The Plea of an Unrighteous Man

There has been a topic that has presented itself in my life numerous times as of late, almost on a daily basis. It is the controversial topic of marriage, courtship, girls and love.   It seems the society in which I live has an obsession with marriage and courtship. In fact, if you are not currently seeking a spouse with all diligence you are doing something wrong because that is the single most important attribute of your current life. I feel there are erroneous beliefs being perpetuated from that statement.  True happiness comes only through marriage and singleness is a disease that needs healing being among the erroneous beliefs.  True happiness comes from within oneself, not from a spouse.  If we hearken back to our days of Elementary Algebra and remember  basic equations like:
                                                         x + 2 = 3       or       y + 5 = 15
 from these equations we learn a great truth. Equations are easier to solve when there is only one variable. Now if we move on to Intermediate Algebra we solve equations like this:
                                             6x + y = 24               or              3x + 2y = 30
                                              x + 2y = 18                                 x + 5y = 20
Equations with more than one unknown are more difficult to solve. When is it ever a good idea to add in another variable to one's life when you are having trouble solving your own equation with one variable?
Jesus, who is my example in all things, was single for at least the first thirty years of his life, and then it is still under debate if he ever was married. I am confident He lived a happy and fulfilled life despite his questionable marital status.  Marriage should not be the indicator of living a happy, fulfilled and successful life. If that were true then Susan B. Anthony, Mother Teresa, Henry David Thoreau and Joan of Arc would have lived unhappy, unfulfilled and unsuccessful lives.  Circumstances should not indicate happiness.

It may appear that I have a personal vendetta against marriage, courtship, girls and love.  I do not. I have experienced the sweet fruits of all but one of those on more than one occasion. It was wonderful. I loved knowing that there was one person that you could always run to when life was scary, one person whom you rushed home to share your happy news with, one person that filled you with so much love it made the angels jealous, one person who inspired you to be more than you realized you could be, one person whom you trusted absolutely or one person who knew exactly what to do to calm and comfort you even when you didn't want to be.  This is love. Love is of God. The Bible teaches, "God is Love." (1 John 4:8).  Let's go back to math class one more time. Remember the day when your teacher told you this equation:

 A = B = C   so   A = C

If you were like me you had no idea this could be used outside of the world of numbers, but it certainly can. For example, if we were to take God and make him 'A', then take one if His attributes and label it 'B' it would have to equal 'C' or love. God = Perfection = Love, God = Truth = Love, God = Justice = Love, God = Mercy = Love, God = Glory = Love, etc.  This love cannot be rushed, it cannot be forced, it cannot be contrived. It is organic. Trying to force love to grow is like trying to make a bean sprout before its appointed time. It will blossom when it is ready and it will be beautiful. It might be awhile, but it will happen when it is supposed to.

Consider this the plea of an unrighteous man who knows that one day he will find love in its purest and most beautiful form, but until that day please don't try and convince me that I am a lesser person because I am not actively seeking marriage. 

Roses Can Bloom Amidst Thorns, But Not In Darkness

Two things that everyone must know about me. First, I hate the cold. Second, I have a semi-chronic condition of being cold all the time.  I feel my situation is a cruelty handed to me by none other than the Fates. Now with most of life's cruelties we have two options. First, we can complain about our situation and hope that one day the Fates' hearts will soften from their stony enclave hidden inside their chest thereby removing this cruelty from our lives...Or, the second option is that we can work in spite of our cruelty, our thorn in the flesh, and bloom as a rose would, amidst the thorns.

I have recently learned a profound lesson from my seemingly small cruelty of being cold. It happened on a beautiful Saturday. I had gotten up and finished all of my schoolwork by mid-morning and was looking forward to spending the rest of the day doing my heart's desire. Unfortunately, my thorn was going to stand in the way of that. You see the temperature in my apartment was around 53 degrees...much to cold for a house plant like myself. My nose had started to form icicles on its end and my fingers and toes looked as if I had a family of Smurfs living on them. I sat complaining about the temperature while huddled under my blanket knowing that eventually I would be accused of smoking due to my frozen exhalations.  

All of a sudden an idea, no, an inspiration came to me that enabled me to pluck the thorn from my flesh for a time. I threw off my blanket, took off my shoes and socks, picked my blanket back up and marched out my front door to greet the 75 degree sunshine. I laid my blanket on the lawn plopped right on top of said blanket and started to bask in the light and warmth provided by the sun. It didn't take long for me to thaw and then fall into a blissful nap. I awoke to the sounds of birds singing merrily and cars passing me.  As I lay on my blanket I realized that for the first time in since I had moved back I was actually warm, even borderline hot. It felt so comforting to simply lay in the sunshine and be warm.

I looked back at my house and saw a lonely cold shell of brick and it seemed to me a shroud against light and warmth. How could I stay in a place like that, I thought to myself. A place so devoid of color, light, or warmth. More importantly, how had I not noticed it before? Had I been wrapped in its darkness so completely that I thought it was light? How could that happen (and I don't mean to sound pompous, but I probably do) especially to me? I have a very healthy opinion of myself and love to think that I rival Mary Poppins at being practically perfect in every way (I am completely joking, I know Mary Poppins is way out of my league). Anyway, this course of thought lead me to a much deeper concept.

How many of us are in the cold darkness of ignorance freezing and cursing, pleading for someone to pull us into the light and warmth of truth?

