700 posts in 7 years

The title's merely an expression of fact. I've been at this for that long, and this is as far as I've got. Hmmm. Does that meaning anything or not? OK, that's a loaded question, for we know that meaning is, in many ways, personal, and whether the number 700 means anything at all is an open question. There are a lot of folks who won't hesitate to tell me that a number is just a number is just a number. But, I happen to think that people who think that way just aren't thinking at all.

Seven. It plays a big role in our Western religious traditions: 7 days of the week, 7 arms on a menorah, 7 deadly sins, 7 virtues, 7 works of corporeal mercy, and 7 works of spiritual mercy; 7 miracles in the Gospel of John, 7 sacraments of the Catholic Church; 7 times 7 that you should forgive your brother for offense against you; the Sabbath Year, the Jubilee Year; 7 heavens of Islam, or the number of required circumambulations around the Kabba; 7 openings in the human head, 7 colors of the rainbow, 7 seas, 7 chakras, and 7 rings given to the Dwarf Lords in the Lord of the Rings; 7 points on a sheriff's badge; the 7 flies the little tailor killed with just one swat ... 7 upon 7 times 7 ... but who cares? Our atheist brethren shun the stories; our fundamentalist brethern shun the meaning. And in the end, it's just a number, so what? It could be that numbers may mean more than we think, just like myths (true myths) may be more real than we would like to admit.

Seven, when seen this way, appears to open the field ot every possibility. And is it not possibilites that give us hope? Anything is possible is a statement of hope. And that was the case: I had hoped to reach others, both like-minded and not, and I've spent the last 7 years trying.

Any number times 10 in numerology is the raising of "whatever" to the next level, hence 70 would be a kind of hope for hope. There's no 70 in the current equation except for the fact that my own name, reduced theosophically (those who want to know will have to ask), equals 70. I've used that as a moniker in other, more relevant contexts. In keeping the with the interpretations just offered, 70 would be something like "actualized hope", which would be me; that is, the guy who's been trying to hope for the best.

But this, as the title tells us, in my 700th post. Now, 700 is taking the previous level to the next level. I like the metaphor because it makes Life seem somehow like an adventure game ... which it, in many regards is ... and taking our logic of 7 to the next level, we're left with a kind of general priniciple, namely the Principle of Indetermination: everything's open, anything can happen, anything's possible ... the great hope that something good might come of all this in spite of everything else.

Yes, yes, I know: this is a mere intellectual, if perhaps slightly creative, exercise. But that's the point. Thinking numbers are stupid and just numbers is pretty unimaginative. What the world needs now (besides Love, as the song told us), is a good, healthy dose of imagination and creativity. I'm not narcisstic enough to think that I'm going to provide this impetus. I would like to think that I'm doing my part, no matter how small it might be. What remains is the fact that I'm confronted with a situation which I can imbue with meaning or merely ignore. Being the meaning-seeking person I am, I have chosen against ignornance. But, creativity means change; it's inherent in the concept.

In a sense, then, I'm opting for a Sabbath year, a year of rest (of sorts). Yes, for the bean-counters amongst you, it should have been last year, but that is really not the point. This post, as I have tried to explain, is the point of change. The current rhythm of posting is every three days (a matter I could address at another time), but it seems fitting, for a lot of reasons, to change the rhythm to 7 days, which is what I'm going to do. (Whereby I certainly reserve the right to violate this rhythm whenever external events or internal stimuli dictate the necessity to do so. And, who knows, I may be tweeting more, even if I'm enjoying it less.)

As of now, I'm going to post but once a week. I want a bit more time to think about what I'm going to say, and I want to think more about what I'm saying. I want to get a bit away from the mundanity of everyday life and politics and get a bit closer to the things that matter: the not-so-mundane and the what-are-we-going-to-do-about-it. I want to delve a bit deeper into self-reflexivity; that is, thinking about what we think and why, rather than making comments on the nonsense of too-much-everyday. I would also like the option of not just blogging, but also actually writing, but to do so takes a bit more time than I have had so far to devote to the words I post online.

