Ironic: Unity requires Separation

This is the great irony of our present pandemic situation: Unity of purpose compels us to stay apart.
How you appreciate that unity of mission is probably related to your social identity.
The old argument about progressive vs. conservative congeals now around our present controversy over individual movement vs. lockdown.

What this writer has noticed is:
Progressive citizens seem to be enthralled by the newfound collective purpose of defeating Covid.
Conservatives generally want to do whatever is necessary, but they emphasize individual responsibility, preferring  to minimize official restrictions on public behavior. 
In public space, we find that collective obedience gets confronted with rugged individualism.
The respective advocates of each strategy ought to honor each other’s choice as compliantly as possible. Be a team player!

In the months ahead, we shall see how this all plays out.
The speed of Covid-spread seems to be directly proportional to these two factors:
~ Density of people
~ Travel 
 The disease spreads rapidly in large cities where millions of people are perpetually coming and going somewhere.
The disease spreads farther afield whenever any infected person travels from one place  to any other place.
Urban populations should be required, appropriately, to minimize their movements as mandated by official restrictions.



In small town and rural populations, responsible citizens should make themselves informed of guidelines issued by local officials.
As for those citizens who who have reason to travel between areas of high and low population density—your safest--and more responsible behavior-- would require you to retain the standards of whichever travel destination has the more restrictive standards.

In other buzz:
Progressives say Trump’s antics are evidence of creeping Authoritarianism.
Conservatives say lockdowns and social distancing are creeping Socialism.
This Moderate recommends, regarding whomever you may encounter:
Be respectful.
Act responsibly.
Keep your distance.
Protect children.
Love your husband.
Love your wife.
Call your mother.
+ a Word of advice for all you unattached citizens:  this is probably a good time to cease random hook-ups.

Glass half-Full

Prine's Paradise Demise

My old friend Terry, fellow baby boomer, called me the other day; he had a few things on his mind concerning the state of the world and so forth.
One very recent development that my friend was wondering about was the death of singer/songwriter John Prine. Terry was not so much surprised or alarmed at the death of the low-profile, though legendary, songwriter, because death happens to each one of us eventually anyway.

What perplexed my old singing buddy was how the obituary had captured the attention of the mainstream media.
“Mainstream media”. . . I hesitate to use that term, because, in our lifetime, the popular understanding of that term has changed.
When we growing up in the 1950’s-60’s etc. . .the mainstream media was thought to be, generally, the big three TV networks—CBS, NBC, ABC, along with the big heavyweights in print, the Times, the Post, the Journal etcetera etcetera.
As our lifetime got played out, the internet eventually eclipsed those old-school news sources. Replacing the former “mainstream media”, along came the heavyhitters that we all know today: Google, Facebook, etc etc, accompanied by a select few quasi-traditional TV networks—CNN, MSNBC, Fox, and of course the big kid on the blog for wonky elites, progressives and Democrats—NPR.

So last week, suddenly John Prine tributes were all over NPR et al with wide-eared wonder at the obscure songwriter’s profundity and prolific legacy, even though ole John had never hit the big time.
The biggies pretty much ignored the singer while he was alive; but when he died, several of them were, for a few days, all about John Prine this and John Prine that.
My friend Terry was perplexed why there would be so much media stir about Prine when they had previously not paid much attention to him. In other words, what’s the big deal about John Prine dieing?
I was wondering the same. Over the last few days, I have pondered what could be the explanation for this development, and I have figured it out.

My theory is this:
John Prine was prophetic. His song, Paradise, represents a profound foretelling of an isolated event that became—because of Prine’s song—a symbol of our present worldwide irresponsible destruction of the natural world.
To employ an academic description: the industrial destruction of one specific site—Paradise, Kentucky— is a microcosm; it  represents on a small scale what later happened (and had been already happening) in a worldwide plundering of natural resources at the terrible expense of our naturally beautiful planet.
What intensified the significance of the Muhlenberg County destruction was this fact: “Mr. Peabody’s coal train (that) hauled it away” was rapaciously extracting vast shovel-fulls of COAL, which has become the #1 villain on the Unwanted List of climate change alarmists.



Last week, in the wake of John Prine’s demise, many progressive commentators in the NPR et al vein of mainstream media suddenly realized—because of their youthful listening to Prine—the prophetic significance of this one song. So they began to talk it up.
As far as the song goes . . . it is a historic, lamenting composition. . . in my opinion one of the great songs of the American folk legacy.

