Moses Medgar Martin Mountaintop

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

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

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

On the night before his death, he spoke: "Well, I don't know what will happen now, we've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life; longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will.And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over, and I've seen the Promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land. And so I'm happytonight; I'm not worried about anything; I'm not fearing any mine. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord." Hear about it here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3hQNMr0A48&list=RDK3hQNMr0A48&start_radio=1

King of Soul

Can you see?

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

Glass half-Full

Human Folly

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

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

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

I am, I think

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

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

Mississippi 1950's, where I was living

(excerpt from chapter 4 of

King of Soul)

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

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

Blue Ridge Mountain Home

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

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

Greenland Fare Well

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

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

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

Paris 1937

We have here an excerpt from my historical novel, Smoke, an excerpt from chapter 15. The year is 1937. Philip, a young American, is talking to Lili, who has just e fled Nazi Germany. They are standing on a Bridge that overlooks the Seine River and an international exposition. “Paris is closer than you think, to Berlin.” said Lili. Philip considered this. Then he pointed 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 Adolph 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 akes people so such thing? 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,” said Philip. https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B002YNZQ5U?ccs_id=8bd6c7a9-3c3d-4e80-a530-5cbae2add5ca

First They Came

First they came for Congress, as insurrectionists' cast their spell. They attacked our Capitol guards as they raised unholy hell.

January 6 2021 at our US CapitolBut then trump let those rebels off the hook, so he could occupy our Oval , by hook or by crook. Now in the land of the free and the home of the brave Washington and Jefferson are turning over in their graves. Then they came for the immigrants, as if for them we have no room. Now's the time to call Emma Lazarus' out of her harbor'd tomb

Now innocents are beaten in an ICEy Minneapolis fray Magamaniacs just wanna Made America Go Away. If America's the land of the free and the home of the brave Will we just stand by and watch these ICE guys misbehave?

Jesus said: "I was a stranger and you took me in." So let us follow Jesus and just let these poor folk in. What beating you've done to the least of these  you've done it unto to Him. Glass half-full

Flying Fickle Finger of f****up Fate

Flying Fickle Finger of Fate F***up You never know what human beings are going to do. We are quite prone, when reacting to trouble, to do things that turn bad to worse, and when performed collectively on a continental scale, human folly can lead to serious, widespread human f***up. Consider, for instance, what rich and powerful people did to toss an entire continent into war; back in 1914. One smart-alek kid: 

 with a gun in his hand assassinated the heir to the Austrian throne. The kid's name was gavrilo princep. That gives you a clue: he might have been acting, without even knowing it, on behalf of the person who is referred to in the Bible as the "prince of the power of the air." In gavrilo's case he aimed a lethal weapon at a very important person, the heir to the Austrian throne, Franz Ferdinand. 

After that murderous act, all hell broke loose. Germany declared war on France. Germany invaded Belgium. Britain declared war on Germany. Austria declared war on Belgium. Russia declared war on Turkey. France and Britain declared war on Turkey. Russians invaded Germany. When the Germans sank the Lusitania in 1915, our United States got dragged into it. The whole damned war got amped up for four years, and didn't stop until Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany decided, in spite of their great Prussian passion for war, to throw in the armistice towel, November 1914. So that was war, with four years of blood and destruction, all for naught. the Kaiser who thought he could outshoot all the other Euros finally saw the writing on the wall, and gave up, once and for all, the ghost of German/prussian superiority. And after November 1014, the ghost stayed in his grave until a little corporal with a weird moustache came along and cranked up the whole damn kraut wermacht again , only to shoot himself in a Berlin bunker when our Allied soldiers knocked the nazis back down into their holes. The clusterf**** of world wars one and two ought to be seen as a warning signal of just how deep is the depravity and destruction that human warfare can descend into.  In an age of nukes, Vlad the Mad and trump the vlad-fan ought to remind themselves of the destructability of those terrible atomic bombs that our Enola Gay dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki to put an end to war in 1945.  About nine years ago, we visited the Schonnbrun palace, home of the Hapsburgs, whose legacy had begun and ended world war one.