Put another way: a regular blog cannot be much different from an editorial in a daily newspaper: a few words of "opinion" are thrown at events and circumstances on a rapidly regular basis. The Sunday paper, however, is a lot thicker, for the simple reason that it includes a lot of things that are worth (or should be worth) thinking about. We don't take enough time to think these days. Admit it: you run through your daily life, trying to make ends meet, striving to do the best you can, hoping that it's all working out, but you never really take the time to reflect. What I would like to do for the next year, at any rate, is provide you, perhaps, with reasons to reflect.

It's time to slow down. Not stop. Not reverse gears. Not turn around, just slow down. Take some time for yourself. Take some time to think about things. Take some time to act, not just react. Take some time to figure out what matters and what doesn't, what makes sense and what doesn't, what is important and what can be ignored.

I know that I need this time and want this time. My hope is, of course, that you need this time and want this time as well. The world's not getting any better. The nonsense and insanity that we call everyday life is getting harder to take. The decisions we make and the things we choose to believe now are going to impact our world, our children and our grandchildren for years to come. I don't think it's wise to merely make decisions. It is important, at least in my mind, that we decide: what kind of a world, which values should be in that world, how many others can we include in that world, and how rich that world may be. Please join me. I would love to have you along for the ride.

Hold fast to your fast fast

It's not a good sentence (the title), but it's grammatically correct. That's what's so fascinating about language: the statement can be completely correct, but it means little, and sometimes nothing at all (as in, who can forget Chomsky's infamous "Colorless green ideas sleep furiously"? Whereby I find that particular sentence more poignant than many I've heard in the latest run-up to the primaries in America.) Yes, yesterday was the the kick-off, so to speak, and tomorrow is the big day: Tomorrow, Lent begins. Are you going to fast, or are you above all that? And, if you are, do you know why you are doing it? It's all not self-evident, you know, even if you think it's clear.

I don't know many people who fast anymore, other than for dietary reasons. It used to be that everyone fasted two days a week (Monday and Thursday, if you were Jewish; Tuesday and Friday, if Christian ... tells you something doesn't it?). At least for my Roman Catholic-influenced friends, bells should be ringing. What is more, there were particular times of year (for example, since we mentioned it recently, from 11 November till Christmas, and now Lent, prior to Easter ... which is also two times, which should also tell you something).

Some people will tell you that this was because food was scarce and it simply made good economic sense. Others will tell you, well, nothing, because they have no idea or never thought about it. Most people familiar with religion don't really know why these fasts were proclaimed, and the only ones we ever really hear about these days -- and this most often in an act of belittling and denigration -- is Ramadan, the great Muslim fast of the year. In a religious context, however, it was always about being aware of one's own body (and its needs) in contrast to the Spirit which was, at times, seen complementary to the body and since the rise of the Church (and certainly since Descartes) as its opponent, if not enemy.

When seen in such simplistic terms, I agree, we should just stomp it all into the wastebasket (dustbin, for my Anglo friends). This playing off of the body against the spirit was one way of looking at things, to be sure, and it served its purpose in its time, but we should be beyond that now. Having said that, though, we would be remiss in dismissing the spirit because it doesn't fit into our materialistic worldview. Even serious physicists have acknowledged that consciousness (yes, spirit) has an important and intimate relationship with matter. Perhaps it is time to start rethinking some of the things that we simply take for granted as true.

Body and mind are not a duality, they are part of a whole that is greater than either of them, a synergy, if you will. Our mind can affect our bodies (self-healing of congenital illnesses, psychosomatic illnesses) and our bodies certainly affect our minds (ever try to solve a life-crisis when you're ill?).

Fasting -- and there are many ways to describe it -- is, if properly understood, a way of reactivating the link between the physical and non-physical. Instead of merely thinking that this is another old custom that has outlived its usefulness, perhaps we should slow down, reconsider and recognize that there were good reasons for things long before we even knew what reasons were.

