Death in London 1937

The old fellow, quite dapper in a brown derby that shielded bright blue eyes over apale, fleshy face, double-chinned over a red bow-tie, seemed nevertheless to be slowly collapsing beneath the burden of his own weight. He clutched Nathan’s arm. “Young man,” he insisted, though weakly, “Would you be so kind...” He was faltering. His cataracted blue eyes closed slowly, then managed, laboriously, to open again. He looked up at Nathan’s expectant face. “...currency stabilization...on the gold standard...perils...bloody monetary experiments...reverse...a calamity...Here, my boy, take this, please.” The old man proffered a small notebook, which Nathan, puzzled, and attempting to support the fellow’s faltering constitution, managed to accept with his left hand. Then the old fellow collapsed. “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. Smoke

First Ezekiel

Now it came about in the thirtieth year, on the fifth day of the fourth month, while I was by the river Chebar among the exiles, the heavens were opened and I saw visions of God. On the fifth of the month in the fifth year of King Jehoicachin’s exile, the word of the Lord came expressly to mEzekiel the priest, in the land of the Chaldeans by the river Chebar and there the hand of the LLord upon Ezekiel. As I looked, hehold, a storm wind was coming from the north, a great cloud with fire flashing forth continually and a bright light around it, and in the midst something like glowing metal in the midst of the fire. Within it there were figures reembling four living beings. And this was their appearanc: they had human form. Each of them had had human four faces and four wings. Their legs were straight and their feet were like a calf’s hoof, and they gleamed like burnished bronze. Under their wings on their four sides were human hands. ATheir wings on four sides were human hands. Their wings touched one another; their faces did not turn when they moved; each went straight forward. Each had a face of a man; all four had the face of a lion on the right and the face of a bull on the left; and all four had the face of an eagle. Their wings were spread out above; each had two touching another being, and two covering their bodies. And each went straight forward; wherever the spirit was about to go, without turning as they went. In the midst of the living beings there was somethingthat looked like burning coals of fire, like torches darting back and forth among the living beings. The fire was bright and lightning was from the fire. And the living beings ran to and from like bolts of lightning. Now as I looked at the the living beings, behold, there was one wheel on the earth beside the living beings, for each of the four of them.

The appearance of the wheels and their workmanship was like sparkling beryl, and all four of them had the same form, their appearance and workmanship being as if one wheel were within another. Whenever they moved, they moved in any of their four directions without turning as they moved. Their rims were lofty and awesome, with all four having eyes round about. Whenever they moved, the wheels moved with them. And whenever the living beings rose from the earth, the wheels rose also. Whenever the spirit was about to go, they would go in that direction. And the wheels rose close beside them; for the spirit of the living beings was in the wheels. Whenever those went, these; and whenever those rose from the earth, the wheels rose close beside them; for the spirit of the living beings was in the wheels. Now over the heads of the living beings there was something like an expanse, like the awesome gleam of crystal, spread out over their heads. Under their expanse their wings were stretched out straight, one toward the other; each one also had two wings covering its body on the one side and on the other. I also heard the sound of their wings like the sound of abundant waters. Smoke. .

High Holy Place

A scene from my novel, Glass half-Full

Beneath a cold, clear, azure sky the city of Jerusalem lay stretched upon the mountains and valleys like a fuzzy glove upon God’s hand. People from all over the world had gathered here to unearth evidence of God at work among the people of the earth. Some sought a temple that no longer exists. Some sought a mosque where a prophet entered heaven. Some trod upon the cobblestones of ancient, holy real estate, pleading for reconciliation, seeking atonement for the human condition. A man wandered beyond the dome, past the blocked-up eastern gate; curving around northward, he noticed a large open area beside the mosque. Was this where the former temple had stood? What a beautiful mosque. Could not the owners of this hill sell the adjoining, vacant acre or two to those pilgrims who, standing daily at the wall below, were wailing for their wonderful temple? Why not make a deal? Such a deal. Cousin to Cousin. Temple and Mosque, Mosque and Temple…Mosque Shsmosque, Temple Shmemple. Such a deal. Everybody happy. You pray your way; I pray mine. Aliyah Yerushalim

To Be or Not To be

To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether ’tis nobler in this nation to pardon the slings and arrows of outrageous insurrection?

Or to take action against a slew of magamaniacs, and by. opposing convict them? To give in; to pretend that trump is noble, and pretend that he is of that same noble character that was demonstrated by the 44 presidents before him: ’tis a fantasy foolishly to be wished. To concede; perchance to give in; aye, there’s the rub. For in that concession what further crimes will come. This president’s wrong; such a destructive man, who fires bombs to send Iranian citizens to their eternal Shiite home, while requiring our patriots to go in harm’s way and elude their drones. . . and all this without a Congressional declaration of war, as if he were building trumptower casinos on the Jersey shore and bilking the contractors along the way. We the People stand helplessly by, caught in the spell of magamania, while the little Fox steals the vines. We scroll idly by, whistling dixie in the dark, blatantly ignoring Amendment XIV, Section 3, which disqualifies the chief insurrectioneer from re-occupying our oval office.

When we will have shuffled off this oval occupant, we must appoint a new president, one whom we can respect, who makes not so much calamity; for we must not tolerate such slings and arrows of outrageous fortunes that are now being made, while requiring our boys to face the drones and moans of outrageous warfare, whilst our Constitution is ignored and our Rule of Law is quashed. Glass half-Full

Paris 1937

an excerpt from my novel, Smoke; the year is 1937 “This city is on the edge of Germany,” she said. “But the border is hundreds of miles away.” “Paris is closer than you think, to Berlin.” Philip considered this. Then he pointed beyond the Russian edifice, to the west, and said, “Over there, between us and where the sun will set, is Versailles, where the treaty was agreed to and signed after the war. The treaty should ensure peace and security, n’est que ce pas?” “That doesn’t mean a thing to Adolf Hitler.” Her eyes, stern with the memory of where they had just come from, were cast down upon the Seine. “Germans know. That treaty means nothing to the Nazis.” “Do they? Do Germans know?” “Some of them do, though they will not say it. There is a lot they will not say. We have neighbors in Munich who will not say that they have done business with my father for many years. Instead, they pretend to not know us. These last few months when we were at home, near the shop, when I would walk on the streets, I felt at times that I must have some horrible sign on my head, something like a mark of shame, a big. . . yellow patch of . . . verboten, or something . . . Even people my own age would act as if they had never known me. What makes people do such things? What compels them to change their attitude toward others whom they have known all their lives, people they grew up with?” “They must be scared as hell of the Nazis.” “Nazi police; they call them Gestapo.” Lili’s expression turned sour. She had been casually surveying the busy scene of pedestrians and pavilions around them, but suddenly her gaze fixed upon the German pavilion. Philip turned to look at it. “That monument over there—the obscene monolith with the swastika on top of it—it upsets me,” she explained, speaking deliberately, precisely. “I can understand that, Lili, since your brother is still in prison there.” “I don’t want to be here, Philip. Is there somewhere else we can go?”