Emperor Carl's domain, where he signed off. . .While there, we were shown to the room where the last Hapsburg emperor, Carl, had signed off on trying to drag the world into ancient, obsolete kingdoms and empires. This is the room where it happened: the end of world war one, and, we hope, the end of rich monarchs and moguls destroying the peace of mankind.  Smoke

Fire and Water

About five years ago, I was strolling along, with my son, on a beach near St. Andrews, Scotland. 

We had been on that sea strand for a little while when Micah stopped, fixed his gaze in the forward direction, and asked me, "Don't you recognize it?" In the distance ahead. . . I beheld the town of St. Andrews. It seemed to be up on a bluff. I was puzzled. I had never been to this place before today. What was I supposed to recognize here? "Chariots of Fire, the movie" he said. . . this was the beach where British Olympic runners, Eric Liddell and Harold Abrahams, were training for the 1924 Olympics. 

Recently recalling this experience, I was wondering about the chariots. I remember there was a biblical reference, so I did a little digging in my Bible and found this passage, from the second book of Kings: "As they were going along and talking, behold, there appeared a chariot of fire and horses of fire which separated Elijah from Elisha, and Elijah went up by a whirlwind to heaven." As biblical history continued to roll through the ages, The Lord sent Elijah back to this world, a second time, to fulfill an important prophetic role. His return is previewed in the prophecy of Malachi, last words of the Old testament: "Behold, I am going to send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and terrible day of the Lord. He will restore the hearts of the fathers to their children and the hearts of the children to their fathers". . . The Lord God, Creator of the universe, is sovereign. He doesn't do things because they are right. It's the other way around. They are "right" because He does them. But in some ways, it's a matter of timing, and symbols. In the case of Elijah's apparent reincarnation as John the Baptist, the Lord shifted the prophet's symbolic element from fire to water. . . which is to say, from fiery judgement to water baptism. This represents the shift from Old Testament Law to New Testament Grace. When Harold and Eric were running on that St. Andrews beach in 1924, ocean water was in the background. But in the foreground of their hearts and minds, they were fired up to represent Britain in the Paris Olympics in 1924. As it all turned out, they were victors. They were fired up enough to perform as gold medalists. Representing Great Britain with skill, endurance and speed, they rode their Chariot of Fire to victory, so to speak. In so doing they were inspired by the prophetic vision of William Blake, who, in 1804, linked Britain's aspiration to become, as it were, a new Jerusalem, "in England's green and pleasant land." I was privileged, in 2021, to be guided by my son, to that St. Andrews beach strand where Harold and Eric had run, 102 years ago. It was a providential moment. Now, at age 74, I am beginning to anticipate that chariot that will, at the Lord's appropriate time, transport me to the Lord's eternal shore, where I will discover what the apostle John witnessed when he arrived there. 

Songs of Rowland

Train Times Train

"People get ready. There's a train a-comin' . . . picking up passengers, coast to coast. You don't need no ticket; you just get on board." The train was bound for glory. Meanwhile, back at the Minnesota branch, and at the Cafe Wha and whatnot. . .Bro' Bob was ridin' on a slow train, 'round the bend. His tracks would, by 'n by, connect to the glory train. All along his watchtower, he kept hearing Mavis' voice, a still, small voice, from time to time, every now and then. . . coming 'round the bend . . .now this bend, now that bend. 

She was a Covenant woman, well-versed in the New Covenant; she was here; she was there; she was everywhere, all around the USA, like some kind of precious angel, she'd just be there, out of the blue, under the sun, just to speak into his life, speaking words of wisdom, revealing, bit by bit, the eternal truth to Bro' Bob. Then one day, Bob hopped on the glory train. He decided to pick up his cross and bear it. 

King of Soul

The Emperor has no Compassion

In a recent press conference, saith trump, re Maduro: "He gets up there and tries to imitate my dance a little bit. I'm also meeting with the oil companies. Let's go. You know what that's about, lots of oil to drill". . . "I'm the only one who took a cognitive test. . ."