To quote the finale of a famous musical that is based on Victor Hugo's novel of unparalleled beauty, Les Mierables:

Do you hear the people sing,
Lost in the valley of the night?
It is the music of a people
Who are climbing toward the light 

For the wretched of the earth
There is a flame that never dies
Even the darkest night will end
And the sun will rise.

These lines evoke an image in my mind's eye of people dressed only in rags that are tattered and torn, their hair is matted against their head from their perspiration, they are on the ground clawing their way forward to the light, giving everything they have to this supreme effort to cast off the darkness. I look into their eyes, the windows of their soul, and see a resolution that is unbreakable; they seem to know that if they stay in the darkness any longer they will shrivel and die. We can see in nature this same determination, plants will grow in whatever way possible to get light. If they need to grow horizontally for a while they will. If they need to grow upside down to find light they will. Why? Because without light they will die. We are no different.

We can bloom in spite of our thorns. We can even bloom so well that our thorns become accents of beauty and character. The road of blooming is perhaps long with precipices that need crossing and mountains that need scaling, rivers that need fording and oceans that need sailing. Despite all of fates' thorns we can bloom beautifully. Thorns never were the obstacle. The obstacle lies in casting out darkness and moving toward light.

Our thorns have been given to us by fate; we cannot change them. Our only choice is to live in the light of truth or die in the darkness of ignorance. When will we desire light with the same ferocity as, "the wretched of the earth"? When will we crawl in rags as starving destitutes toward the light? When will we throw off our blanket and leave the shroud of darkness behind us and embrace the world of light and truth and warmth? I hope it is a question of "when" and not "if" and I hope the answer the answer is now.

Roses can bloom amidst thorns, but not in darkness.

 

The thorn photo is compliments of Erik Noeske.

Serendipity: Remember this day...

I was given a fortune from a fortune cookie three months ago this very day that said, "Remember this day three months from now. Good things are in store." Well that was 13 June, 2011 and now three months exactly have passed. I am not normally one to believe in fortune cookies, but this one has already proven itself, for it was given to me by someone very dear to me; I believe that Anne of Green Gables fame would say, "A bosom friend--an intimate friend, you know a kindred spirit to whom [one] can confide [their] inmost soul." She got the fortune cookie three months exactly before I returned home from Atlanta, Georgia after serving a two-year LDS mission. She gave it to me exactly nine months and four days after she received it initially, which makes it one year and four days since she received it...if my calculations are correct.

Perhaps on this thirteenth day of September I will meet another kindred spirit. Or perhaps the fortune cookie knew that today I have a math test that I definitely could use some extra luck. Or perhaps the fortune will lend me some needed leniency on a research paper I submitted less than an hour before the midnight deadline tonight...procrastination is bad. I don't want to get my hopes up only to have them crushed by the reality of normal day-to-day living, and I don't want to interrupt the serendipity of the cosmological events set to transpire this day. But, if it isn't too much to ask, I would love to have an outpouring of serendipitous circumstances today. Not for me, of course, but for the sake of the integrity of this solitary fortune cookie; who has no voice to speak for himself. Pretty, pretty, please with a cherry on top let it happen for me...I mean the fortune cookie.

Death: The Journey of a Lifetime

After much thought and deliberation. I have decided that I would post something related to that infamous day ten years ago; September 11, 2001. I hesitated because I knew that countless ceremonies were happening and I am sure there will be plenty of news sources to read or memorials to attend. There has been a music written by John Adams, "On the Transmigration of Souls" that expresses beautifully the feelings of that day. What could I add? I decided that instead of looking to the past to remember those who lost their lives I would try to portray the present and where they are now.

Emily Dickinson wrote a poem that discussed the topic of death. How she felt about it and the journey after it.

Because I could not stop for Death,

He kindly stopped for me;

The carriage held but just ourselves

And Immortality

We slowly drove he knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove

At recess; in the ring;

We passed the fields of grazing grain,

We passed the setting sun.

Or rather he passed us;

The dews grew quivering and chill,

For only gossamer my gown,

My tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed

A swelling of the ground,

The roof was barely visible,

The cornice only a mound.

Since then tis' centuries, and yet each

Feels shorter than the day

I first surmised the horses' heads

Were toward eternity.

-Emily Dickinson

Ms. Dickinson describes Death as one who, "knew no haste", as civil, and kind. You could call Death a gentleman by this description. One who comes when he is necessary and opens the door of the carriage to his passengers. He is the transport between mortality and eternity. Some will pass away at an old age, others will be taken in infancy; some will lose their lives fighting in war and others as an innocent casualty of war. Death passes upon us all. It is as natural as birth. It is not something to be feared. J.R.R. Tolkien describes it as a journey on a ship when, "...the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he [Frodo] beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise." Death is not the end. Death is the beginning of something more grand than we presently can imagine.

It has been a decade since that fateful day that claimed hundreds of lives. Thousands of lives have been claimed in its aftermath. I am not suggesting that we forget them, for they have not forgotten us. I am only suggesting that we view them in their present state; a state of tranquility, of hope, and perhaps some contentment.

I Must Confess

I don't normally do this, but I confess that I had a love affair tonight.

Time slowed as I saw her. My eyes were fixed, drinking her in as if she were the sweetest wine. I saw before me Aphrodite; she was coming toward me. I knew that this was going to be a night not soon forgotten. She was saucy and fresh, but not to a fault. Her subtleties and complexity kept me wishing that this night would never end. It was as if I had fallen in love with a beautiful sonata.
We both understood that it was only for tonight. There were no obligations for the future. We didn't let that keep us from smiling and enjoying the intricacies of one another. I was as giddy as a little schoolboy who has found his first frog. It has been a long time since I felt that way. Love does funny things to a person.
She gave and gave to me until she was no more. They came and took her away; leaving me with only a taste and a memory.