Carey Rowland

Death then Life

Back in Urdor, Virginia, Moses Reece lay, unresponsive, in a hospital bed at Wessex County Medical Center. The dragon had stretched forth its murderous will and snatched the passing pilgrim from beneath a canopy at the Belmont Hotel, in that same torturous instant that it had so rapturously hurled Aleph Leng into the next dimension. But Moses was still hanging on for dear life, as if on a precipice. For seven days he had lain there. Behind him was a life well-lived; before him…a half-full vision of heaven. Beside him stood his son, Alexander, and his daughter, Diana. Alexander was watchingthrough teary eyes; Diana was praying. He had no way to speak to them. They could not know that he was looking into the abyss; they could not know that he was rejecting it. They could not know that he was seeing, on the dark side, the unknown pane of infamous death’s door…two paths diverging. This was Moses’ view from the precipice: two paths, diverging. http://www.micahrowland.com/carey/Traveler’s Rest.mp3 Glass half-Full Carey Rowland

Mainely Memories

Strolling along the Maine shore reminded me of a great song, back in the day, Judy Collins singing “Farewell to Tawathie”. So the muse prompted this exploration of Maine, which flowed into Mainely memories: Farewell to Bar Harbor; Adieu to Maine shore, and the dear land of Acadia; I bid you farewell. I’m bound back to Boston, and ready to ride in hopes to find inspiration, and memories to tell. The cold coast of Maine is rocky and bare.

No warmth nor dryness is easily found there; and the breeze of that country’s the ancient Wabanaki air. . . Farewell to Ed Muskie and the Clean Air Act. The Civil Rights Act of ’64 and MLK day in ’68 linger in the memories of my g-generation’s air. As Secretary of State Ed negotiated the release of 52 hostages after the Iranians had imprisoned them in our American embassy in Iran, after 444 days of captivity, I gathered some friends to record a song, pleading for peace. . . We gotta song to sing

From Acadian to Cajun

Back in the olden days of American history, there was a southern region, Louisiana, that had been settled by French people. When Napoleon was in charge of France, there were regions of the New World where the French were calling the shots. One of them was Louisiana, a vast region, named after a French king, extending northward from New Orleans to St. Paul and beyond. There was another French region, way up north, in what is now the state of Maine; but the original name was: Acadia. Today I am learning about the British expulsion of the French from that region . . . and the historical identity of those refugees who later fled to Louisiana, the state where I was born, and where I heard, all throughout my young life, about the “ ‘Cajuns” who were so numerous in my hometown. It just so happens that I am, today, as a visitor, a tourist, in Acadia, on a beach near Bar Harbor, Maine. And I am learning about the history of this place. I am learning that the Brits came in, back in the 1700’s, and took control of the region; they ran the French people out.

Most of the French folk who were banished from Acadia fled down to Louisiana, because Napolean was in control of that area, in the deep south, the mouth of the Mississippi River, in the region where was born and spent my early life. Later, much later, I was born into that world, in July 1951, in Baton Rouge, the capitol city ofLouisiana. My mother was of French heritage, as were many natives of Louisiana. My father’s ancestors, Scotch/Irish had traveled from the piney woods of Mississippi. Papa was a of southern Baptist heritage; mama was a Catholic of French pedigree. South Louisiana is a decidedly French region, historically blended from the French settlers who had sailed from France to New Orleans, back in the day, during the early stages of our United States. But most of the citizens of French south Louisiana are what we call Cajuns, who, in modern times, speak American English, but with a cajun accent, which is a unique dialect of French that was brought to south Louisiana by the Acadians who had been banished from the Acadia region of Nova Scotia, back in the day. Today, April 21, 2026, I am a tourist, touring the Acadia region of Maine. And I am wondering about my “Cajun” connection. . . reading Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s epic poem, “Evangeline”, and wondering about the “cajuns” with whom I grew up, back in the day, in Baton Rouge. Yet I still do not know how to sort out the historical mysteries between “Acadia” and “Cajun.” But Just now, sitting in Geddy’s pizza pub in Bar Harbor, Maine, I see a very real obsession/connection. I enjoy their servings of lobster; and I see a profound resemblance to their serving the Maine lobsters in Acadia. . . and the Cajun’s serving of crawfish, down in south Louisiana. And I am pondering this connection between “Acadian” and “Cajun.” It seems to me they morphed from big lobsters in Maine to little lobsters in south Louisiana. Glass Chimera

Glass Chimera

“Well, out with it, my boy.” Simon laughed good-naturedly. “Was there, ah, a message, something special?” “A, uh, computer chip.” Simon’s eyes narrowed. He was amused. “Very small, eh?” “Right. Very small.” “And were you able to read the contents of it?” asked Simon, as if this happened every day. “I did read it.” “And what did it say?” “Hell if I know,” blurted Mick, and looked out the window, taking the last gulp of his drink. Simon laughed, totally at ease. “The chip contained, perhaps, a message that you don’t know how to interpret?” Mick looked back at the spiffy Brit, and laughed, relaxing again. “That’s right. That’s exactly right.” “Well, my boy, what did it say exactly? Maybe I can help you understand the meaning of it. I’ve done this before you know.” Mick sighed. He didn’t want to repeat the message, with its mysterious numbers and letters. Reaching in his shirt pocket, he produced the little paper with Italian printed on it. On the back he had written the message that had been retrieved from a glass horse’s gonads. He slid it across the table to Simon, who picked it up and looked at it, with an expression of mock seriousness on his face, an expression which then metamorphosed into a faint smile. “These are genetic codes.” “Genetic codes?” “Locations on the human genome, in the DNA chain.” Simon smiled, as if this is common knowledge that people sent through glass horse sculptures every day of the week. “Okay. . .and?” “The second one refers to human growth hormone. The other three, I’ll have to look up.” Simon looked directly into Mick’s puzzled eyes. “Does this mean anything to you?” “Uh, no, not really.”