You are invited to listen to my rendering of the tune:
     http://www.micahrowland.com/carey/PrineParadise.mp3

King of Soul 

I'm Convinced

There’s a lot be said, and much to be written, about how we got here, where we are headed, what we will endure, what we will enjoy, and why it all happens.

Of all the sages and great men and great women throughout the ages, I do  not know of one whose claim to truth—whose claim to know what he is talking about, and what our purpose is here— I do not know of one whose accomplishment can be more convincing than the prophet  who rose from the dead. There is not one man nor woman whose wisdom or feats can match  this one miraculous labor of love:
Being tortured to death, rising from death back into life, and then living to tell about it.
There is no treatise on truth, no explanation of existence nor spoken lecture on the meaning (or absence thereof) of life. There is no heroic feat, no dramatic rescue, no profound work of art—that can match or exceed personal victory over death itself.
So I’m going with the one who survived death: Jesus.

I’m not the only one. Take a look at history and you will see how many men, women and children have, over two thousand years, cast their lot in his direction.
Believe it, or not.

If you can’t agree with me now, just recall this testimony when you are, let’s say, one hour or one minute from your death. At that moment, consider carefully whether you will truly want to  reject the rescuing hand that is extended to you just after crossing . . .
Better yet: believe me now, that. . . that hand is gesturing for you now, because the gift of eternal life through faith is even more precious--and more lovingly beneficial to others-- when it comes into full use during this present life of trouble, trial, and triumph.



King of Soul

zombie time

About 2700 years ago, some obscure blogger posted this, although my translation is a little bit off:



He was despised and forsaken, a man of sorrows, living with the worst of all human feelings--he was, like, the guy you look away from while passing in the street.
We didn’t like him.
But somehow he carried the terrible weight of our pathetic existence; this God-forsaken wanderer was afflicted with the worst fate that any humans have ever inflicted on their-fellow-man.
As it turned out, we discriminated against him, pushed him down as if he were the lowest of the low. Even so, he didn’t raise a big stink about the maltreatment that was inflicted on him. He didn’t whine about the injustice that he ended up getting.
He got screwed-over like the worst of the worst, even though he had done nothing to deserve such a judgement.

I mean, he never hurt anybody, never raised his hand against any person; he was no bully. In fact, he told the truth about everything everywhere he went. He was known for it. In fact, that’s what got him into such deep shit. He was a truth-teller . . . didn’t sugarcoat anything.
He was, like, a good guy. Looking back on the whole damn torrent of events, it doesn’t make any sense. The events of that terrible time just escalated far beyond any reasonable justification for what they did to him.
I mean, if there’s a God in this universe, he just, like, didn’t care at all about the devolution of events that, like, seemed to conspired against this man.
His fate was cast with the common criminals, but some rich guy showed up to deal with the corpse.



Go figure. I mean, it doesn’t make any sense to me. Sometime I wonder if anybody in this life ever gets what they deserve. The one-percenters get to set themselves up all high and mighty, while homeless folk just get shoved into the dead-end corners underneath freeways, and dumpster-diving and hitting people up for handouts on the street.
But this guy didn’t do any of that. I don’t think he even had a place to crash at night, although he was one of the smartest people I ever heard railing on the street about this God-forsaken planet that we’re trashing worser and worser every day that goes by.
Now that they’ve disposed of him, no tellin’ what’s gonna happen next.



 I mean, it’s like zombie time, but we can’t even go see a dam movie any more. No more Saturday night at the movies for us. Who’d’ve thought you couldn’t even catch a flick on a Saturday night? What the hell is the world coming to? All the worst stuff is going viral, while the best are clueless. Who knew?

King of Soul

Get Satisfaction

In 1964, I turned 13 years old.

Like most kids in those days, I was listening to a lot of popular music on a transistor radio.
My first hearing of the Beatles happened  one night while laying sleepily in the dark, in bed.
I’ll never forget that moment. Perhaps you have had one like it.
Their sound was absolutely unique, new, and fresh. Paul and John’s two-voiced harmony rang so clearly through my juvenile brain:

Well, 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. . .
My heart went boom
when I crossed that room 
and held her hand in mine!

Along about that time, there were some other groups knocking out their raucous vibes over the airwaves. I remember one joker came along ranting:

I can’t get no I can’t get no I can’t get no satisfaction!
When I’m traveling ‘round the world
and I’’m trying to make some girl . . .
who tells me baby you better come back next week
cuz cant you see I’m on a losing streak.
I can’t get no I can’t get no I can’t no satisfaction!

Yeah, yeah, whatever, man.
Not my cup of tea.