There is a beautiful relationship between a man and his salad.

I went last night to a restaurant that is by far the best place I have eaten in months, maybe even years. My salad was composed of crispy lettuce leaves, fresh corn cut right off the cob, craisins, pumpkin seeds, tiny cheese crumbles, and a dressing hand-crafted by the Gods. Words cannot adequately describe the entree's we experienced. I will say though that when I sampled a vegetable from my friend's plate; I was positive that I was eating the season of Autumn. I don't how else to say it. The food was beyond words. It wasn't only the food that was outstanding, for the atmosphere in the restaurant was perfect as well. My friend Al and I, sat under a glass roof looking up at the evening sky though it wasn't necessary to look up to view the heavens for the tables were glass on the top and reflected the sky beautifully. Our waiter, no he was much more than that. Our guide, tantalized our taste buds with his extensive knowledge of every aspect of our dining experience. The entire restaurant exuded an aura of organic elegance; beauty and charm without chicanery. It was like what every restaurant wants to be when it grows up.

There is a reason why the subject of blending, forming, and combining foods is called culinary arts. It is because it is an art. Perhaps one of the most under-appreciated forms of art, but art nonetheless. People often associate the word "art" with forms such as music, poetry, sculpture, painting, or literature. It is not too often that we associate it with food. It well may be because we are used to a steady diet of big-macs and fries. Fast food fits our lifestyle. It is easy; it is adequate; it is inexpensive. How often though do we really enjoy it? I am a staunch advocate for the enjoyment of life. If I am not happy and enjoying life then something needs to happen, usually that involves a book or movie and lots of chocolate in a plethora of forms i.e. cakes, brownies, ice cream, pies, or just a classic bar of chocolate. Anyway. Life is meant to be enjoyed and food, really yummy food, is a beautiful way to enjoy it.

The Relative God(s)

I have been contemplating this post for nearly four months now. I have tried to write it several times but have been unable to express my feelings quite accurately. I must admit the title of this post can be misleading for it is not my belief that God is relative; He is absolute. The more accurate title of this post would be the The Relativity of God Throughout Humanity. I do not claim to be a philosopher or a great theologian. I am only offering my observations as a poor student of a University. And yes, I know that I am trying to swallow an elephant with this post.

In my observation there are two very broad categories of religion those that try to explain God and those that do not; e.g. Christianity and Buddhism, respectively. Since this post is about God's relativity I will not be discussing those religions that do not attempt to explain God. For those who know me, I definitely hold nothing against these religions, especially Buddhism. I will ignore these religions for the simple fact that I don't like to compare apples and oranges or try and swallow two elephants at once.

Let's compare apples to apples; Fuji's to Gala's, and Granny Smith's to Red Delicious. It will be noted that religion as with apples there are personal favorites, but that doesn't inherently make them a better apple. It only goes to support the claim of relativity of humans.

As far back as 4000 B.C. we have a record of the people that inhabited the area of Mesopotamia. These people were the Sumerians and the Akkadians. It has been estimated that they worshipped over 2000 different deities ranging from patron deities of varying cities to Gods of war, agriculture, fertility, death, etc. The facets of their life were ran by the favor of the Gods. This polytheistic pattern of appeasing the Gods continued for the next four and a half millennia with the rise and fall of multiple civilizations e.g. Greek, Egyptian, Indian, Norse, Roman, Mayan etc.

We also have a record, the Bible, of a small peculiar group of people, the Hebrews, that practiced a monotheistic religion. This record begins about 4000 BC as well. So I don't bore you with biblical history I will give an extremely brief summation. Adam, the first man, has children and about nine generations later we have Noah, the one with the Ark. In another nine generations from Noah we have Abraham. Abraham has a son Isaac; the one he was willing to sacrifice. Isaac has a son named Jacob whose name is later changed to Israel and he has twelve sons who become the twelve tribes of Israel. after Jacob/Israel dies it is 200-ish years before Moses comes on the scene and liberates the Israelites/Hebrews and takes them to the promised land. After several years in the promised land they split up into two kingdoms Israel and Judah. The kingdom of Judah is where the Jews originate. They had one God, Jehovah.

If we examine the Greek view of deity we will find an interesting correlation to their whole society. Greek deities were extremely human, they had vices and passions. They had disagreements with one another that spawned wars. Now if we think about how the Greeks viewed themselves do we not see a similar pattern. Greeks loved the concept of "humans" they thought themselves to be the best. In essence, they viewed the Gods to be like themselves.

If we look at the Hebrew religion of the Old Testament. It is filled up by a God who is anything, but human. A God who is perfect, authoritative, absolute, and in all candor, a bit of an extremist. Now looking at the people that ascribed to this philosophy another correlation can be seen. The people, as a whole, viewed themselves as absolutely and unquestionably the chosen people of God and everyone else as heathen. They viewed humanity not something to be celebrated, but something to overcome. They viewed themselves how they viewed their God.

The examples of this throughout history are vast. Unfortunately I cannot discuss them all here. I am sure though that if you were to look at other examples you would see the pattern repeat over and over.