Glass Chimera

At the Lincoln Memorial

a scene from my novel, Glass half-Full

They walked up the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. When they reached the top, Bridget was gazing, like most everyone else who ascends here, with rapt interest at the seated statue. But Marcus, holding Bridget’s hand, gently prodded her to keep moving, slowly to the left, through the myriad of ambling visitors.They came to an inner sanctum. Carved on the white marble wall infront of them were the words of the slain President’s Gettysburg address. Marcus stopped, taking in the enormity of it, both physically and philosophically. He was looking at the speech intently. Bridget was lookingat him. 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 stillhear 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 atraitor 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?” Glass half-Full

Flanders Fie;d

. . . in final chapter of my novel, Smoke, spoken by an old Frenchman. . “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.” Smoke

MAGA donald Has Bombed Out

“No kings” cried the maddened thousands, as American protests echoed through our nation. Yet still more magamaniac babble spewed from donald’s bellicose contagion They watched his mind go wacky and so weird; they saw his sanity erase, and they knew his Iran war was a genocidal disgrace. The pride is gone from donald’s proud boys; three-percenters down to none; oath-keeper antics now but maniacal toys.

And now the donald mounts his war, aimed at the Iranian people As Americans recoil in horror; magamania renders us feeble.

Oh somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright. The band is playing somewhere and somewhere hearts are light. Somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout But there’s no joy in America; might donald has bombed out. Glass half-Full

From Lennon to Lennox

When I was a teenager, the Beatles were a big deal for us baby boomers.John Lennon sang a song called “Imagine.” It went something like this: “Imagine there’s no heaven. . .no hell below us. . .above us only sky. . . no religion too. . . imagine all the people, living life in peace. . .. . . you may say that I’m a dreamer; but I’m not the only one. “ I was a dreamer too; but I was also a working man. I was working, helping to build a quarter-mile-long bridge, the Linn Cove viaduct. near Grandfather Mountain in the Blue Ridge of North Carolina.

One December morning, while our rodbuster crew were tying rebar in a huge work shed, our foreman, Rod (funny that: Rod, foreman of the rodbusting crew) came in aand told us that John Lennon had been shot dead in New York City. It was a moment I’ll never forget. . . not quite the JFK-in-Dallas memory of ’63, but close. My g-generation’s loss of our prophet, John Lennon was a terrible, tragedy. By the time of Lennon’s demise, I had been following a different prophet—actually a whole heavenly host of prophets—those found in the ancient book. In that literary collection of prhistorical and prophetic documentation, we learn of several more “Johns”. There was John the Baptist, thenn John the apostle who wrote a gospel account of Jesus’ life, death and Resurrection, and later, the book of Revelation. A fellow-traveler of John’s gospel-spreading project was the apostle Paul, who wrote, in his letter to the Romans: “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things.” For me, part of that “doing away with” included admitting that John Lennon’s dream of world peace and harmony was —as the saying goes—a “pipe dream”—especially if, in the pipe, the smoke was cannabis, as so many of us boomers were doing at that time, ’60’s, ‘70’s . . . but I digress. . . Now today, I was watching a youtube discussion between John Lennox

and David Perell, in which the Oxford scholar was explaining to the young interviewer the difference between gospel truth and everything else. They had gotten into some heavy topics. Lennox was talking about the human genome, DNA, a code that is 3.4 billion letters long; he was making the point that any code of such complexity, length and extremely long historical longevity could only have been written by God, theCreator of the universe.

In my life journey, roundabout 1977, I had decided to affirm John Lennox’ world view—the gospel one— by expositing the fact that his biblical explanation far surpasses the world view that I and John Lennon had, back in the day. I mean, John Lennon was a great musician and poet. Who knows? Maybe I’ll meet him in heaven. I’m not the judge of such things. I’m just one ole guy pecking away on a laptop, trying to figure it all out. Boomer’s Choice

Boomer Streaming

Back in the day, Don McLean sang: “there we were all in one place, a generation lost in space”. . . Then, recently, I heard Simon and Joan singing : “nor is it strange that the changes upon changes are more or less the same; after changes, we are more or less the same. and it all comes back to me now:

Kangaroo Howdy Doody then Elvis RayCharles . . . Kennedy said moon landing by ’69, but the answer’s blowin’ in the wind, saith Dylan, Baez, Peter Paul and Mary. . . . Then along comes Dr. Martin Luther King in Selma, but then the Birmingham jail. . . by ’n by as push comes to shove. . . March on Washington,Lincoln Memorial dream: “all God’s children” together . . . but that’s not the whole story. . . President John F. Kennedy dead in Dallas (Where were you when the news broke?) . . .when Walter Cronkite took off his glasses at one o’clock November 22, 1963. . .I heard the news in a seventh grade classroom, from our school principal, Sister Georgia. She said, “He had ‘em backed up against the wall.” . . . speaking about JFK v. Khruschev and the Soviets during in the Cuban missile crisis. But life goes on. . . Warren Commission Great Society LBJ and Civil Rights Act. . . Malcom X. . . Hard day’s night but Sinatra sang its a very good year . . . Eleanor Rigby, ballad of Green Berets, SixDayWar, Black Power, Thurgood Marshall but Dr. King assassinated in Memphis after being warned with a phone call from an “ugly voice” the night before. Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, Robert F Kennedy shot in L.A. . . the the Chicago Democrats fiasco: boomer kids in Grant Park. . . but hey, turn on, tune in, drop out. . . then Leary-eyed in San Francisco, where crooners had left their heart, and hippies tripped in Haight Ashbury. . . meanwhile back at the motor city. . . along came Motown, Aretha, Smoky Robinson, Four Tops, Drifters. . . then in ’69 first troops out of Vietnam. . . celebration in Yasgur’s field, Woodstock, flower power, good luck with that! . . . three days, man! CSNY singing Joni’s song. . .then there’s Neil Armstrong’s “one small step for a man; one giant leap for mankind”, thanks to visionary JFK, back in the day. But just when you think you’ve finally got it made, bad news comes knockin’ at your college gate: Kent State “four dead in Ohio.” and later, Altamont. . .

