamania.   King of Soul

Desecration in Washington

. . . a scene from my 2007 novel, Glass half-Full

Marcus stopped, taking in the enormity of it, both physically and philosophically. He was looking at the speech intently. Bridget was looking at him.

Gettysburg Address After a few moments: "Isn't that amazing? "Yes." She could see that he was thinking hard about something. The great chamber echoed a murmur of humankind. "Supreme irony." The longing of a nation's soul reverberated through the memorial… in the soundings of children, the whisperings of passersby. Deep within Marcus' soul, something sacred was stirring, and she could see it coming forth. "The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but can never forget what they did here." He was reading aloud Lincoln's words on the white wall. But for the echoes of a million people who had passed through this place, there was silence. After a moment, Bridget responded. "…and yet, there it is carved on the wall, for all to see: 'the world will little note what we say here….'" "Right, Bridget. Isn't it amazing?"

Suddenly, amid the noise was a loud shouting. Marcus could hear where it was coming from. He moved quickly away, toward the noise, to see what was happening. Bridget felt the sudden coolness of air on her hand, in the absence of Marcus' gentle grip. As soon as he emerged from behind the marble column, Marcus was puzzled by an incongruous, glistening wet flash of red upon the feet of Lincoln's statue. What the hell? Instinctively, he ran over to it. He could still hear a constant shouting; it was a ranting. Then his attention settled on the man who was yelling. He had a bucket in his hand, dripping with red paint. The rant went on, and suddenly Marcus was comprehending it: "…you sonofabitch see if you can get that off and then rub it on your white ass, your sorry white ass that destroyed what this country could have been you're a traitor to your race." This must be a dream, a very bad dream. Marcus was noticing the speaker's bald head, goatee, his moving mouth spouting insult. Then Marcus was deciding to do something. It seemed to him that it was someone else speaking when he asked, loudly, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"  The stranger, startled, turned to Marcus and looked at him. Then he opened his foul mouth: "I'm gonna make things right. There's a lotta things need to be made right. It's gonna start now." A bad dream. Marcus could feel his ire rising. His voice must have quivered with "You better leave now. You've defaced national property. You better find a park ranger and turn yourself in. If you don't, I'll turn you in." Marcus found himself yelling, as his challenge escalated through the marble edifice. The man turned and began to walk down the steps. Impulsively, Marcus thought, and shouted: "Who are you, anyway?" Glass half-Full

A half-Century Ago

Someone said history doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes. History is laid out - as our ancient History book, the Bible, presents it - in "Time, times and half a time", in the panorama of history. . . recorded, as it is, by dutiful historians, prophets, poets, scribes, pharisees, scholars, and people just remembering stuff.  Half a century and another couple of years ago. . . 52 years ago, to be exact, I was a college student at LSU. In the summer of 1973, being a student of Political Science (as if politics were a science?), I was fascinated with the Senate Watergate hearings. Watching, on TV, Senator Sam Ervin's committee collect evidence and testimonies about a criminal break-in at the Watergate Hotel, I was fascinated with the unfolding evidence being presented by witnesses who testified about Richard Nixon's attempt to, by criminal tactics, secure the continuation of his presidency by criminal tactics, a break-in. Now Deja Vu rattles around in my brain: that strange experience that we sometimes get when, in a moment of time and space, we get the feeling that we've been in this circumstance, or even this very moment, before. This is that feeling that Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young sang about, back in '71, that feeling that they sang about:

"We have all been here before; we have all been here before. . ." But on another plane of time and experience, this morning I woke up with some images running in my head: scenes I was watching last night on a video screen. . . of Jesus's disciples, presented as a video series, the Chosen. 

But now, seemingly in another world, the next day. . . this is a new day, July 21, 2025. More importantly however is this: This is a day that the Lord hath made! My morning routine starts with the world's oldest book, the Bible. Today I find, in Daniel, chapter 7, a visionary testimony of what the Lord of the Universe had presented, in ancent times, to the prophet while he was serving the king of Babylon. Future historical events were shown to Daniel in his night visions. Those events would be, and ultimately were, manifested in real "time, times, and half a time". (whatever that means) All this is neither here nor there when compared to actual news events in this summer of 2025, news events that seem to coincide with similar developments in the summer of 1973, when an earlier president was being called to the courts of Justice. But I do get the feeling that, somehow, history rhymes, as I view contemporary controversies surrounding the behavior of our present president. I do get that strange feeling that CSNY sang about back in the day, 1971. . . "We have all been here before; we have all been here before." King of Soul

the Ancient Wanderer

The man went forth from his country, far from his home-state, distancing himself from his relatives, although he had no argument with them. You might say he was looking for the Promised Land at that time, although he had no indicators that there even was such a thing, except those ancient accounts that he had heard about, back in the day, in the Catholic days, and then the hippie days, and then, when he fell into a hole. . . long story short: and on his way back up of being hoisted up from the mud and the mire. . . he who had been lost was now found. So he started turning pages in the ancient book, the the oldest book, the one that had been passed down by those people who had been chosen to pass it down - accounts that there was/is, indeed a land of Promise. . . or, as in the Great American version, the land of opportunity. To enjoin an old phrase, he realized that he had been following a wild hair, seeking to satisfy an ancient urge that seemed to arise from the deepest wells of human history, wherein he was scouting for the Land of Opportunity, although he didn't know it at the time. I mean, when you get right down to it, he was stir-crazy, and on top of that he had some scrapes with the Law, and even a few days in jail, with trials and tribulations, the end of which was an incident where he was punched by a criminal in a prison where he unexpectedly found himself after being found guilty of a traffic violation and his own making, in the state of Florida. But I digress, or you might say, he digressed, until he came to a bend in the road that took him in an unexpected direction. Bottom line of phase 1 was: go northeast, young man. And so that's what he had done, to whit: He drove from the deep/down south, up into the Blue Ridge, and there he pitched his tent, so to speak, as the updated iteration of the ancient tale is told. And there, as it later turned out, he met the Lord but it all happened through the school of hard knocks, and rock for a pillow. . .