"So you're all brilliant people; you're in this business longer than me; that makes me smarter than you. Look where I am. right? But l wish you could explain to me what's going on with the mind of the public". . . "I'm the only president that took cognitives. Every president should be forced to take cognitive exams. . . like we had the worst press, did the worst job; we had to run against these people. I won't say cancel the election because then the fake news say he wants the election cancelled. He's a dictator; they always call me a dictator. Nobody's worse than Obama." Re: Immigrants: "Where do they find these people? These people are a mess. I know it's not nice to say that. They are the worst looking people I've ever seen; they have hats that are all frayed. They're all paid; they don't even know what they're talking about." On the other hand, we Americans have a long history of immigrants. . .

As for me, this writer, and my house. . . no matter what a blithering president says or does to drain the compassion and the decency out of Americans, We the People, endowed by our Creator with life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. . . we ought to hold high the torch of liberty that welcomed our forefathers to this continent in ages past. We gotta see the  Glass half-Full

Old Folks Talk

Come all ye fair and tender old folks; take warning how you spend your time. Life is like the leaves in springtime. First life appears; then later it's gone. Oh but, "is there balm in Gilead?" you may ask; What's on the other side of this river of life? Quoth the raven, "nevermore" and furthermore, wise guy, what makes you so special, that you think you're exempt from this fate. . . this. . .cycle of life and death, and this ancient question. . . like, what's on the other side? Well here's the deal. Nobody knows; nobody knows, for sure, how the story ends, y'all. But we do know what the ole book says: "four score and ten" that's about it, and then that's all you need to know. "Oh yeah?" said the ole fellow. "Well I'm going for eighty or ninety" . . . as a newspaper blew through the grass and landed on his old brown shoe. "Good luck with that," came the repost. "It's not about luck, y'all; it's about faith. You gotta believe what Jesus said. He went through the whole damned thing and then lived to tell about it." "You believe that?" "Like I said, you gotta believe it, You gotta have faith." "Ah, whatever; that's an old wives's tale." "You can say whatever you want; that doesn't change anything. Jesus said be ready; for you know not the hour in which I come for you. Believe in His power; that's about all you have to do." "Whateva. Good luck with that." "It's not about luck, bro; it's about faith. Just believe that Jesus survived death itself, and that he has granted that power to you." When the smoky uncertainty of this life wafts up into thin air, what choice do you have? 

The holidays are over. You still got the rest of your life to deal with. I'm serious, y'all, just believe in His power over death; that's the deal; its as simple as that. And for safety's sake, you better not be naughty; but be nice. Smoke

Railroad Song Still on Tracks.

Gordon sang the story back in the day. . . "So they looked to the future, and what did they see? They saw an iron road running from the sea to the sea." His anthem filled in the gaps of railroad travel, Canadian style, but the story was the same on the southern side of that continental network. American restlessness sparked a 19th-century impulse to "go west, young man." Yankee ingenuity and gilded wealth launched American wanderlust onto a westbound track. Vanderbilt, Rockefeller and all their hired help laid down the tracks from Boston to Baltimore, Schenectady, Chicago, New Orleans, San Francisco and the the gold in them-there California streams. The US Army Corps of Engineering working out the mechanics and logistics along the way, onward, westward to Promontory Point, Utah, where the golden spike was driven into history and the gilded age glided into antiquity. A network of classic American folklore, story and song laid the groundwork for a treasure trove of railroad literature and song, from Mark Twain to Woody Guthrie, Casey Jones . . . Bill Anderson wrote the classic railroad ballad that sparked my generation's wanderlust: "500 miles". My memory hangs on Peter, Paul and Mary. But there were so many recordings of that song. . .Chet Atkins, Glen Campbell, Kingston Trio, probably 500 or more. Somewhere back in the tracks, Woody Guthrie had hopped on the line; his son Arlo made Steve Goodman's song, "Ridin' on the City of New Orleans" a classic. Dylan hammered his railed legacy into the eternal realm with his Slow Train Coming album, connecting the earthly track to the eternal, the divine track that lead to a heavenly destination that had been established 2000 years ago by Jesus, long before any man even thought about a railroad or an American legacy.

Back there in the caboose of technology, history and music, an  underground railroad rides again, and can be heard blowing smoke, song and trumpet into the eternal realm. King of Soul