. . . and Nixon bombing Laos, Cambodia. . . kinda like trump bombing the middle East. But I digress. I mean, hey! It’s not all bad. We’re like a fiddler on the roof, just trying to stay alive . . . . .and the Beegees agreed. Meanwhile back in DC, Nixon shut down the gold window . . . just before his dirty tricks backfired on him. . . unlicensed “plumbers” in the Watergate. Then, as if that weren’t bad enough, we’re waitin’ in line for gas, coast to coast, then the Pentagon papers, double digit inflation. . . Sam Ervin Senate Watergate committee. . . but the good news was: Sadat/Begin peace, good for a while. . . Even so, we seem to have lost our way, starting back in the day . . . dot.com fiasco and, and. . . where were you on 9/11? and as if that wasn’t bad enough. . . the MBS and CDO’s fiasco oon Wall Street in the 2008 crash. All ye baby boomers out there, my compatriots, we just have to view the world through faith-colored glasses . . . even though it all went wrong, we stand before the Lord of Song. . . (and of all history) with nothing on our tongues but Hallelujah! King of Soul

Revelation 5:9

And I saw, in the right hand of Him who sat on the throne, a book written,

within and on the backside, sealed up with seven seals. And I saw a strong angel proclaiming with a loud voice, “Who is worthy to open the book and to break its seals?” And no one in heaven or on the earth was able to open the book, nor to look thereon. And I wept much, because no man was found worthy to open the book, nor to look into it; And one of the elders said to me: Weep not! Behold: the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the root of David, has prevailed to open the book, and to break the seven seals thereof.” And I saw, in the midst of the throne and the four beasts, and in the midst of the elders, stood a Lamb, as it had been slain, having seven horns and seven eyes, which are the seven spirits of God sent forth into the earth. And he came and he took the book out of the right hand of Him who sat upon the throne, and when He had take the book, the four beasts and the four and twenty elders fell down before the Lamb, having every one of them harps, and golden vials full of odors, which are the prayers of saints. and they sang a new saying: thou art worthy to take the book and to break the seals; for you were slain, and redeemed, with your blood, men from every people group, and every language and nation. . . http://www.micahrowland.com/carey/Revelation 5_9.mp3 King of Soul

Life's Railway to Heaven

Life is like a mountain railway, with an engineer that's brave. We must make the run successful, from the cradle to the grave. Watch the curves, the hills the trestles, never falter; never fail. Keep your hand upon the throttle, and your eyes upon the rail.

Blessed Savior; thou wilt guide us, 'til we reach that blissful shore where the angels wait to join in God's praise, forevermore. As you roll along the trestle, over Jordan's swellin' tide you'll behold a Union depot into which your train will glide. There you'll meet the superintendent; God the Father; God the Son with a hearty, joyous plaudit: Weary pilgrim, welcome home. Blessed Savior' thou wilt guide us, till we reach that blissful shore where the angels wait to join us in God's praise forevermore! http://www.micahrowland.com/carey/Life's Railway to Heaven.mp3 King of Soul

Across Friday

Now I dont know but I been told that all the news says Methusalah was old. Now Enoch is new depending on your point of view. All the news that's fit to print doesn't come close to giving us a hint. All the babble online aint worth a dime but it fills up the time. Now time is on our side; yet when all's said and done this life is a pretty good ride. . . that leads us to who knows where. . . not only that but really when you get down to it nobody knows how the story ends, although the Torah enables us to know how it begins and Gospels give us a view of how who's dead comes alive again. And if you believe that I've got some real estate in eternity i'll share with you I mean... not that its mine to share, but I dare you to find a better narrative. . . and we all suspect there's been plenty of story-tellin' in the history of mankind, which is worth, well, maybe a dime. What we do know is we all got what's coming to us, whether its judgement or mercy, to be satisfied or thirsty. I mean, to be or not to be, that is the question, whether it be nobler to be by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune made to suffer a sea of troubles, or . . . or by opposing, end them . Anyway, be that as it may. . . looking ahead to what is ahead, considering all who are living and those who are dead i think the best conclusion that a man could make, or a woman, for God's wake, is that on Good Friday Jesus was executed

 but on the third day after that he was resurrected. Now after a little bit of prayin' I'm just sayin' . . . Follow the Way.

Travelers' Rest

Well I was a weary traveler; I had nowhere to go; and I looked around this old world. And I saw all the waste; and I saw all the haste; and I wondered why; and I studied philosophy. But I turned to an old scripture; and it showed me what was; and it showed me what is to be. Like a beacon in a troubled sea. . . we will be, for you and for me. . . and He showed me the plan. . . and He showed me who I am. . . and now I’m doing all that I can. And I raise my hands in the morning, and I do a day’s work while I dream. . . and I raise my hands in the evening, and I sing out those dreams loud and clean: Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia: Christ is risen; and He shall reign forever; and he shall reign forever. . . and ever. . . and ever. . .

Listen: http://www.micahrowland.com/carey/Traveler's Rest.mp3

Follow the Way

Rocky is the the path; rocky is the path that leads us home.

Straight and narrow is the way that leads us home. Follow the Way, the Truth, the Light. . . Jesus Christ was the Son of God and Jesus Christ was the Son of Man. Yes he was. . .

La alaha illa Allah. . . Follow the Way. Jesus led the way. Listen: Follow the Way King of Soul

Revelation Five

words found in a very old book: I saw in the right hand of Him who sat on the throne a book, written inside and on the back, sealed up with seven seals. And I saw a strong angel proclaiming with a loud voice, “Who is worthy to open the book and to break its seals?” And I saw a strong angel proclaiming with a loud voice, “Who is worthy to open the book and to break its seals?” Then I began to weep greatly beause no one was able to open the book or to look into it. I began to weep greatly because no one was found worthy to open the book or to look into it; and one of the elders said to me, 'Stop weeping; behold: the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of david, has overcome. . . so as to open the book and its seven seals." And I saw between the throne (with the four living creatures) and the elders: a Lamb standing, as if slain, having seven horns and and seven eyes, which are the seven Spirits of God sent out into all the earth. And He came and He took the book out of the right hand of Him who sat on the throne. When he had taken the book, the four living creatures and the twenty four elders fell down before the Lamb, each one holding a harp and golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of saints. And they sang a new song, saying, "Worthy are you to take the book and to break its seals; for you were slain, and purchased for God, with your blood, men from every tribe and language and people and nation. You have made them to be a kingdom, and priests to our God, and they will reign upon the earth."

Listen: Revelation 5:9 King of Soul

Christian Rationalism

Webster's dictionary defines "Christian": a person who believes in thedoctrines of Jesus and acknowledges his divinity. And what, you may ask, are the doctrines of Jesus? The first doctrines of Jesus are found in the gospel of Matthew.Here are some of his teachings, documented in the sermon on the mount: Blessed are the gentle; for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God. In everything. . . treat people the same way you would want them to treat you. . . "You cannot serve two masters; either you will hate one and love the other, or you to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth." Now I don't know but it seems to me that the politics of wealth and power has herded some of my Christian brethren into some delusion called "chri****n nationalism". Furthermore. . .A few years after Jesus' Resurrection and Ascension into heaven, his appointed apostle Paul wrote:  ". . . and do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may prove what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect. Well, my Christ-transformed, renewed (in 1977) mind, along with His Word and His Holy Spirit, prompts me to reject this so-called "chri****n nationalism." I'm stickin' with that Chistian rationalism that Paul had advocated, the "renewing of (my) mind" . . . and furthermore. . .my "born again" mind tells me that the message of Jesus, spoken in his sermon on the mount, has nothing to do with supporting nationalism of any kind, and especially not that version that's been amped up by the prince of maralago and his insurrectioninary proud bouys and oathbleepers. No! And certainly not the bellicose, magamaniacal destructive warmongering by which trump now destroys (illegally, having no Congressional advocacy) the Middle East!