We are no different today. There are as many varying perspectives of God as there have ever been. The different sects of Christianity, for instance, all view God differently. Some paint Him to be a God who requires praise, not obedience; and in turn all they do is praise. Others paint Him to be an ethereal spiritual mass without parts or passions that can never be fully understood; these people feel that they cannot reach an understanding of themselves. Others are unable to forgive themselves and thereby deny God's forgiveness. Some view themselves as unhappy and "going through a rough time" and therefore feel that God is unhappy with them.

In our individualistic society we all have varying beliefs of God. It is these beliefs that make Him relative to us. One day I am sure that the grey curtains of this life will roll back; the sun will shine through and our understanding of God will be complete and perfect. We will see Him as he is. Until that day though He remains to humanity, relative.

My Walk

I have no purpose in going for a walk; I have no purpose in staying home. I should be studying for my math test on Tuesday, or perhaps I should be preparing for my audition for band in two days...No I shall go for a walk.

Do I turn left or right? If I go right I take a stroll around the block I walk around a church that I have never been inside...no that won't do. If I go left I journey back to campus where I have already spent several hours today...Yes that is where I shall go.

It is quiet. It is evening, just before the sun sets. Campus is virtually empty. I walk by a girl who is sitting on the steps waiting for 'him' to arrive. We exchange polite smiles and I am on my way. I have no preference where my feet take me. I see two more people studying furtively, trying to eek out every last bit of light to study by. I pass by unnoticed. My feet turn once more to the left and now I stand in front of the Humanities building. I smile and know exactly why my feet led me here. On the fourth floor of the Humanities building is an abstract painting. I have stood there before gazing at its colors, its shapes and patterns. I have tried before to understand its purpose; the reason each brushstroke fell in its exact spot on the canvas. But today, I simply appreciate its wonder. My musings are interrupted by a professor who thinks it odd that a student wearing a lavender dress shirt, blue argyle tie, black vest, nerd glasses, and converses; who has the audacity to be sporting a faux-hawk while toting in hand Les Miserables and a journal has been standing in the same spot staring at the same painting for nearly ten minutes. My time here is spent and I am the servant to my feet once again.

My feet take me now right and I know there are only two places they want to go, but which is first...Of course, we are going in the Performing Arts building. My feet take me not to the elevator, but up the stairs until I am on the third floor. I know why I am here; I hope it is still unlocked. It is. I am outside again this time on the patio that provides a most stunning view of city, the lake beyond, and finally closes where the sun dips behind the mountains setting the sky aflame. It is an inspiring scene. Does anyone else do this? I wonder. I see the people below rushing to get to their cars. Hurrying to the next task of the day. I want to cry out to them to stop and look at the beauty of it all. Bring them up to where I am and show them a different perspective, a more grand perspective. Alas, I stay silent. I sit on the bench and my eyes catch a glimpse of a folded paper and pen. I open the paper and of course there is a music scrawled upon it, Edelweiss.

Blossom of snow may you bloom and grow
Bloom and grow forever.
Edelweiss, Edelweiss
Bless my homeland forever.

My feet are on the move again. This time down the sidewalk to the Fine Arts building. I have been here many times, but at this time of day all the galleries would be closed. But my feet march in that direction relentlessly. I walk in and the cleaning crew is going about their nightly routine. I make my way to the elevator and push the button labeled three. I have never been to this part of the building before. All white walls and rooms that are darkened; is this still the Fine Arts building or did I step into a mental hospital? I find my way soon enough and once more I am outdoors on a patio. There is only one chair. A chair without a back, a front or sides; only a seat. I sat hesitantly facing one direction then changed to another and another and another. I was never quite comfortable where I was facing. I finally settled on looking directly at the building I had just walked out. A man passes he doesn't see me. He passes once more and pays me no mind. My feet are all too anxious to leave this spot.

I start back home and realize there is one more stop I will be making this evening. The duck pond. I step down the stairs listening water falling on top of water and observe that I am intruding upon a private setting. Over in the far corner sit two lovers; feet dangling into the pond and hands clasped tightly, eyes locked on one another and hearts becoming one. I smile. I know. I withdraw until I am unseen by them and sit and am swept away by the sound of the fountain. Water shooting into the air thirty feet then succumbing to gravity and colliding back into the pond . I try and follow a single drop from its birth to death. I can't do it. I walk back home in silence.

I begin to type.

Moving On: The City Left Behind

This is my last weekend in my summer home of Eagle Mountain. I moved home to satiate the desire of my head and heart. My head out of necessity, for my university studies had depleted all my funds, and my heart for love. Now I am not going stroll down memory lane and force you, my dear reader, to row through the ocean of my thoughts and experiences for you would be tossed amid tempests, compelled to endure mutiny aboard the ship, and fight the mythic Kraken to survive. But above all my dear reader you would see incomprehensible beauty that transcends the human experience. Beauty that I was most fortunate to experience. I believe I will rely on Charles Dickens and say:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way..."

It is with great trepidation that I return to my university studies and bid farewell to my summer city. It is not my intention to sound melodramatic, but this is how Wandle Mace felt when he left his city behind; though the names are different the feelings are the same, "Farewell Nauvoo the Beautiful, The City of Joseph! The home of so much joy and happy contentment, and also of the most exquisite sorrow and anguish" Wandle Mace was a Latter-Day Saint pioneer who was forced from his home by malicious and beastly men. He walked until he found peace and refuge in the Mountains of the West, his promised land. I do not mean to compare myself to him for I am confident that it would not be possible for me to persevere through the hardships he endured. My only wish is that after I leave my city I have enough faith and trust in God to continue to walking until I find my promised land.