So he had wandered into the high country with reality on the west and Ai on the east. He journeyed there as far as Buncombe, to the place where he had determined he thought he wanted to go, between Bunk and Ai. He was experimenting with life in the real world. Meanwhile, on the other side of the continent, at Silicon Valley, the nerds and the techies were circuitizing Ai. And suddenly, after another three decades or so had passed by, he found himself perplexed, in the mid-life so-called crisis, wondering how or why he had wandered into this cyberland, only to be tracked by Ai. But then the Creator of the Universe poured a little dollup of Hope into his developing legacy: Fugedaboudit! Arise and go fearlessly into the noise and haste. . . for I have given into your hand the domain of Ai. You shall do unto Ai as Ai has done unto you, which is really no big deal. Ai's bark is worse than its bite; the logarithms may take a chunk out of your labors of love and your legacy,

but Ai really doesn't have a clue, has no inkling of what is supposed to happen, doesn't know what the hell is really going on. When it gets right down to the real nitty-gritty, you're still in charge of your own destiny. Just do, in any given situation, what you know to be right and all will be well with you. And remember what Ricky Ricardo used to say, back in the day. . . "Ai Ai Ai Ai" which really is no big deal. Life is no clockwork orange.   It's more like a divine gift. Make the best of it; and don't forget who's really in charge.  King of Soul

Aging Cycles

Like a stone set in a wall, like a rail-car in a train. . . can’t see the beginning, can’t see the end like an ever-spinning wheel a mandela of the mind, when you know you’re getting old maybe you’ve seen this turn before maybe not. While in the yard the flowers grow; they bloom; we croon old snippets of melody, long forgotten tales of joy and trouble. . .

Is it rubble or. . . is it treasure. . . this phenomenon of Life, full of joy yet filled with strife. This has all happened before but not exactly the same way, or so they say, because times change; the world gets rearranged. We come and go, speaking of Michelangelo or Warhol or StarWars or I wanna hold your hand Again and again and again. There’s someone walking next to you and she’s been there for forty-five years. But now. . . in moments of quiet repose as the blooms in the garden transpose their glorious color given over to the bees who harvest pollen with such ease Bees buzz; blossoms turn to fuzz while we ruminate on what will be, or was. . . The pollen, my friend, is blowing in the wind; But it will blow ‘round again. So the circle will not be broken, by ’n by, Lord, by ’n by. There is a better home awaiting. . . in the sky, Lord, in the sky, by ’n by. . . but you gotta believe: theres’s a gospel thread you gotta retrieve; So keep your hopes set dead ahead in the greatest story ever told when the boldest of the bold let life be robbed from Him so he could raise it up again. Now through ages of trials and time Life is recovered, in your old mind behind the circle in the spiral, within the ever-spinning wheel where half-forgotten names and faces take their pit-stops from the race of this life and strife and Life itself plays its ace: Everlasting Life! But do you believe that ole tale?

I’ve got some real estate for you for sale! The cost is already paid at Calvary where the Victory wreath was laid. King of Soul

The Fire Element

Fire is very important for human survival and progress. Interpreting from our species’ best-seller book, I have noticed these reports about Fire in what we call History and Progress. To whit: When the Creator evicted Adam and Eve from Eden, He placed angels with a “flaming” sword at the entrance to the garden. This is disciplinary tactic on the Lord’s part because the humans had proven themselves incapable of coping with the Paradise they had had in Eden. Ever since that time, Fire has been a deterrent for people.

But strangely enough, Fire has also proven to be a source of amazing progress. Later, much later in human history, when the people whom Creator had chosen to be released from slavery were escaping from Egypt, The Lord—his initials are YW— provided a pillar of Fire to guide the Hebrew escapees away from their enslavement. Later, much later, the Lord’s prophet, Elisha was reported to have eluded his bellicose pursuers by driving a chariot of Fire. This is the first historical instance I know of that mentions combustion-fired transportation (haha!) The later historical development was the combustion-fired engine that Henry Ford and other inventors utilized to make cars, beginning in the twentieth century of our era. Years after the Hebrews’ had escaped slavery in Egypt and established a kingdom of their own, Prophet/Historian Malachi mentioned the purifying property of Fire when he reported on Creator’s power to purify the minds and hearts of His people through the “Fire” of tribulations and troubles. So we find, in history, that people who are tribalized, then made literate and civilized, can discern and detect the dual purpose of fire. One purpose is to strike fear into the hearts and men, and for YW to punish them for evil deeds. Another purpose is to domesticate the fire by directing it toward useful applications. The later industrial application of that heating-up phenomenon came in with use of fire to smelt metal, a heating process by which precious metals were purified from other elements. As history rolled on, fire—or water that was boiled by the fiery application of heat, when carefully handled and transferred to a liquid, was also shown to be an effective disinfectant, because it could be used to rid objects of lethal infections, which were later identified as diseases or germs. In the aftermath of Jesus’ earthly ministry of teaching, preaching and conquering death by allowing death to hold him on a cross and then in a tomb until. . . on the third day, He overcame death; He demonstrated for us who believe in Him that we will also overcome death in a place called heaven, if we are willing to believe in His power to do so. 40 days after Jesus’ ascension—after his conquest of death itself—those disciples who had followed Him for three years were given a divine sign when tongues of fire manifested above their heads as they were being sent out by the Spirit of the Lord to spread the good news far and wide. . . and ultimately to all the tribes and peoples of this world. You might say that the Good News of Jesus’ conquest over death spread like wildfire thoughout history and the geography of this globe. His disciples’ fiery manifestation of divine anointing and power was a confirmation that a fundamental change had taken place in human history, because the thirty years of Jesus’ ministry and His Conquest of death changed the world forever, as the good news was spread from continent to continent, city to city, town to town; communities everywhere were enabled to make use of fire for purposes of creation, transportation, industry and staying warm in winter. Soon after Jesus’ disciples had found their way back to bold ministry—although now without His physical presence— Christian faith was ignited all over the world. In order to signify that salvation that purified the hearts of men and women everywhere, Jesus’ disciple instituted baptism by water. This brings me to what will be my next explication about these elements, fire, water and air. So the next instalment of “Fire and Water” treatise is in the works. Stay tuned. King of Soul