I'm going with the One who chose to be nailed to a cross before conceding to the magamaniac zealots.  King of Soul

Ravenous War

Once upon a Thursday dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, over many a weird and dubious story of worldwide news,  while I wondered, totally confused, suddenly there came a report, as of someone lighting up a world war fuse.

Just some fake news, I muttered, aiming to confound our American feast. Only this and nothing more. Presently I found myself confused; trump's lit up some world war fuse. I can't figure out this situation; it's looking like trump has gone off the deep end; he's lit up some world war conflagration! Deep into the streaming news I then descend; I begin to wonder at the conflict which to my mind appends. Who's the good guy and who's the bad? Why's the oval occupant so mad? Cahn says he's trying to save the Jews; maybe so; but with so many innocent school girls dead, he's blasting innocents to get ahead.  Seems to me like overkill; is this some kind of magamania thrill? Back into my streaming, turning, all my soul within me yearning to make some sense of this bellicose attack; now I see talking heads talking flack."Surely," said I, surely this impetuous act will soon subside; the smoke will clear; Israelis and Iranians will again abide. Let Israelis and Iranians just settle down; let 'em now rebuild their towns. But now the news, getting worse, still is creeping in a Persian hearse toward some global battle; we feel the world peace rattle. All eyes on the seething middle east, preparing now some vulture feast! The news casts shadows of some demon dreaming, while we sit here clueless, streaming. Now I ain't no Israeli and I ain'it no Shia Muslim; but when I get to heaven, Jesus said we'd all be cousins! . . . if you'll just follow him instead; you won't be eternally dead. Now if you think that heaven is just a wishful thinking, you'd better reconsider before war flashes find you blinking! If you think all is well; you might be a candidate for hell. Now I don't know but I have faith, that Christian love defeats religious hate. And I told him dat! Smoke

Dover Droning

(with appreciation for poet Matthew Arnold, Britain, 1847) Our nation is stormy just now. The reds are bullies; the blues seek fairness, to straighten the crooked maga crimps. In the Persian gulf the drones fly off and on; trump's war drones on and on, glimmering and fast, in what used to be a tranquil gulf. We grok the web; fraught are these times. But from the droning cloud where the news meets our troubled minds, Listen! you hear the grating roar of old wars which the memories wave up, and fling, at their return,

up the silicon strand, beginning, ceasing, and beginning again, with perilous violence mad, to bring the magamania madness in. Solomon long ago spotted it in Zion, and it brought into his mind the turbid ebb and flow of human vanity; we find also in the buzz, a meme, now, a ruminating on the distant fuse, Hormuz. But our Sea of Faith was, back in the day, spread full around the world like the mantle of an empty shroud on the Resurrection morn. But now the strand brings melancholy news, slung in silicony roar, repeating in the airwaves of the night-wind, down the vast edges and naked circuits of the world. Ah, citizens, let us be true to our ancient roots; for the world, which seems to spin around us as some whirlwind of our dreams, so various,

sometimes beautiful, sometimes new, has neither joy, nor love, nor light, nor certitude, nor peace, nor help now pain - or so it sometimes seems.  We hear droning rain as a belching train, swept with predirected blight in the struggle and the fight, while robot warriors drone in flight. Smoke

Al Aqsa and Temple

Here's a scene from my first novel: Glass half-Full:

Beneath a cold, clear, azure sky the city of Jerusalem lay stretched upon the mountains and valleys like a fuzzy glove upon God's hand. People from all over the world had gathered here to unearth evidence of God at work among the people of the earth. Some sought a temple that no longer exists. Some sought a mosque where a prophet entered heaven. Some trod upon the cobblestones of ancient, holy real estate, pleading for reconciliation, seeking atonement for the human condition. A man wandered beyond the dome, past the blocked-up eastern gate; curving around northward, he noticed a large open area beside the mosque. Was this where the former temple had stood? What a beautiful mosque. Could not the owners of this hill sell the adjoining, vacant acre or two to those pilgrims who, standing daily at the wall below, were wailing for their wonderful temple? Why not make a deal? Such a deal. Cousin to Cousin. Temple and Mosque, Mosque and Temple…Mosque Shsmosque, Temple Shmemple. Such a deal. Everybody happy. You pray your way; I pray mine. A man traveled outside the wall, beyond the ramparts of human religion-building, pushing the envelope of mortally human strife… through the Kidron Valley below, to the vanity-laden valley of struggle, along the groves of Gethsemane; he trod among the graves of the prophets; he ambledalong the graftings of the profits. He wept. Mankind, like a flock of fluttering chickens in a barnyard, clucking, headless…why can't we get it together? A man walked up the other side of the valley, through Arab neighborhoods, to a Jewish cemetery. Oh wailing trail of human history, why allowest thou such holocaust? Turning around, he looked back across the valley, to the mountain where he just had been, with tears: Sons of Adam, argue all you want about real estate on your holy hill. "I'll be over here on the other side," thought he.But the walk was over now. It was time to go to work.  Glass half-Full

Lincoln Legacy

Two centuries and fifty years ago our founders brought into this world, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men and women are created equal. Now we are engaged in a dubious foreign war, testing whether this nation or any nation allied with us, and so dedicated, can proclaim itself the bully of the world. We now report upon an aggressive, ill-conceived, illegal war in which 127, or more, of our American soldiers have been laid upon the altar of modern warfare. It is altogether appropriate that we acknowledge their brave sacrifice, although it is also appropriate that we question the unauthorized deployment of our soldiers by a rogue president who deploys our officers, our soldiers, our ships, our aircraft and our defensive resources without any Constitutionally-mandated declaration of war from Congress. But in a realistic sense, we find ourselves unable to adequately appreciate or consecrate their sacrifice in the Persian gulf. The brave men, living and dead, who answered their duty call, have consecrated our American legacy, our struggle to protect and defend the freedom and dignity of all men and women who live and breathe and live their lives in this fallen world.