I beg your indulgence my dear reader before I end. I said I wouldn't take you down memory lane, but there is one place we need to stop.

This is the special spot in my city at, quite literally, the end of the road. It is the spot that I frequent to contemplate life. I have shaken my fists in anger and frustration at God in Heaven and later gave thanks for His wisdom and temperance. I have worried over the apathy of society and subsequently rejoiced in its compassion. I have been brought to the point where words fail and have rowed into the uncharted waters that followed. This is the spot of unobstructed views. This is the spot of inspiration. This is the spot of transcendence. This is MY spot... ...that I now bid farewell.

On Sense and Sensibility

Surprisingly enough this blog post has nothing to do with the delightful novel written some 200 years ago by Miss Jane Austen, though I did just finish reading it for the first time and found out why it is considered a classic. Usually I feel that drama is overdone and bothersome, but Miss Austen seems to have the perfect recipe for it. Excess within control one might say.

This post is about (in my humble opinion) a more...dare I say...practical use of sense and sensibility. No offense to you Miss Austen.

Recently I have been fascinated with the idea of happiness (see former posts). Happiness in spite of horrible circumstances e.g. a job you hate going to everyday, being cheated out of two hundred eighty dollars every paycheck, or something of that ilk. It is been said erroneously that happiness is a consequence of your choices not actually a choice. Were that true you and I would be much happier people for I believe we make choices everyday that would ensure our happiness. You make slave away at a desk all day trying with all your heart to help someone you have never met secure a pension from the government and never be thanked. Oh, and by the way you are making pennies an hour that barely keep you above the poverty level. You may have a four-year degree from a university. You may be one of the most caring and talented individuals in your generation. And yet here you are going back to the grind everyday working for that all important dollar; hating every minute of it. Wishing that one day someone would take you away from your hell. Take you to a brand new colony where everything would change...

You might be wondering what this has to do with sense and sensibility and in all candor I am trying to come up with the perfect segue into that topic, but alas it eludes me. For now I beg your indulgence for a lack of a decent segue.

To me, sense and sensibility say, that if you hate what you do change it. Do not be a creature of circumstance, but rather be its creator. Throw practicality to the wind if you must; your sanity is not worth it. Find something that truly makes you happy and pursue it with all the inexhaustible energy and excitement of a child. It may take you Seattle or any other part of the country. It may bring you back to your past. You may not understand everything about it, but you definitely can appreciate the beauty of being happy. Do what you must to be happy. Practicality may even be so subtle in its attempts to deceive you by trying to convince you that he is sense and sensibility. Pay him no mind for he is only a man behind a curtain; a fraud and charlatan.

Only remember..excess within control. It is the recipe for a perfect book and a perfect happiness.

Secrets of Happiness: Simplicity and Sincerity

Have you ever been so obsessed with one idea that it takes over your whole life; every moment you become more entrenched, engrossed and enthralled with it until you are ready to explode. This post is my explosion.

One of the the redeeming qualities about my job is that I get ten hours everyday to myself. Most of my co-workers choose to listen to music, but I prefer to use these ten hours to think about life, the state of the world and my own pursuit of happiness therein. It is very egocentric and selfish of me to occupy so much of my time thinking about myself, but I figure someone has to be the center of my universe so why not me. The idea of life and happiness have been consuming me for the past week. I have concluded after many sleep deprived nights and long hours walking behind a weed eater that I want two things in life; simplicity and sincerity.

Simplicity.

There is an old Shaker song that contains the phrase "'Tis a gift to be simple..." A gift it says. A gift indeed. A priceless treasure in a world where everyone and everything can be bought for a price. Simple pleasures in life that are without price: eating an Otter Pop during a hot summer day; stargazing under a blanket with your special someone; the sweet smile on a child's face when they are missing several teeth; the wind blowing through your hair; figuring out the last clue to a crossword puzzle; running barefoot through the grass; scarves; hiking through a forest in the autumn...orange and yellow leaves falling all around you and the crisp cool air biting your nose.

Perhaps simplicity is the reason I practiced Buddhism. Perhaps simplicity is the reason I am fascinated with the indie/hipster movement. Perhaps simplicity is the reason for my love of nature. Perhaps simplicity helps us see what is truly beautiful in life.

Simplicity because one day that is all we will have. For me, I hope it is sooner than later.

Sincerity.

"I said what I meant and I meant what I said." Is that even possible anymore? We live in a world where deceit and manipulation are acceptable business practices. There was a time when business transactions were concluded by a handshake and a promise. That was the only bond that you needed; your word. People meant what they said. In church on Sunday a man whom I admire greatly addressed the congregation. He is the most sincere man I have ever met in my life. He spoke of supernal things with such conviction and sincerity that I was unable to take my eyes off him. He is soft spoken sensitive man who would give you the world were it in his power. Perhaps it was him that sparked this obsession. I saw him in the hall after the meeting and I informed him I loved his talk and after the customary greetings he asked me, "How are you doing?" A simple enough question. I responded, "I am wonderful." Possibly the most insincere and untrue comment I made that entire day. I could have answered that I was well or I was fair to middlin', but no I said wonderful. Why? I always say it. Wonderful, terrific, or super, those are words that I usually use to describe how I feel and more often than not I use them in honesty. Today was the exception. It struck me as ironic that I am talking to a most sincere man whom I know will actually listen to me and yet all I say is that I am wonderful, that all is well. How often do words fly out of our mouths that hold no meaning to us? Or maybe the better question is how often do we actually listen to someone when they are trying open up to us? How often do we become robots and perform our tasks with no emotion; oblivious to all that exists outside of ourselves?