1960's Before/After

Boomer rap You won’t believe me; you’ll think it strange, when I try to explain how I recall, the songs of our boomer youth, and earlier, then later. . .The thread started when somebody mentioned “Beatles to Eagles.” Now there’s a phrase! But first, let’s whip up a proper introduction, borrowing a few phrases from back in days gone by, because the Times they were a changing. . . after four thousand holes in Hiroshima and Cuba and the wall in Berlin and Dallas and where were you when. . .? It was eighty years ago today, they say, Muddy Waters taught the bands to play; they been goin in and outa style but they’re guaranteed to raise a smile. . . or a teardrop. So may I introduce to you the one and only baby boomers youthful hearts club, wondering where have all the flowers gone, as we go frolicking in the silver mists of a land called Hanalei. Or maybe we’ll just Rock around the clock; if we’re lucky, find someone who will Love me tender, love me true, oh ,but get a load a that girl. . . Good golly miss molly. . . She was just seventeen, you know what I mean; sounds good. . .. let’s ferry ‘cross the Mersey; for awhile, or maybe go westward, young one. Let’s go surfin’ now, guys. ya gotta love them California girls; yeah, we’re Feelin’ glad all over; but stay out of that house in New Orleans they call the rising sun; Oh, but baby. love, How sweet it is to be loved by you. . . we’re standing in the shadows of love, gettin’ ready for heartaches to come. We’re hoping this is not the eve of destruction but then, watch out . . .one pill makes you larger; one pill makes you small. and speaking of. . . where have all the flowers gone? Unchain my heart, takin’ the midnight train to Georgia. So I find a boxcar; so I take my guitar , sad refrain. . . rainy night in Georgia. maybe better to be Ridin’ on the City of New Orleans. because you can’t hop a jet plane like you can a freight train, best be on my way in the early morning rain; big 707 set to go; she’ll be flying o’er my home in about three hours time, they say it never rains in California. . . oh, but now I’m California dreamin’. . . rows and flows of angel hair and ice cream castles in the air. But if you’re going to San Francisco you’d better wear some flowers in your hair. Oh but. . . where have all the flowers gone? I heard it through the grapevine; stickin’ to My Guy like a stamp to a letter; I wish it would rain. Sometimes it hurts so badly I must cry out loud: I am lonely. Blue, blue windows behind the stars, big birds flying across the sky, throwing shadows on our eyes. Four dead in Ohio.

I can see by your coat, my friend, you’re from the other side. . . even so, deep in Dixie where I was born, same place as Uncle Remus. . . . . . a man met a woman, down in Alabama; she was a backwoods girl but she sure was realistic. She say boy without a doubt, you better get your message straight now; you could die down here. Surrender your crown on this blood-stained ground. It’s a slow train coming. There’s a train a’comin’. . . pickin’ up passengers coast to coast. You don’t need no ticket; just get on board, cuz. . . You do know, dontcha, that He’s got plans of His own to set up His throne, when He returns. At an unknown hour he’ll set up his throne, when He returns. Shake, rattle and roll, y’all, cuz the times they are still yet a-changin’. Selah. Land sakes alive, y’all! You need a Word to tell you which way the wind blows. . . King of Soul

Boomer Rhymes

Prussian pride got humbled when the Third Reich bumbled. Jap zeroes shot down; Yanks drop atoms on Hiroshima town. Nuclear age begins; nobody knows who wins. Nobody knows how the story ends. We do know how it began: Adam and Eve from Eden ran. Jews declare Israel; Muslims follow Ishmail. Land of the Free at rest; Home of the Brave aced the Test. There was this new thing called TV. . . with Donald and Minnie and Mickey, Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone; Ozzie, Harriet and Father Knows Best; a nation victorious now at rest. Leave it to Beaver and Eddie Haskell, following up from the Little Rascals. Edward R Murrow and Cronkite; Huntley and Brinkley in black and white. Then Disney in a World of Color. . . three networks. . . this, that or the other. Nixon and Kennedy in debate, tempting the fickle fingers of Fate. Kennedy shot down in Dallas, splatters blood on Camelot palace. Johnson and Vietnam, draft and napalm. Nixon brought down in Watergate: dirty tricks soiled his Fate. American gold no longer for sale; Now the Fed tells the Tale. Double digit inflation brings Carter’s end; Reagan back in the saddle again. Morning in America theme, with hopes to rekindle the American Dream. Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall, while Americans flocked to the Mall. Bird in the hand worth two in the Bush, now with yankee Desert Storm push. But history charges like a Razorback: Bill and Hilary from American outback. Then Gingrich with balanced budget supposed, Contract with America proposed. Along comes the dot.com bubble, foreshadowing digital trouble, although we figured our digits out before that Y2K could spoil our rout. But that 9/11 call was in the cards. World trade center downed in rubble and shards. By ’n by, out of the World Trade Center smoke and rubble, investigations tracked al-qaeda as source of the trouble. Some bin Laden fellow that 9/11 planner, he laid it out in the al qaeda manner. Terrorizing plot from an American-hater. More about that later. Seven years went by . . . Around the corner, Wall Street bulls hyped in frantic trading; prudence and good sense were fading, up up and up with no abating. But when the fevered market was spent, Dow-Jones was down by 53 percent. Meanwhile back at the ranch, out of the tranche, years after 911 smoke and rubble, al-Qaeda was found as the source of trouble. So Obama tracked down Osama. Seal Team Six did the fatal bin Laden fix. Operation Neptune Fear set our Seals’ team in gear; they put an end to our bin Laden fear. Meanwhile back from the Jersey shore, donald stepped down from his escalator door. Somebody got shot on 5th Ave but nobody cared, cuz donald and his fox were now paired. After that came something like a sad bad dream, as MAGA shredded the American dream. Last thing I remember, Doc, I slid into the curve; and that’s when America started to swerve, I think. (blink)

At least that’s the way I remember it; I just hope donnie don’t dismember it. Selah. Make America Good Again, as we remember when. . . Ozzie and Harriet and Leave it to Beaver.

Now America needs a Constitution retriever. All this happened in one lifetime? Time to hook up the American lifeline. King of Soul

Threshold of Hawaii

When the white deadwoods of Hawaii are lying on the shores, dead and the tides, waves and currents of Pacifica propel oceans swells ahead. . .

Remember then, Americans, Hawaiians. . . Mauna Loa, Mauna Kea. . . peaks with slopes of fire, spewn to raise up island slopes. As new lands will form with eruptions, volcanoes of Hawaii will spread this island upward and downward. . .

with volcanoes evermore. . . inspiring, without measure, the wondrous web of Paradise, distantly seen.