Lincoln's Address at Gettysburg battlefield, 161 years ago.The world will sometimes note, and maybe even remember, what we Americans try to do over there. . . over there, or anywhere we go in the world while trying to liberate oppressed people, or to impose our way of life on foreign nations that are motivated by religions and ancient customs that we do not understand. The challenge is for us, the living citizens of the earth, to be dedicated to the unfinished work of peace and safety - that from these honored dead we take increased devotion - that we highly resolve that those dead shall not have died in vain, and that our nation, United States of America, shall adapt a new awareness. . . in the fog of a presumptuous president's unauthorized actions. . . and that our governance by the people, through our Senators and our Representatives, shall not perish from our nation's governance. Glass half-Full

King of Soul

May 4, 1970 in Kent, Ohio Why is this happening? Why had he come here? Why had he followed Kevin all the way to damn Ohio, to see this? Donnie didn’t want to see this; yet he stood numbly, transfixed by the horror, surrounded by these other people, people he didn’t know, strangers, all strangers, and yet bound together now, estranged together in some otherworldly covenant, the shedding of blood, the covenant now, unspoken, unspecified except for the wailing of the witnesses, the onslaught of the rage of these onlookers and now he was there with them in this. . . sacrifice, holy moment, passing of this soul into beyond. Someone called him Jeff. Ahead of him and to the right, a group was attempting to lift a big guy who had fallen and was trying to right himself, but futility, futility, and the259 helpers were powerless to upright him and so they desisted and the young man lay on the ground, still breathing, moaning, suspended in a state of agony somewhere between life and death, somewhere between heaven and hell. This must be hell. Cousin Will was dying, but surely he would not go to hell, because he was — he didn’t look — like a man who would be in hell, he looked like he didn’t belong in this state of suspended between life and death. And there were others. But Donnie did not want to see. He had had enough. His feet began to move, walk. Shuffling, he wandered away, away from the noise and the pain and suffering and the death, away from the death, away from the strangers gathered in their strangeness; let them have it, let them have it all; dragging feet carried him through the parking lot, across grass, past cars, past people yelling, crying, going on, going away, going going gone.

On a sidewalk, moving along on the sidewalk, here’s a street, cars going by, he’s in a town, a strange town, never been here, shops, normal places stillexisting on the edge of this uncommon tragedy, how could these normal places still be . . . traffic lights changing red, green, yellow. Red. He would never forget the Red. Sleepwalking on the sidewalk, unfamiliar people, faces, here’s a dime store, there’s a clothing store, drug store, here’s a church. Door open, a church. Donnie lifts his feet, lifts his eyes, ascending the steps, nine steps up and now he’s in the church, sleepwalking between wooden benches, floor slick and polished, scent of wood, wax, candles burning. Donnie is traveling through the pews, along the aisle. Ahead, there’s unclothed man hanging on the cross up above, with thorny crown of kingly blood, soul tortured by the state of this world. His face in agony, it appears as that face Donnie had just seen, only minutes before in the parking lot,. Same bloody sacrifice. He is as a lamb, slain, because of what we do. What’s it to you? http://www.careyrowland.com

Blue Windows and Stars

There it was, back in the day, probably about 1963, a record album in the hands of best friend Johnny. His older brother, a navy man, had brought it from across the ocean. It was a 33 rpm LP record album . . . a collection of songs, old songs, what was called folk music, sung by a girl, Joan Baez, whose mission in life was to retrieve these melodic stories and circulate them into the hearts andminds of Americans. The album notes, on the back cover of the record sleeve, had been composed by some fellow named Bob Dylan. I remember this phrase: “In my youngest years, I used to kneel on the hillside beside the railroad track and tear the grass out of the ground. . . and the sound of her voice. . .” It doesn’t make sense; I guess Bob was moved by thesound of Joan’s vibrato voice, and her heart beating with the tunes and stories of antiquity. . . from England, from across the ocean: “before you step on board, sir, your name I’d like to know. . .oh, they call me Jackaroe.” But all that changed one night; while laying in bed at night, listening to thetransistor radio, when I heard these words: “She was just seventeen; you know what I mean; and the way she looked. . . was way beyond compare. Now I’ll never dance with another, since I saw her standing there.” What it was was the beginning of Beatle era. Volumes could be written it, how they had listened to old 45’s of Little Richard and a host ole black folk of the deep south, where I just happened to be growing up. But this life is not really about music. It’s really about life and death. When it comes to death. . . there we were all in different places. . . November 22, 1963, my place was in a 7th grade classroom in Baton Rouge, when the Catholic school principle, Sister Georgia, came in and told us that President Kennedy had been shot. I just had to put that in here; I don’t know why. . . except to say that life takes a tragic turn sometimes, and we remember. . . Dallas Nov22 dealey plaze. . . 9:11 World Trade Center. Our parents’ generation had their own tragedy to deal with: World War II. But getting back to the popular music. Back in our parents’ generation, they had the big bands. . . Duke Ellington, Tommy Dorsey, Glenn Miller, with all their brassy big band arrangements, and crooners, like Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald. In my g-generation, things were different. Radio waves were dominated by Elvis, and then along came Bo Diddly, then the Motown sound, the Four Tops, Marvin Gaye, the Supremes. . . And then along came, for us folky types, Judy Collins, singing “There’s a young man that I know; his age is 21; comes from down in southern Colorado, Just out of the service, and he’s looking for . . .someday soon. . . going with him someday soon.” Well, Judy’s fellow, “just out of the service” was probably one of the survivors from Vietnam, which was a big deal, back in that day. In 1970, my freshman year at LSU, the US Defense Dep’t initiated a draft lottery. My number was 349. Many others were not so lucky. My friend Johnny — whose brother had had the Joan Baez album — he did go to Vietnam. Thank God he came back. At the end of my freshman year at LSU, June 1971, I took a job with the Southwestern Publishing Company (of Nashville Tennessee), selling dictionaries, door to door in southern Ohio. One weekend, my sales manager drove us up to Columbus, Ohio, where we watched a movie, “The Strawberry Statement.” The movie was about students protesting at some university. I think it was Columbia University. There was a scene in the movie that, for whatever reason, sticks in my mind, even unto today. I don’t know why. Maybe it wasthe imagery, the night-time imagery, or maybe it was the sound track, the song that was sung . . . the high voice of Neil Young. . . “Blue blue windows behind the stars. . . yellow moon on the rise. . . big birds flying across the skies, throwing shadows on our eyes”

I don’t know why the scenario in Neil’s song resides so vividly in my memory. It must be related, in some funky or providential way, to the album I made years later, which featured — not a blue window and big birds — but a golden window and an angel. . .