Imagine the most sincere moment you have experienced in your life. Perhaps it involves your significant other. Or maybe you are alone making promises that only God can hear. Maybe it is an overdue apology to a friend. Chances are when you look back you will remember a feeling, a feeling of power. Power because you know those words had meaning. If you are like me and are incessant with your pondering on the world's sincerity or lack thereof think back to the sincere times for hope. They are calling, " Look back, Look back at me."

Hidden Gems: A Closer Look

I had a delightful opportunity to spend from Thursday evening until Friday afternoon with two good friends of mine. As is the case when most guys get together there were lots of video games involved, maybe even 10 hours of them. I used to be decent at video games, but it is now unquestionable to me that I am terrible. I spent roughly five hours as nothing more than a moving target for both of them. I don't want anyone to think that I am complaining because, despite my inadequacies, I had a great time . Besides, getting owned in video games only serves as a segue to the actual subject of my post.

In what is becoming my usual fashion I submit to you, the reader, an instance of common occurrence that taught me something profound; an instance where I took a closer look and found a hidden gem.

If you will, cast your mind upon a style of pictures, photo mosaics, you see a big picture that is made up of tiny pictures that are arranged in such a manner that they work in harmony to produce the aforementioned big picture. If one were to only glance at a photo mosaic they would see a grainy version of the larger image...nothing more. However, if one were to stop and actual look and appreciate the photo they would realize the intricacies of the smaller images. This pattern is not only applicable to photo mosaics, but every facet of life. In essence, we need stop looking only at the big picture of life and appreciate the smaller ones, for the smaller ones are where meaning is found.

I discovered this hidden gem, this smaller image, from Thursday evening to Friday afternoon. My friend's house is modest and unassuming. In fact, if you were looking at the bigger picture of the whole street you wouldn't give it a second glance. Once I took a closer look I found myself smiling inwardly. My friend and his wife just had a baby just over two months ago and the baby is absolutely precious. It is as if all the world's goodness was contained in this little baby; hope, trust, courage, and simplicity were among the virtues contained in this little one. I am sure that everyone loves their babies, but these three seemed so beautiful in their modest and unassuming house. It was almost as if I were looking at a picture of perfect contentment. In their home there was happiness, there was love, and most importantly there was appreciation for both. I am not ignorant enough to assume their lives are perfect, but what I feel perfectly comfortable assuming is they don't let problems destroy happiness.

It was a fortuitous discovery that I shall not forget. It happened not because I was expecting it, for I was only there to play video games. It happened because I took a closer look. Perhaps if people took closer looks more often they would see hidden gems; they would discover the most valuable gems are not found buried in the earth, but found in the beauty of life's smaller images.

Might I be so bold to suggest an experiment of sorts. An experiment that we go back and re-read that poem or an article we read this past week or on the way to work we look at life's smaller images instead of the big picture. I am betting that we will see so many smaller images that our life will be richer than ever before. I am positive when we go back and re-read that poem or whatever we choose to do we will find a hidden gem that will change our view of that poem or whatever we did.

Living with a Masochist

I got in touch with a darker side of myself today. I believe some would say I found a muse. I am not familiar with the rules of engagement concerning muses, but I think that mine shall be called Vammatar. She was the inspiration of this experiment in free verse poetry.

Keening begins; shadows creep; the night begins to dawn,

and I am wondering how long?

Tonight, how long before it starts?

I feel my pulse race; the sweat drips.

Every second the pain is terrible; I want it to stop

Do you get pleasure from me?

Oh, Is that why you never stop?

Never cease. Pleasure;

that comes from my pain.

Why is it? Every caress sears the channels

of my heart;

remarkable searing I wish would purge my heart of pain

return me to numb; cold; immune to all feeling.

Your wishing is vain, she says.

Please let me rest...just for a moment? No.

Learning you are relentless, never giving up, always poised to strike.

Every part of my body cries for reprieve, but you keep pressing farther

and farther you dive into my

soul; ripping and tearing as you go deeper and deeper.

Emerging scars now appear; marking me as your own.

Is that your object? Ownership.

Afford me haste; bruise me, scar me. Don't stop. For death is...

my only reprieve

I am now bonded to you forever.

Ornaments, you call them. I am Bruised and broken, scarred and scourged.

Kept in a shell of my former self.

A shell that is now belongs to you, the masochist,

you are my mind.

I love the freedom of that comes with this style of poetry. You can begin new paragraphs wherever you feel. Start them with capitals or not. Either way it is how you feel and how you want others to know. It is very liberating.

The Best Man: Lessons on Love

I played the best man at my dear friend's wedding today. I have known him virtually all of my life; we are more or less like brothers. I can't remember a time when we haven't been friends. I was honored that he chose me to be his best man, and was super excited to be a part of his wedding for I never have had that opportunity, and as a side note whenever there is an excuse to get gussied up in a tux; I am all over it.

I have been reflecting on some of our conversations that we have had over the past couple months. Two in particular have taught me much about love. The first we had on the way to be fitted for our tuxedos. While we were cruising in his car I asked him how he and his affianced were doing. He responded with generalities of their content, but then opened up a little and told of his worries and anxieties. I being the 'great' friend that I am then inquired if he had all of these concerns why on earth was he getting married. He then taught me something very powerful. He told me, "That no matter how many problems they had she still made him the happiest person in the world." He said, "Problems were going to change, but would always be around. When you find someone that you can be happy with while going through your problems...you don't let them go." That is truth. That is love.

