The song by Buffalo Springfield has always hooked me. From the shimmering melody intro, to the subject matter of war by a colonial power, whenever this one is played on the radio, time stops for me. I came to adulthood during the Vietnam War. I had no strong feelings pro or con with respect…
Monday morning and it is pouring rain outside. The sky weeps. Is it not apt to weep profusely, to wail with grief? Maybe you’ve not noticed. We exert much effort to remain oblivious, to sustain the bliss which we have purchased by our overdraft of Natures resources. Nature weeps by a precipitous decline in…
A lifetime ago, in my late 20’s my life seemed to be growing darker, bit by bit emotionally constricted. I tried whatever might help. I doubled down on my devotional life, looking for “answers,” a turning point through Bible reading and prayer. No improvement. What to do about this absence of feeling, the colorless…
Yard work can be considered a chore. So much in life depends upon the angle of view. Yard cleanup in the aftermath of winter is labor. That is a given. In contrast to mind-work, which ultimately ends with my fingers on this keyboard, staring at a glowing LCD screen, yard-work-done-right culminates with soil under…
Several days ago a good friend and I exchanged texts. He commented that he was his own worst enemy. That is no trite expression. How many ways subtle and not so subtle do we not undermine our own best interests? We may arrive at a place of utter helplessness, realizing that there is no…
This morning came and I woke feeling a body ache, and a malaise of spirit. I was fortunate to have passed the night without throwing up. My wife just now recovered from a brief but hard-hitting viral illness. One definition of misery is to be retching into a toilet. So far, I’ve dodged that…
Wednesday morning is filled with light. Sunlight is a great, magnificent gift. This morning I read another strange, and delightful story by Nietzsche. His spokesman, Zarathustra walks a path, and sees a black man, haggard, barely concealing his grief, sitting by the path. Zarathustra, weary of encountering characters who impose their issues upon him…
There is a strange and delightful little story about Zarathustra hiking along a trail passing through a lowland swamp. He stumbles upon a man concealed laying across the path. The one underfoot quickly rises cursing. Zarathustra in the confusion of the moment gives him a blow with his walking stick. Shortly the two calm…
The Monday after Easter, I feel disoriented, as if with a hang over. The day is splendid with full sunlight and singing birds. That is not the only thing on my mind. I am thinking of Aunt Clara, very sick with the final stages of cancer. The Sri Lanka bombings over the weekend are…
It is Easter morning 2019. Little has changed. I mean in the big picture of the world’s normality. Normal that is, with respect to the flooded and wind damaged regions of the South, wracked with the latest eruption of climate change. Normal if I keep in mind that Aunt Clara still slowly succumbs to…