Walk hand in hand, and together we’ll stand . . . on these Islands with our dreams. As I was walking on a beach of Hawaii, my poetic muse struck. Sudden inspiration fell into the poetic framework of a recitation heard long ago. . . while listening to the Moody Blues, specifically the voice of Mike Pinder as he recited Graeme Edge’s “The Dream”, which presented the poetic architecture for my poem about Hawaii. King of Soul

Beauty for Ashes

2000 years ago, Jesus Christ walked on earth. He taught us how to live well, abundantly and appropriately, in love and mercy. In one of his teaching sessions (later published in Matthew 25) Jesus said this: “I was a stranger, and you took me in.” In these times, that principle was actualized when Christians worked together to build a new home, in the aftermath of a very destructive fire, for a family in Lahaina, Maui, Hawaii. Back in the ancient times, when Jesus’ followers expressed confusion about his “you took me in”statement, Jesus replied: “Whatsoever you’ve done to the least of these, my brethren. . . (it’s as if) you’ve done it unto me.” Today, June 29, I attended a celebratory event in which a newly-built home was being presented to its new owner, a lady named Carol whose home had been destroyed in the great Lahaina fire of 2023. Let me explain. In the natural world, from time to time, disasters happen. The fire at Lahaina, Maui, in the Hawaiian archipelago, was a devastating event for that community. But in the wake of that disastrous fire, Christian organization Samaritan’s Purse stepped up to the task of constructing a new home for Carol. Local and distant volunteers labored together. In that constructive follow-up, Christian organizers and volunteers from near and far stepped in to rebuild Carol’s new home. Today, June 29, 2025, the house which was presented to her. Thus did we celebrate, today, the dedication of Carol’s new home, as it was given to her and her children, with a scriptural explanation of the salvatory labor by which Jesus reconstructs broken homes and broken lives through the efforts of His people.

So Carol took possession of her home in the presence of Samaritan’s Purse staffers and Christian volunteers from near and far. Her new home was presented with an explantation that Jesus had established in his teachings, as in Matthew 25 and in the parable of the good Samaritan. . . through which the generosity and labor of Christian volunteers worked together to construct the house, two years after the Lahaina disaster.

Those volunteers were laboring on behalf of the new homeowner, but also to express the generosity of Christian volunteers from all over the world who had contributed to the effort, thus manifesting the power of Jesus’ legacy as actualized among his people when they set their minds and hands to the reconstruction of homes for disaster victims. But that’s not all. Broken lives, as well as burnt houses, can be reconstructed for proper use. You just gotta believe. For more information, consult with your local Christian friends and neighbors. King of Soul

Down at the Crossroads

With the advent of AI, we find ourselves at a crossroads in time and history. In the state of Mississippi, where I was raised as a child in the 1950’s, there was a tale told among the ole blues-singing soulsters of yesterday and days gone by, the devil—whoever, whatever that is—went down to the “crossroads” to make a deal with whoever showed up. Be that as it may, whether it is neither here, nor there, or anywhere. . . we se that the contest harmony and invention is being played out far beyond the scripted staffs of musical history, political history, art history or just plain ole human history, always presenting consequences more grave than the mere good sense and good works of the people who inhabit this planet, Still to be found in the world today is the ongoing contest of order v. chaos.

Here’s the ever-present duel between right and wrong; there’s the Establishment beating back dissidents, fat cats banishing immigrants, the haves taking maximum control over them that ain’t got. And we shan’t shan’t neglect to mention the plight of them who think they. should be running the show, being perpetually put down by that are in charge of it. And here we learn we do have words that must be said; yet we have words that should never be spoken, but someone will pronounce those words sooner or later. Yes, we do encounter in this life lines in the sand that daren’t be crossed, and prohibitions that beg to be violated; we find rules that must be broken, and sometimes we encounter the terrible contests of convention vs. contention. And then there is AI? What's up with that? King of Soul

Many Many Jerky Persians

King Trumpednezzar was feasting in his oval lair with his maga minions when suddenly an elephant swaggered through his maga-feed, tweeting out cryptic memes of antidisestablishmentinterianistic drivel to violate his whitewashed walls, to wit: Many, Many Nukey Persians Thanks for reading Carey's Snippets! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. Say what? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Suddenly, jingle jangle, now in what are we entangled? Phone calls from MAGA stalls. . . more calls from RINO halls: Persian nukers falling down, falling down! Persian nukers going down, bye, bye, Shiites! oh but!. . . Gotta look good and be a winner, oh great Trumpednezzar!

. . . meanwhile back at the oval . . . squash the Persians; make them grovel! . . . dithering in a coup-top flipflop; . . . we’ll go make a fake news bomb hop! we’ll make them Persians STOP Stop them Persians from making nukes Magas and elephants, just ignore the flukes. Proud boys and three percenters, stand by! We’ll blow them persian nukes sky high Let’s blast armageddon

into MAGA heaven! Smoke

The Common Thread

After Jesus Christ had demonstrated, by his Resurrection, the power of Life over death, he ascended into the eternal realm, leaving behind his disciples and everyone else. In the biblical account of events after his return to heaven, a description was given, in the book of Acts, of the life of his disciples as they were living, congregating and spreading the news of eternal life through Jesus Christ. In the second chapter of Acts, a description of those early Christians’ lifestyle was given: “And all those who had believed were together and had all things in common; and they began selling their property and possessions and were sharing them with all, as anyone might have need.” Thereafter, as the ages rolled by and years turned into centuries, kingdoms morphed into empires, empires generated wars. Human history is the sometimes-up and sometimes-down intersection of various human institutions, successes and failures, doctrines and debts, with some people coming out ahead in any given situation and others ending up with the short end of the stick. In some applications of human will, effort, blood, sweat and tours, groups of people get conquered by other groups. There were slaves serving masters; workers serving bosses, poor serving rich and, as modernity crept into history, a so-called middle class, such as I am. About 1800 years after Jesus’ ascension to heaven, another well-informed Jewish person came along with a notable theory pertaining to this notion of all things being held in common. Karl Marx proposed that society should be reconstructed in a manner that would put the working people, which he called the proletariat, in charge of all the machinery of production and the management of society. As Marx’s theory were later applied in various nations, most notably the Soviet Union during the 20th century, communism was demonstrated to be a way of doing things that did not actually fill the bill of what human peace and progress requires. So the idea that all things ought to be held in common sort of fell into disrepute. Now it is seen as an unworkable basis upon which to build a society, or even, perhaps, a community. As. for the original Christian practice of holding all things in common. . .it has withered and disappeared amongst the various stages of Church history. It seems that mankind, even the Russians and the Chinese, have given up on the sometimes great notion of communal living and communal property. In American history, a trend toward commonality was initiated by Franklin Roosevelt . . .with his New Deal, designed to help us common folk get by during the Depression. When the second World War erupted, everything got damaged, ditched, rearranged or reconfigured. In America, and the so-called “West” free market policies cranked up prosperity that was unprecedented in world history.