Years later, I began wondering just what kind of trip the music industry was trying to put on me and my g-g-generation. Well, that’s a profound question, and it goes much deeper than just “the music industry.”
As years passed by, I had a lot of great experiences, and  of course a few bad ones.
Now it’s 2020 and I’m sitting around the house wondering where the Covid is going to take us before it plays out its invisible death scenario among us. And I have some time to reflect on the meaning of life and all that . . .

Today, while strolling in the sunshine on a park trail, social distancing,  I realized that—looking back on it all— I have discovered, thank God, what satisfaction truly is. I'm not kidding.
Forty years ago, I met the love of my life, married her; she gave birth to our three children who are now grown and living productive, happy lives.

And we have managed to get through that very long “gotta make a living” phase of life—forty years of it. Well, she’s still working . . . ICU Nurse in this time of Covid, while I have made it to that classic, gold-tinted “retirement” state of mythical bliss.
And it will not be so very long before I pass on . . . into that eternal life with the Lord who created us and guided us through these paths of fulfillment.
So I’m approaching that great, big open door that will be like nothing else this life has shown me so far.
They say . . . as one approaches that final  stage, one may become feeble, losing a few neurons along the way and finding some of those ole dependable body parts unable to do what they used to do.
And . . . and yet . . .

this person who is beside me as we approach this unfamiliar juncture . . . this person who has been with me since . . . forty years . . . this woman who has made my house a home, guided my children through better paths than I could have done alone . . . this woman who is still with me as we draw near to that last sunset, whenever it comes . . .



I have found it! The Satisfaction! . . . the meaning of life:
To have one person who does this long journey with you all the way through, and is there—so familiar and comfortable and caring— all the way to the end, when the sparks start to fall short.
That's what it's all about! Whoever thought up this plan—my hat’s off to Him!

Now I realize this personal revelation that I have described may not be your cup of tea. I get that. It takes all kinds to make a world. But I do want to leave you with this little piece of advice.
If you have one person to love—and who loves you—stay with that person. The sacrifice of loving one mate all the way through the journey is definitely worth all the .  . . whatever it takes.

Chances are,  you don’t fully appreciate the full significance of faithful love until you approach the final stages. That's when the deepest reward is realized. Today is the day I have understood this most clearly.

Glass half-Full

I hear America flinging

I hear America flinging
challenges of COVID dare;



I see America stringing up a net of Covid care.
I feel America wailing, with going-viral fear:
Pleas from nurses, sending out the call for protective gear,
Journalists following every viral report they hear
Doctors attacking the dreaded virus’ lethal spread
Families mourning for—and remembering— their dead
Health Officials call forth our care-giver legions
Media transmit the message to far/near regions
Friends fling phoning nets of loving, living care
Brave RNs march into the battle as they dare
Administrators send out urgent staffing calls
  flinging open clinic doors in crowded hospital halls
Governors rush out urgent calls for public health protection
Reporters fuel the urgency of that damned fast-spread infection
Every citizen who inhabits regions far and near
   gets affected with this dreadful viral fear.
As pleadings sound forth to maintain some social distance,
you could save a life—maybe your own!—in every social instance.
Hey you! Ask not what the world can do for you, in this anti-covid call;
Ask what, together, we can do for protection of us all.

(with appreciation for inspiration from Walt Whitman and John Fitzgerald Kennedy)
Glass half-Full

Queen Corona

Hey! Who knew?
Somebody somewhere
must have been dreaming
this one up
for next blockbuster
disaster flick
while we were looking the other way
searching for needle in a haystack
next thing you know
we’re  caught in the middle
of hundred year flood
so to speak
though it started as a trickle,
but suddenly swirling whirling
wuhan never saw it hurling
its way through hubei
exotic epidemic
starting, like, quite anemic
but before you know it
mutating to pandemic
mutilating expectations
it was one in a million
i’m tellin’ ya!
straw that broke camel’s back
the damn thing—
a wild card
that brought down our worldwide
house of cards
flinging shards of dollar hordes—
so steadily deadly
everywhere it went
strickening  our system’s
wheelin’ dealin’
achilles heel
nobody saw it coming


black swan swimming
in the dead of night
just aint right
left without a clue
who knew?
the next big thing
going viral
would be some very vague
plague
nobody ever heard of
who’d’ve thought it
the queen of quite a
lot of unlikely
events
crown it queen
of destruction:
coronavirus.
Even with 2020 vision we never saw it coming.
Blindsided we were.
Actually,
I noticed one person did
see it coming: Chris Martenson.
But don’t blame the messenger.
Don’t blame anybody. Just
Do unto others
as you would have them
do unto you.
Selah.

Glass half-Full