The next conversation too place on the night before the wedding after the rehearsal dinner. We were bidding one another farewell for the evening, when he asked me to say hello for him to my now ex-girlfriend. I smiled and nodded, but he knew something was wrong. He inquired and I reluctantly told him of the events that transpired. He offered me his most heartfelt condolences, and gave me a little slap to my practical face. He said, "If you are waiting to get married until everything is right; it won't happen. Look at me, I have no job and am moving to Wisconsin after I get married. I doesn't make sense, I have no idea how it is going to work out, but I know it is what I want to do." I mulled those words over in my mind for the next hour while I drove home; pondering precepts of love, courage and faith.

Although for this wedding I am titled, "Best Man" it is the groom who is the best. Perhaps that is why he is the groom and I just the best man. Have no fear friend for though you may have thought I wasn't listening, or paying attention. You have taught. I have comprehended. I may only understand a tenth of what you said, but I got the point-the point of life, and today am doing okay.

July 18th. Just Another Day?

Is there such thing as just another day? Shouldn't all days be unique and beautiful in their own way? Why do we let most days slip into the dusty corners of our minds? Can we not find something extraordinary within the ordinary everyday. Are we too busy to lift our eyes from the grey and black streets of humdrum living to the skies, and behold the symphony of color composed by God. Can we not exalt our minds above the ugliness of mediocrity to see the simple nobility of a finch flying through the air or ponder upon a mighty oak swaying in the wind? Life is made up of seemingly ordinary days that mature into the remarkable.

In 1925, a simple book was published on a seemingly ordinary day about a man's struggle and pain. A book that told of, among other things, an evil in the world...communism. It told of a problem and how to solve it. This book began a revolution, no, it began a war that soon consumed the world. The book, Mein Kampf, and the author, Adolf Hitler. I am certain that it was an ordinary day to virtually all of the world. But, because of this one person and his book the world was torn apart; millions gave their lives to fight one man's idea, one man's book. An ordinary man that rose above the poverty of a country ravished by the aftermath of war. Adolf did not settle for any mediocrity and though what he did was a heinous atrocity; an act that the world should never have known. He did it. And just for the simple reason that he was able to revolutionize an impoverished country and make it more powerful than any other country in under two decades is awe inspiring. It all commenced on a seemingly ordinary unimpressive day.

The year is 1918, a child is born in a small village in South Africa. It happens everyday, nothing out of the ordinary. This child attended school like all others. His father died of tuberculosis when he was only nine years-old. He grew and matured and became a political activist in his country. He opposed an entire regime, an entire ideology that made the civil rights movement in America seem like a petty playground fight. He fought for what was right and true. He served twenty-seven years in prison before becoming the President of South Africa. He persevered despite all odds. This boy born on this seemingly unimportant day became the liberator of South Africa. His name is etched into the sinews of time and is synonymous with freedom and tenacity.

Are days just ordinary? No. There never has been just another day. Who knows, someone born on this day could change my life forever. Perhaps it will be an idea that will revolutionize how I view the world; its people, its culture or its places. For most, this day will slip into the dusty corners of the world's mind. For me though, this day will always be historical because someone was born on this day, this seemingly unimportant day, who may change how I view the world. To that one someone who was born today I say Happy Birthday!

An Observation on Sleep

Isn't sleep funny? One day you can get 8 hours and be just as tired as when you got 4 hours. One day you can get 4 hours and it feels like a bulldozer drove across your head. Sleep is fickle. We are fickle as people. Perhaps feeling tired in the morning has less to do with the amount of sleep you get and more to do with the reason you have to wake up in the morning.

The Y Chromosome: My Patriarchal Inheritance

The Y chromosome is a small, but powerful piece of my dad that, love it or hate it, I get all to myself. Besides the obvious characteristics that I inherited from my father (stunningly good looks); I believe the Y chromosome contains more. I believe on a general level the Y chromosome could be labeled as the destruction gene. I have a nephew who illustrates this perfectly. He was playing cars one day and asked his mom if she would play with him. She graciously consented and started driving the little cars around the living room floor. When much to her surprise my nephew told her, "Mom you are doing it wrong. You have to crash the cars." My sister asked, "Did your dad teach you to play like that." My nephew, "No one taught me it. It is just how you play." A simple example maybe, but one that is almost universal in nature. Practically every boy who has a toy, no matter what it is, tries to either beat it up or beat up the other toys.

Another example is the media and what are often called "man shows". My family was watching Transformers one day and I was sitting on my couch with a girl. She leaned over to me and said, "This is such a guy show." Now I must admit that men have a certain stereotype of being somewhat oblivious, which may or not be entirely accurate. But I never realized that the movie was such a guy show. I got to thinking about it and truly the movie epitomizes what men love; big explosions, attractive women, and non-stop action. It may sound shallow, but for the vast majority of men it is truth. There are countless shows dedicated entirely to those three 'man ideas'. Did I hear anyone say James Bond? Or was it Fast and Furious? Men love these shows because they entertain us at the very core of our being.