In recent years, there was a faction of the christian religion that broke ranks with those “liberals” who wanted to share the wealth, prosperity and productivity of free society. These secessionists wanted to make us great again by following the dictates of a self-obsessed president who understands nothing except how to make money, which was not the occupation of our original Messiah, or his most fervent followers. All that to say. . . I pecked out these thoughts after reading, this morning, those words from the original guide to Christian living: “And all those who had believed were together and had all things in common.” Just sayin’. Glass half-Full

All Along the Rough Ridge Trail

There must be some path out of Now There must be some way to know How I tell myself again. traipsing now beyond the spin. . . There’s too much diffusion I’m feeling only this confusion So I think I’ll take some time . . . maybe traipse out along a rhyme

Now and then I walk this trail. Rocks may come and feet may flail. Here and there along the line I’m waiting for some kind of sign I can’t sort out what is happening I find no relief in this lapping the the joker he keeps exciting as Dems and magas now keep fighting There are many here among us Who feel they must make Life a fuss But America has seen the many and the few and this is not the best that we can do So let us not talk falsely now Let us strive to find out how our Faith degenerates to Fate while donkeys do and foxes hate each other. Stride along the trail where you’ll discern some detail

Confusion has its cost. We are won and we are lost. All along our Watchtower the WorldNet casts its spin streaming in the web again, again while the Eagle cries in sorrow yesterday, today, tomorrow. But what’s it to me; what’s it you? Are our remaining days but few? Up high along the trail We catch a snippet of email the Eagle cries in sorrow What do we find tomorrow? Two parties tweet and try as foxes run and doves fly Pundits maintain their scowl. The wind begins to howl. Good night and good luck. Let us hope we don’t get stuck. Glass half-Full

When We Slow Down

A few months ago, Pat and I visited New York City. On a day when we happened to be down on the lower East Side, we decided to conclude our day by taking a subway up the 5th Ave line, so we would be closer to the Port Authority station to get back to our New Jersey overnight place. We got off at 59th Street, where I was expecting to see a bridge over the East River, or a lampost that might have inspired a Paul Simon rhyme from my memory.After walking several blocks toward midtown, we arrived at the entrance to Central Park, where I caught sight of the lampost. . . the one that, I had supposed, inspired Paul Simon to compose his 59th Street Bridge Song.  "Hello lampost. What ya knowing? Time to watch your flowers growing. A'int ya got not rhymes for me. . . dit didda, feeling groovy. . . La di da da." Reminiscing now. . . time warp backward. . . Back in the day, long about 1967, my high school civics class made a video that ostensibly depicted the feeling of being a happy-go-lucky teen during those revolutionary (or so we thought) curious 1960's. Wandering through those unprecedented, unduplicated times of peace-obsession and protest, and believing we could change the world. . . we clipped our collection of home-made film footage together to make a movie that would express. . . well, we weren't so sure what it would express. But it felt good just doing such a creative thing. Our civics teacher helped us put together a sound track for our little movie. We leaned upon a songster hero of those times, Paul Simon, for the sound track during that scene. The song was "59th Street Bridge Song." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xhJcQEfD5s Now fast forward. . . and then back again, just a couple of weeks ago. . . this time inBoston. . . There we were, my wife of 45 years and me, one small part of a generation, as Don McLean had mentioned somewhere along the line, "lost in space", (so to speak). . . we were sitting in some grand old theatre in Boston, listening to Paul Simon sing his songs. Accompanied by a multiplicity of musicians in the background, Paul did what I suppose all great songwriters and performing musicians do after they've achieved the heights of success and then lived to tell about it. I'm sure that Paul understood everything about what was going on in our minds. . . what we were thinking and feeling about those halcyon days of long ago. . . and surely he know what songs we were expecting to hear.

So. . . Paul did his thing. . . whatever he chooses to do during this late season of our baby boomer lives. It was all good. But . . . funny thing happened on the way to the 21st century. . . Paul saved the greatest songs. . . some of those that he knew we most wanted to hear . . . for the end. "The Boxer" was an encore, and the original greatest Simon song of all, "Sounds of Silence," was the second encore. It was all good, but. . . My one, small disappointment came when Paul did not sing his song that best expresses what we are facing in America today, An American Tune. It's the song with the line:  ". . . and I dreamed I was flying: high up above. . . my eyes could clearly see . . . the statue of Liberty, sailing away to sea. . ." King of Soul

Ode to an Ancient Urn

While strolling through the Harvard museum, I came upon this relic of times past:  Inspired by John Keats' Ode to a Grecian Urn,

I began scribbling out a few stanzas of verse. The outpouring of such inspiration streamed a poem which developed, as it unfolded, in a re-working of Emma Lazarus' hallowed verse, carved into the base of our Statue of Liberty :

Oh you regal monument of American glory Oh, fastened-icon in silence and slow time, Immigrant enlightener, who can tell our story? with American verse more welcoming than your shine? What flame-fired legends ascend around your glory from immigrants and travellers in Time? What immigrant pursuit? What struggles to escape? What cultures and traditions? What foreign experience? Seasoned citizens are sweet, but those unbound are fresher; therefore, ye winds of change, blow on; Not to the sensual ear, but to the more profound Enlighten still the nations, challenges unknown. Oh Liberty Lady, amidst the waves, you must not snuff out your torch above our golden door! You must not fade; though foxes rave and magas pout! For Freedom you shall stand on our American door! Who are these at your Enlightened stand? To what carved altar, oh Liberating lady, Do you welcome those fair immigrants who land with their baggage and burdens so weighty? What faraway clan from adversity's shore, from mountain slope or valley glen, is destined by their hopeful and hallowed lore, to be transported to our new world den? Oh hallowed lady! poised on Liberty's shore in sculpted stone, with torch so bright! Greet your huddled masses, rich and poor Lead them with your liberating light! As huddled masses yearning to be free sail through their their troubled plight Hold high your torch, Lady Liberty! Smoke</i>

Other Side

I don't know but I but I been shown . . . this old note, found in the dark corner of a closet in the US Capitol, to whit:

I can see by your hat, my friend, You're from the other side There's just one thing I'd like to know: Can you tell me please, who won?