It’s funny the tidbits of life you remember in this long trek (my 74th year) from birth to the other side, whatever that is. . . from birth to . . . as Dr. Martin Luther King had said on the night before he was assassinated in Memphis. . . ”But I’m not worried about that now; I’ve been to the mountaintop, and I’ve seen the promised land! I may not get there with ya (the “promised land”)” That “promised land” of which Martin spoke was the freedom promised to all American citizens by our Constitution and by Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation. Dr. King knew he would be going to one “promised land” or the other. . . the promised land of America (with its Constitution, Bill of Rights and Emancipation Declaration that President Lincoln had declared) or, farther along. . .the the Promised Land of heaven, the place where Jesus went after the powers-that-be had executed him on a cross and laid him in a tomb. Just believe that there are, indeed, blue, or golden, windows beyond stars where we who believe in Jesus’ Resurrection will be taken into eternal life with Him. King of Soul

No Place Like Rome

I was reading in my ancient book today about a dispute that had happened between my religious ancestors about two thousand years ago. The people whose ancestors had written the ancient book had a very long heritage of doing things a certain way. They were arguing with one of their own, a very wise and learned man named Paul. He was considered a troublemaker because of his radical renovations in the faith that had been handed down from their ancestors. A miracle had happened - actually a whole bunch of miracles had happened - when the prophet named Jesus had recently come along speaking profound truth. And as if that wasn't enough, Jesus was healing sick people, causing the lame to walk and the blind to see. . . even (get this) raising dead people back to life. There had come a time when the religious folk had gotten so fed up with the revolutionary changes that were happening because of Jesus, they appealed to the Romans who were in charge of Israel and Judea at that time. They wanted him out of the way so they rounded up a bunch of ridiculous charges and appealed to the Romans who were in charge of that part of the world at that time. Presenting Jesus as a troublemaker who was disturbing the peace of the realm, they had gone to the Roman official who was in charge. Pilate couldn't have cared less about all this religious stuff, but he did know that he had a responsibility to his superiors in Rome, which was to keep the peace in Palestine. Long story short, he turned the prisoner, Jesus, over to the Roman centurions who were in charge of keeping the PAX ROMANA, appealing to them to put an end to this "Jesus" controversy that was stirring up so much trouble. So they did; they put an end to the problem, Roman style. They nailed him to a cross and let him hang there until he bled out and died. Not to worry, however. . . Jesus was raised up from his tomb, by the Creator of the Universe, his Father. . . raised up on the the third day after his crucifixion. Now, back to the Paul incident that I mentioned earlier. . . a few years after the Resurrection . . .So this Paul, formerly a hyper-religious guy, a Pharisee, had been one of those who attacked the Christians as a bunch of troublemakers. But he had had a change of heart when the Creator of the Universe had stopped him in his tracks and told him to straighten up his act, and to stop killing Christians and . . . get this. . . even become a Christian believer, himself - his own bad self! As the next few years went by, Paul went all around those regions of the Roman empire preaching the gospel of resurrection in Jesus, and being "born again," as this writer is, even here and now in 2026 A.D. But when Paul made a return trip to his old stomping grounds, he was put on trial by the religious folk for being a troublemaker all over the Roman realm, and when it got so intense that the extremists were calling for his execution, he made use of his "born a Roman citizen" rights by demanding a trial. And in the trial, Paul said: "If then, I am a wrongdoer and have committed anything worthy of death, I do not refuse to die, but if none of those things is true of which these men accuse me, no one can hand me over to them, "I appeal to Caesar!" Then Festus, the clueless Roman governor said: "You have appealed to Caesar; to Caesar you shall go" And so Paul was put on a ship and sent to Rome, where he spent the rest of his life in prison.

But a funny thing happened on the way to world history. The city where Paul was imprisoned - that's the Roman capital where apostle Peter was also imprisoned - that city, Rome, became the focal point of the gospel and Christian the faith for the next 1500 years. Jesus knew what he was talking about when he spoke these words to Peter: "Upon this rock, I build my church." You see, all things are possible with God, the Creator of the Universe. It just so happened that about 300 years later, a Roman emperor, Constantine, turned to Jesus. He initiated the empire infrastructure that, as history rolled along, presented the gospel message to the world. Now I was raised in the Roman Catholic faith. In my adulthood, I turned to a more gospel-centric gathering of Christ believers. This morning while reading the ancient book, I was thanking God for the church of Rome that had spread the gospel around the world for 1500 years before the reformers came along and guided the gospel emphasis from a sacrificial bread and wine and a set of rules to the "born again" salvation message of the Reformation gospel. And now that my granddaughter is attending a Roman Catholic school, I'm like. . . I'm okay with that. After all, I attended Catholic schools for thirteen years before launching my life into the wide, wide world. Lastly, when Pat and I visited Rome a few years ago, when our daughter was studying abroad (thanks to the University of North Carolina "study abroad" program) we saw the prison where apostles Peter and Paul had been locked up, back in the day, in a time and a place, long ago and far, far away, Rome! There's no place like Rome. King of Soul

Woe is US rant

Methinks there's something rotten in maralago. Just now, beyond the ides of March. . . Gog, Magog, Rosh and Persia. . . all hell breaks loose. Now I don't know but I been told, that American hegemony is collapsing, Read 'em and weep, all ye citizens of the land of the free and the home of the brave. Yeah, I say unto thee that the king wannabe doth do as he pleases: he exalts himself and magnifies his destruction, disregarding all that is held high in the opinions of mankind. He shows no regard for the God who is worshipped by those who lifted him into his oval office of power. His only objective seems to be to magnify the destructive power of his own authority. He holds in his high esteem the god of forces, a god whom his predecessors did not approve. He imposes destruction on the middle of the world, giving honor to those who suck up to his hot air braggadocio. He parcels out authority, power and assets to those who take control of assets, nearby and farflung, because he is the meanest sobby in the valley, as he unleashes fire and destruction on mankind.