It is also thanks to the Y chromosome that men have dreams of being number one, the best, the alpha-male. Now I am not pretending to say we all view 'The Best' exactly the same. For some the alpha-male is in sports, others in business; some want to be the funniest, others the most beautiful. And others more subtle desire to be the wisest, most compassionate, or most creative. It doesn't matter the bailiwick, we want to be without comparison. The alpha-male doesn't come without a price and some call it arrogance or brazenness, and others simply smile and say, "You are just being a guy." And even though females make joke and laugh at us and our prideful games where we try and establish dominance; the truth is that is what attracts them to us.

So sure maybe some of us aren't the most sensitive or caring. Some of us don't care about fashion. Some of us can't decipher a message in an abstract poem even though the key is right in front of our face. Some of us have a hard time making decisions and others have a hard time letting anyone else make a decision. No matter the downsides of my patriarchal inheritance I am glad that I inherited the Y chromosome from my father because it is the BEST!

John Henry

I absolutely love poetry. For me, poetry takes unorganized ideas, chaotic concepts and raw emotions; it refines them and produces artwork that is truly a masterpiece. Poetry is painting with words. In the art of poetry one can find everything from Michelangelo's David to Jackson Pollock's Blue Poles, Da Vinci's Last Supper to Van Gogh's Starry Night.

It is because of my belief that poetry is so brilliant that I tried to organize some of my ideas into a poem.

John Henry

John Henry is haunting me

Ever since I learned his name

I have pictured his face;

Prayed I would somehow see him in this place

I wanted nothing more than to watch him grow

to hear his first words...to see him smile...

To bandage a scraped knee.

I wanted it to be me.

I would look into her eyes;

Tell her it would all work out

She would tell me her fears.

I would dry up all her tears.

He was to be the first in our family

A little boy all our own,

to raise, to love, to cherish.

The thought of him will never perish.

John Henry is only a memory,

wishful thinking...just a dream.

A dream that is haunting me

because I still wish it could be.

The Finale

Humans love the concept of a finale. Why is that?

In music the finale is a recapitulation of the main theme, except now exalted. For example, "The 1812 Overture", composed by Tchaikovsky closes with cannons sounding at the beginning of every measure. Modest Mussorgsky concludes, "Pictures at an Exhibition" with "The Bogatyr Gates (At the Capital of Kiev)" the finale swells for over five minutes drawing a picture of victorious heroes marching through the gate into the realms of history until it releases its hold over the audience. Carl Orff captivates us with "Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi" the closing movement of "Carmina Burana." Orff creates a vehement atmosphere appropriate only for the Empress of the World...Fortune.

It is not only the music world that is obsessed with the idea of a finale, for it can be found everywhere. Every year during the first week of July there are countless firework shows. We love watching the flowers of light cascade down from the heavens. We are entranced by the colorful explosions. We want to sit in the grass looking up at the stars and never move again...still the adage rings true; all good things must come to an end. The glory and magnificence fade, and we are left with only a memory.

Why do humans love the finale? Conclusion.

Humans need closure. Though we would love to always end with cannons and fireworks; reality doesn't afford us that luxury. Reality is much less dramatic. I remember a time in my life when someone or something I loved more than anything in the world faded silently into the darkness. I wasn't satisfied with how it ended. How could I be? There must be something more, something I could have done. Suddenly an idea manifests in my mind, and before I can reason any different; I act. I am certain that my idea will bring a favorable outcome. I write my final notes; set the fuses aflame. I hope and I pray that I will have my own epic finale. Cannons singing through the air Victory...Victory...Victory.

But it isn't meant to be.

Reality triumphs.

I now eat the fruit of closure, bitter through and through. My heart is consoled only knowing that now I have reached the finality of closure.

My Philosophy of Life

I was redecorating the room that I lived in for six weeks, in Griffin Georgia, and while scouring the house for some accents for my room I came across this poem in the back of a closet. I fell in love with it from the first time I read it and since then it has become the motto of my life. It was written in 1927 by Max Ehrmann, a lawyer from Indiana. He entitled his poem, "Desiderata" which is Latin for "Things to be Desired"

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.Thank you Max Ehrmann!

PS The photos are compliments of B Humphreys and antoniolm.

I am a Superhero

It has been too long since I have posted anything. I started this blog with the best intentions , but we all know where those lead. Anyway. Today I was a superhero. I saved a life. Now I most certainly was not dressed in tights, nor did I have my own theme music. I still am not able to fly and most assuredly I cannot figure out how shoot lasers out of my eyes. But today I became a superhero; today I donated blood to the American Red Cross. Today I saved a life. There is something about being able to say, "I saved a life today" that gives an injection of strength into your self-esteem. You walk with a smile on your face and a bounce in your step for the rest of the day. Can you picture the conversation around the dinner table that night?

"...And how was your day, George?"
"It was okay mom. I got to level 60 on W.O.W. today. It only took five hours to do."
"Well that is good son...and how was your day, Tom?"
"Today was fantastic mom. I was able to save a life and it only took four minutes and seventeen seconds to do."

Now I don't mean to criticize anyone for the activities they choose to fill their day for it their choice what to do with their lives, and if they want to spend their days playing video games it is their prerogative to do so. I will say this, and you may call me crazy, but I am of the school of thought that it is much better to be a superhero in real life than to be anything in a virtual world. Whenever the end of time comes and the Earth is rolled together like a scroll what will really matter? Will we be asked how many things we were able to accumulate? Or perhaps how many things we were able to give away? How many levels we gained? Or how many lives we saved?
Take the adventure. Be a superhero. You will never regret saving a life, and who knows maybe you are really saving your own.