Four years and several months ago, our citizens brought forth to this Capitol, a new election, conducted in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that whichever candidate gets the most Electoral votes would become President.

Now we are engaged in a futile cultural war, testing whether this nation, or any other nation so conceived, can long endure. We are met on an unlikely battlefield of this contention, the democratic republic of the United States of America. Now we are online, to commemorate an appropriate part of our national memory for all men and women who, in years past, have given their lives, that this nation might live, and prosper, and remain free and protected by our Constitution and all subsequent laws that have provided, since our inception, a nation of the people, governed by the people, for all the people. It is altogether fitting and necessary that we do this. But in a larger sense, we cannot resolve - we cannot mend - the divisions that now threaten to blow our Union and our Rule of Law to smithereens. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we post here . . . in the awesome swirl of social media and the boogling blingly gobblydgook that occupies our attention so relentlessly on a windswept web that has entangled our attention in X-raided tweeter storms of outrageous fortune, and lobotomized our comprehension of profoundly complicated national issues, even as it stultifies and arrests our appreciation of democracy. . . it hath rendered us mere bronco-busters on the storms of outrageous fortune in this. . . our great, four-century-long grand rodeo. I mean, this ain't our first rodeo, if you know what I mean; we been around the 20th-century fox block a century or two, or three, or maybe even four if we don't get too plucky with our cultural contentions and our newfangled internet and our Make America Go Awry civil war that started on January sixth, back in the day. . . whenever that was. But I do feel it in my bones that this nation, under God, must have a new birth of goodwill toward all Americans, be they red or blue, be they many or few, be they old or new, be they immigrants new or citizens old, because back in the day when we used to pray we caught a glimpse of some lady standing at the golden door out there in the harbour with the torch of Liberty in her hand.

and she said send me your tired, your weary, your huddled masses yearning to be free, and I think it's time we raise Emma Lazarus' plea from the dead letters, and bring them back into the interstecies of twitterous time and googlish glob and wacky web confusion and contusions of contentious social mediocrity. There's a time for war and a time for peace! Lastly, as I once heard a little Byrd sing. . .I swear it's not too late.  Glass half-Full

We Won't Forget!

. . ." for my mind misgives some conseqence, yet hanging in the stars . . . shall bitterly begin with this night's revels. . ." Romeo Montague, in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet Contemporary version: . . . for our nation suspects some consequence, yet hanging in our stars and stripes . . . did bitterly begin, in that day's rebellion, January 6, 2021. Now the magamaniacs and the foxes who did strive to steal the vines of our American governance may insist, with irrelevant nitpicking, that the Capitol guards did, during the Jan6 insurrection (wait for it) . . . "let the rioters in." But this American citizens responds: So what? if they let 'em in! What would you do if a gang of violent attackers had you surrounded while they were wielding, in overpowering mobs, weapons, riotous destruction and nooses hanging outside? If I had been one of our Capitol police on that day, I do believe I would have stepped aside while my life was being threatened by an angry, violent mob, rather than offer myself as a victim of their violent rage.

But whether the gangsters were allowed in, or not, is not the point! The point is, . . . We have a Constitution, in which the process of electing a President is laid out in plain English, in Article 2: "Each state shall appoint, in such manner as the Legislature may direct, a number of Electors. . . The President of the Senate (Vice President of the United States) shall, in the presence of the Senate and House of Representatives, open all the (States') certificates, and the votes shall be counted." It was this Constitutionally ordained process that our founding fathers had laid out for the selection of our President. Thus did they establish what we refer to as a "Rule of Law." This Rule of Law is the Law of the land. Mob rule is not!

What the Jan6 insurrectionists were trying to provoke was an overthrow of the government of the United States, instigated by the chief insurrectionist, who happened to be sitting in the oval eating a cheesburger at about that same time.  Now you may ask, why can't you just forget about all that stuff? Here's my response. I was raised as a child in the Deep South, back in the day, where we would see, every now and then, a license plate image of an old southern soldier proclaiming, "Hell no!! I won't ever forget!" And now that the chief instigator of the Jan6 insurrection is, like it or not, in the Oval, the word on the street among us law-abiding citizens, be they democrats or republicans, is this: We are watching you! and. . . remembering the riot that you instigated on January 6, 2021. That law-despising insurrection is not dust that you can just sweep under the rug. We will not let the chief insurrectionist of that fateful day get away with stealing our Rule of Law, even if he is sitting in the Oval, and even if he has the richest men in the world to scatter his power around with.

Now, at long last, this good ole deep-south boy ( me, at age 73) can identify with that old rebel on the license plate. 

Bottom line: We are watching you, donald, and we will not allow our Constitution-mandated Rule of Law to be obliterated by the chief insurrectionist! Glass half-Full

Microscopic World

In chapter 13 of my novel, Glass Chimera, the reader is transported into an imaginary microcosmic world, inside of a human cell, where we catch a glimpse of a dutiful driver in the circulatory system, Luke O'cite. His job is to deliver red blood cells to a specified location inside the cell. Arriving at CircCentral , Luke catches site of the sign that directs him to his next destination:

Neuropsin II Convention passengers, take Tram B to Sector 23. 16S-type RNA delegates take Tram C to Sector 18. When Henry arrived, five minutes later, Vena Cava gate, he had a few minutes to chill out. He sat on the floor, gazing out the membrane, beyond the crowded concourses of Mitey Kindria, at an ocean of cytoplasm stretching as far as the eye could see. On the horizon, barely visible in the distance were the Golgi Islands. And far beyond that, Henry knew, was the great Continent of Nucleus, the deep interior of which drew the brightest chromatins and the most talented sugars, movers and shakers who climbed that great double-spiraled ladder of success, making decisions, wonking policies that extended far beyond the nucleopolis itself, to every reticulum in the great hinterland and every centriole between here and the next universe. He aspired to go there himself one day. But not today, just another day in the life of a specialized protein. He did like his job though. Henry considered himself fortunate to be a guide, and he usually enjoyed the commutes between all his assignments and CircCentral. But as he watched the great open cytoplasm, his heart was pierced with a pang of desire, for looming up from the horizon was a magnificent sailing ship, with brilliant sails rippling in the breeze, and azure-white sprays jettisoning from both sides of its bow.  Henry couldn't keep his eyes off it. He stood and watched it for a long time, until it came quite close, and he forgot where he was, and he missed the next Vena Cava push. When at last the golden galleon passed straightway in front of him, he saw the RiboNucleic flag flapping atop the mast, royal blue background with a red orb in the center, and white border. And he saw written upon the bow in gold letters the name of the ship: HMS RuNAbout.

Oh, that he were on that great ship! Oh, that he might climb to its apex, and survey from its crow's nest cytoplasmic grandeur and the boisterous cellular wind in his wings! Such adventure! Such freedom! Where is it going?

Read Glass Chimera to discover his destination.

Just Deportees

In the wake of the dishrag Supreme Court’s capitulation with trump’s mass deportations, which deprive immigrants of their human rights and their Constitutional rights. . . consider this old Woody Guthrie song from the 1960’s, sung here by his son Arlo: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVwp1NTacpo&list=RD_zWgfzGq5g0&index=7

Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria; You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees" Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
Our work contract's out and we have to move on;
Six hundred miles to that Mexican border,
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves. Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards? 
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit? 
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except "deportees"? King of Soul

Harmony and Invention

But the contest of harmony and invention was playing out far beyond the scripted staffs of musical history, and presenting consequences more grave than the mere listening pleasure of audiences. Still to be found in the world today was the ongoing contest of order against chaos. Here's the ever-present duel between right and wrong; there's the Establishment beating back dissidents, with frequent sightings of the powers that be as they take advantage of the powerless who want to be. And we shan't neglect to mention the plight of them who think they should be running the show, being perpetually put down by them that are in charge of it. And here we learn we do have words that must be said; yet we have words that should never be spoken; but someone will pronounce those words sooner or later. Yes, we do encounter in this life lines in the sand that daren't be crossed, and prohibitions that beg to be violated; we find rules that must be broken, and sometimes we encounter the terrible contests of convention vs. contention.

(Excerpt from chapter 19 novel of King of Soul) King of Soul

Memorial

excerpt from final chapter of novel, Smoke "How could this place have been a battlefield for a world war?" The old Frenchman cast his eyes on the passing landscape, and seemed to join Philip in this musing. He answered slowly, "War is a terrible thing, an ugly thing. I did not fight in the war; I had already served my military duty, long before the Archduke was assassinated in Sarajevo and the whole damn world flew apart, like shrapnel. But I had many friends who fought here, and back there, where we just came from in my France, back there at the Somme, the Marne, Amiens. Our soldiers drove the Germans back across their fortified lines, the Hindenberg line they called it. By summer of 1918 the Germans were in full retreat, although it took them a hell of a long time, and rivers of spilt blood, to admit it. And so it all ended here. Those trenches, over there in France, that had been held and occupied for two hellish years by both armies, those muddy hellholes were finally left behind, vacated, and afterward . . . filled up again with the soil of France and Flanders and Belgium, and green grass was planted where warfare had formerly blasted its way out of the dark human soul and the dark humus of lowland dirt and now we see that grass, trimmed, manicured and growing so tidily around those rows of white crosses out there, most of them with some soldier's name carved on them, many just unknown, anonymous, and how could this have happened? You might as well ask how could. . . a grain of sand get stuck in an oyster? And how could that oyster, in retaliation against that rough, alien irritant, then generate a pearl - such a beautiful thing, lustrous and white - coming forth in response to a small, alien presence that had taken up unwelcomed residence inside the creature's own domain? The answer, my friend, is floating in the sea, blowing in the wind, growing green and strong from soil that once ran red with men's blood."

King of Soul

Time

Looking back, way, way back, in time . . . way, way back. . . we find words written that unfold a very long history; it that began in the Middle East, in Mesopotamia, Babylonia, India, Egypt. Hebrew scribes and prophets preserved their long story in a volume that we call the Bible. Therein we read about the travels of a man named Abraham, who left the land of his birth and found a better place to live.  The history of the world has trudged through Time. . . across the earth, eastward to China, India and beyond; westward to Egypt, Ethiopia, Canaan, Israel, Greece, Rome, Europe, Britain, America and back around again, west so far that it became east again.

In 1968, Judy Collins wrote and recorded a song that posed the question that no man nor women can truly answer: "Who knows where the Time goes?" The Bible book of Ecclesiastes declares: "There is an appointed Time for everything, and there is a Time for every event under heaven." What does that imply about destiny, or fate, or predestination? I don't know. So continuing my quest, I recall that In 1972 or thereabouts, Jackson Browne sang a song that included these words: "The future hides and the past just slides, and England lies between, floating in a silver mist, so cold and so clean." Songwriter Browne followed up that lyric with a bold leap across time and space, across an ocean and a continent: . . . and California's crying, like an angry child will, who has asked for love, and is unanswered still." All along the way, perhaps there is some wise man who is keeping an eye on the Time, as we pass through it. . .  whatever and whenever it is.