He destroys, even as the strong man of the north, the Rosh powermonger, formerly his good pal, sends assets to the Medes. Rumors from the middle east rile him, as he sends forth the powers that had been placed in his command, albeit presumptuously deployed without the authority of US the people, nor Congress, while we the people scroll uselessly, sheep grazing on the green grass of home, two cars in the driveway. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, ICE freezes America while the world weeps. He will impose the assets of his oval pavilion between the nations, placing in jeopardy the Holy Mountain, yet he will come to an end, and no one will help him. Read 'em and weep, all ye Americans who remember what it was like to live in the land of the free and the home of the brave. P.S. And see that you do not hurt the oil and the wine. 6:6 Glass half-Full

Common Sense

In 1776, American patriot Thomas Paine published his history-making pamphlet, Common Sense, advocating independence for the thirteen American colonies from Great Britain. I have noticed that his reasoning, his argument, against King George III, when read in this day and time, provides an historic basis for reasoning and argument against this present 2026 power grab by which donald trump strives to commandeer the distant nation of iran into a position of subservience to his money-grubbing make america go apesh*t hegemony. If Thomas Paine were alive today, to strengthen our nation's resolve toward decency, peace, equality of citizenship for all (even for world citizens), perhaps he would say this, ( and I'm iparaphrasing): In America this president hath little more to do that to make war and to blow up places in middle eastern countries; which in plain terms,is to demolish peace in the middle east. It's a lucrative business indeed for a man to be allowed to wield the entire military industrial strength of our United States, while being exonerated and amped up by the fox who steals the vines and the news stooges who heroitize the tyrant's power- grabs. back to our roots: this sign sighted, while walking past a yard in Massachusetts the cradle of American democracy Even so, we ought not fight ghost riders in Persian skies. We must stand against the oval occupant who jeopardizes world peace by his destructively bellicose power grab. 

Yeah, I say unto thee: Of more worth is any one peacekeeping man who, according to our Savior's directive, "shall inherit the earth" than all the magamaniacs and fat cats who ever came down the elevator, or up the ladder of wealth and privilege that now takes aim, by trump's bellicose demand, at citizens in faraway lands, blowing to smithereens a girl's school and the home rule of Persian law, as if the donald and magamania had rendered us Americans holier that thou. Let us not forget the words of wisdom written by a wise king of Israel (yes, Israel) Solomon, long, long ago: "Pride goeth before a fall." Glass half-Full

Get out Now!

Words found in an old book: "Fallen, fallen is Babylon the great! She has become a dwelling place of demons and a prison of every unclean spirit. . . for all the nationshave drunk of the wine of her immorality, and the kings of the earth have committed acts of immorality with her, and the merchants of the earth have become rich by the wealth of her sensuality." I heard another voice from heaven, saying, "Come out of her, my people, so that you will not participate in her sins and receive of her plagues". Now I don't know, but I been told, that the self-appointed destroyer of the middle east, the grifter who now occupies our oval office, has taken it upon himself to obliterate the ancient land of Persia. . .

 and he's casting international fear and confusion into every nation in every corner of earthly civilization. . . into the entire international infrastructure of diplomacy. . . This is the same person who partnered with jeffrey whatshisname to have young girls presented to men for the sakes of the men satisfying their own sexual desires, (come out of her, my people). . .the same man who deceived the clueless, unthinking religious folk who don't actually read their gospels, who don't actually take seriously the Sermon on the Mount . . . "Blessed are the Peacemakers." The message of Jesus does not say blessed is the warmonger who, having no constitutional legitimacy to command war destruction, takes it upon himself to blow up the Persian gulf and to initiate disastrous retaliation wherein Israel (supposedly the land that was to be protected by trump's bellicose destruction) is now being obliterated by Iranian fire-power.  Now to reiterate the biblical warning about Babylon, as stated above: "Come out of her, my people, so that you will not participate in her sins and plagues." Come out of your maralago madness. Stop following ghislene maxwell's enabler who now casts confusion and destruction from Washington to Tel Aviv to Tehran to the straits of Hormuz and beyond. Glass half-Full

Ecclesia

We notice that the sun also rises and the sun sets. The rivers flow into the sea, yet the sea is not full. To the place where the rivers flow; there they flow again. That which has been is that which will be done. So there is nothing new under the sun. To know what wisdom is; that it the question, and what the hell is foolishness? Wisdom seems to bring grief, and the more you know, the more troublesome things get.As for laughter, it's crazy, and as for pleasure, what does it accomplish? I mean. . . this life is just a drag sometimes. I'm up at night, fretting about whatever.When the Byrds were getting higher and higher out in L.A. (you know where that's at, if you catch my drift) they somehow took hold of the ancient book and tuned it into a song: a time to be born and a time to dd die. . . a time to love and a time to hate. . . a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time for war and a time for peace. All along the watchtower of this life we notice: everything God does will remain. There is nothing we can do to really add to it or take away from it (although we sure can make a mess of it). But I have noticed that in this life. . . two are better than one; they have more return for their labor and efforts. "A poor yet wise young person is better than an old and foolishpresident who no longer knows how to receive instruction.I have come to the conclusion that, in this life, it is better not to make promises than to make make promises and not keep them. Dreams are nice, and talk is okay, but a lot of it is just sound and fury signifying nothing. Rather than being a dreamer. . . a better strategy is is just to make yourself familiar with the ways of God; understand what the Crator requires of us, and get in line with that righteous path that is set before us. Money doesn't really satisfy, and having a lot of stuff is, really when you get right down to it, pretty useless. This too is vanity. A worker's sleep is refreshing, and he sleeps well, but the rich person often hastrouble sleeping because of his worldy worries. I mean, when you get right down to the real nitty gritty, we - each one of us - comes into this world naked, having nothing. So go figure. Really though, when you get right down to the real nitty gritty. . . In this life, eat, drink, enjoy life, learn to do work that satisfies your needs and your soul. If you can accept this arrangement, and make the best of it, you will have received satisfaction; thus you will not be stuck in frustration like mick was when he was wailing about can't get no satisfaction. If you are respected by others, be thankful. A wise person can find value in even troublesome developments, while foolish people are just partying or loafing or streaming or lollygaging around and not really contributing anything to anybody else.  Even so. . . the rebuke of a wise person is, in the long run, better for you and me than lollygagging with foolish people. You who are rich, don't bribe people. Just don't do it. fuhgedabowdit! It corruptive, makes the world a worser place. The best way to live is to be patient and kind. Another thing: it's really kind of lame to be saying that the good ole days were better than our present times. Better to just make the best of whatever we've got here and now. Do the best you can; that's about all you can really do. Then move on to the next thing. Don't be excessively righteous. Being goody-two-shoes is annoying. Reality check: there's no man or woman on this earth who does what is right all the time. Nobody's perfect. Get used to it. Enjoy this life with your wife, or husband, as the case may be. This companionship and faithfulness is your true reward. Whatever your hand, or mind, finds to do. . . do it with all you got, to the best of your ability. For the race is not really to swift; nor is the battle to the strong. . . for time and chance overtake them all. 

911The words of any wise person are better than the blathering of fools. Last but not least: Each one of us will end up going to our eternal home.

Remember our Creator before the silver cord is broken and the golden bowl is crushed. Your dust will return to the earth as it was, and your Spirit will return to God who made it. Make the best of whatever you got.  Just sayin</i>'. Glass half-Full