But I digress. . . Meanwhile, back at the ranch, in '72 I think it was, in California. . . a folk-rock group there, the Byrds, released their first big hit song, Turn Turn Turn, which borrowed words from that ancient source, the Book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible: "There is a time for every event under heaven. . ." a time to throw stones, and a time to gather stones together. . . a time to love, a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace" And then the Byrds added, referring to our war in Vietnam, " " a time for peace; I swear it's not too late!" Eventually that message got through to our people running the show in Washington. So we pulled out of Vietnam. But, looking back on all of it, in my life, I think Jim Croce's musing on Time was the most profound. In that fateful year 1972, Jim Croce wrote and sang these thoughts about time, and love, into his song, "Time in a Bottle": If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I'd like to do, is save every day 'til eternity passes away, just to spend them with you." . . . because Love is, after all is said and done, and even before it's all said and done, the most important - the most potent -  entity in this mystery that we call Life, as it unfurls through the pages of Time. Love is the real deal; it's the best; it makes all difference in the world. The Beatles really nailed it, back in the day, when they sang: "Love is all you need" Bottom line: LOVE is the greatest, the most important, the most potent element you will find in this Life. . . far more relevant, far more precious than Time. So, while we still can, make the best of your TIME on this earth and LOVE your family, your friends, your neighbors, your. . . everyone you meet or encounter in this LIFE, which only goes so far in Time. The End.  Glass half-Full

Boomer's Choice

Well, the boys came marching home from Germany and France and the bomb had made a blast in in Hiroshima. (‘50’s) 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 white-boy 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. (‘60’s) 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.

(70’s) 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. (‘80’s)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. (Y2K)Put on your Sarejevo, Mogadishu, Kalishnikov and Columbine shoes, for the way is treacherous with ruts and rocks. Yeah, we figured our 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. Listen to Boomer’s Choice copyright 2008, to be continued. . . King of Soul

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, in the time of one person’s life. . . mine, I stumbled around and found that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. So I took a drive, and when I arrived, I had landed in a place that I had expected to find, but in a circumstance that challenged me beyond the mere comprehension o my mind. There is far more to this life than what meets the eye, although the eyes, when directed to any particular event or circumstance, may expose a spectrum of existence that is not normally available to the sensibility of a mere man . . .

And so, having been given the opportunity to respond to an encounter with the Eternal One, the burning bush, the One who Is, Was and Will always be, the One who submitted himself to death so that He could demonstrate that life goes on beyond death. . .

. . . while driving through Colorado in 1977, in my travel along the mountain road, I stopped to take a break. Wandering a little ways up the mountainside, I paused to set my hand to the guitar that was slung upon my back, and this is what came out of the sound hole of the guitar, and out of the soul of this human being. Follow me, for a few minutes, into that sound hole, into that vortex of Time that ultimately leads to Eternity. . . Listen to this: http://www.micahrowland.com/carey/Follow the Way.mp3 King of Soul

The Times and Rhymes

All along the American towers in these tariff-tangled hours from the yawky-talky Big Apple Times, All the News gets print in lines: Out beneath the prairie stars tariffs put the hurt on Tony’s used cars.

Tariffs inflate cost of parts a lot out in Oklahoma used car lot the hardest time in 25 years of fixin’ engines and their gears cuz Tony’s used-car dealership is suffering trumpy tariff hardship with inventory getting low as tariffs rise and engines blow, while MAGAs come and rule of Law doth go driveling out the moxy Foxy show. Now along comes the Times today: with Timesly report on trumpy tariffs’ play As the reporter lays out his Times’y drama: update version of old Okie trauma as parts break down and engines blow; still cars must come while drivers go cuz in the great wide Western prairie wheels that roll do make life merry Yeah, trucks and tractors must go to seed and feed the American show. As folks with credit bad and savings small struggle to keep that car on the road at all Meanwhile back in GOPpy wonder tariffs cast auto/truck parts asunder. “My life falls apart if I can’t drive!” Trucks must roll so crops arrive. “We’ll get you rolling as fast as we can” said Tony to the Okie man. It’s the great American story of capital gains trumping glory just for show dont’cha know. Expect “some pain” before tariff gains trump had said to sooth the tariff pains. Meanwhile back at the ranch: there’s fallout from the maga tranche, as tariffs reign and supply chains break rich get rich with all they can take. But a business with no margin for options, now takes ole junkers as adoptions. In an update version of old ’30’s tales, Okie driver comes in Austin’s auto sales. “My life falls apart if I can’t drive.” It’s the American way, as we survive. Now I don’t know but I been told highways in Oklahoma littered with old truck parts, y’all. That’s the margin call I guess. What a mess! Meanwhile back at the MAGA ranch traders mount for another tranche while reporters write in Big Apple Times and little FOXes steal the vines. Glass half-Full

Figs Boson

As we strive to gather the produce of this life, as we search the universe to catch a glimpse of some Higgs-boson spark of creation. . . while we struggle to defeat the deteriorations of death, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or heaven’s gate or hell’s bells and/or whatever else is out there to spoil our well-intended plans of mice and men. . . while toiling, as we traipse along these ancient paths of destiny and chance, we find ourselves blessed in the gathering of the figs that fall from trees that line our chosen paths of chance, dealing with stumbled-upon happenstances and destinies formerly traveled by the patriarchs and matriarchs of long, long ago, dog-paddling to outdo the undertow of high tides, low tides and the ides of March, April and now May, let us not forget those departed souls who, long ago, traipsed these paths and blazed out our trails for us, long before we were a gleam in daddy’s eye or a swelling in mommy’s belly. Yea, I say unto thee, ’tis not for us to wonder why, but rather to do or die. If we do well, we skip past hell; if we do wrong, we get gonged between the clattering cimbals of percussion, discussion, obfuscation and condemnation. And yea, I say unto thee: He and She who are faithful in the little things, the small change and the twists and turns that rearrange this life that we thought we had figured out. . . as the Lord was sayin’, He and She who are faithful in the little stuff turn out to be faithful in the stuff that really matters. . . when push comes to shove, when eagle meets dove and hate is conquered by love, when the drosses of mankind conspire to nail the greatest man of all Time to a cross. . . but then the Great Programmer who wrote the code, who structured the DNA, who turned night into day, when that Prime Designer used circumstances—whatever whits hit the fan— to demonstrate that fallen figs along the paths of life. . . and the boson-higgs that we may discern along the orbits of man’s great experimental whirligig—that those fallen figs and zippidy-doo boson higgs are nothing more than the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that cousin Will dramatized back in the day. What goes around, y’all, comes around. . . in this great mandela, as Nelson Mandela had said . . . or some brave pioneering person in the land of the free and the home of the brave, who had been to the mountaintop and had seen the promised scene. . . when that person comes to mind, remember then, summer birds with wings of fire, come to witness spring’s new hope, born of leaves decaying; now push “Save.”

Glass half-Full