A house built on sand

Our new year is not off to a very good start.

• Heads are rolling in Saudi Arabia, and they're our friends.
• The Saudis are chairing the UN Human Rights Council, but they're beheading people publicly.
• Oil is flowing from ISIS, but they're our enemy.
• Arms are being provided to the Kurds, because they're fighting ISIS.
• The Turks are attacking the Kurds, because the Turks are fighting the PKK.
• NATO tolerates the Turks' attacks, because the Turks are our allies.
• Foreign and foreign-sponsored militias are waging a war against a government, but it's still talked about as if it were a civil war.
• The Poles have lurched dramatically to the right, but they're still our friends.
• Freedom of the press is being squelched in Poland and Hungary, and no one raises an eyebrow.
• Individuals running for the candidacy for president of the US openly spout hate and racism, and are cheered on.
• Negotiations on major, international trade agreements are still so secret that our elected representatives have no access, but we're supposed to trust the negotiators.
• In Europe legislation took effect to unprotect people's savings essentially declaring their deposits bank property, and no one even questions the concept of "bail-in".
  

Oh, there's more ... but these are the first few that immediately sprang to mind.

And this is our foundation for a better 2016? 'Fraid not.

Summer's almost over

Summer was a much bigger deal when I was a kid and it was also a much bigger deal in the US. Three months of summer vacation is nothing to scoff at (especially when you consider that Europeans get a mere six weeks), but once you leave school and find a job and start working for a living, well, summer becomes more or less the hot time of year when you have to work. Nothing exciting about that, even if we tend to pack in more power-weekends at this time of year, just to convince ourselves that our lives are not completely in vain.

Hint: if you have to power-weekend at all, your life's pretty much in vain.

This was just another summer and not all that much out of the ordinary: a bit too hot, a bit too dry, a bit too short, and a bit too time-consumed by everyday life. We all tend not to really appreciate what we have while we have it, and I'm pretty sure that come November, I'll be thinking back fondly of these very days which will have been made better than they actually were because there has been time between now and when I will think of them again. That's pretty much how our minds work. We don't appreciate enough of what we have when we actually have it. Yes, most of us in the West have been firmly conditioned to want "more", or at a minimum to be dissatisfied with what we have.

That's pretty sad when you stop to think about it. Yes, there is definitely one thing that you cannot, you may not, be in a capitalist economy, and that's satisfied. Where would we be if everyone were satisfied? Consumerism and consumption is predicated on the idea that you can never, ever be satisfied. That's not only sad, it's downright unhealthy. What kind of a world have we made for ourselves?

But those days of lazy reflection are just about over. Kids are back to school. Our daily and weekly routines have normalized themselves. For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, the days are going to get noticeably shorter and the light is going to start fading. It's going to get cooler, then colder, and we're going to start getting a bit more precipitation than we like, so we'll grumble more, complain more often, be more dissatisfied than usual and, well, all the more "motivated" to go out and buy stuff we don't really need, because it's the only therapy we're willing to submit to. That's pretty sad, too, when you stop to think about it.

But once summer is over, we can at least act as if we're busier than usual and with the weather turning bad, no one's going to be coming along with extraordinary plans or demands. We can just get busy and do our thing, and start yearning for those crazy, lazy days of summer, which are so far off, and so beyond our reach.

Americans aren't the only ones

Although "nations" are a rather recent phenomenon on the world stage, there is no dearth of supporters who wouldn't trade them for anything. Americans are right at the top of the list, but a lot of others, like Russia, China, a couple of the Southeast Asian group or a few in Africa would like to get in on the deal. I don't know what the fascination is to be honest, just what is it that makes them so desirable?

A lot of you don't get the reason for the question. It's quite clear that we've had nations forever and it's as natural as four seasons in some parts of the world or rain in spring (if you're from the Northern Hemisphere). Actually, prior to 1648 and Treaty of Westphalia, there weren't ever really "nations" in our current understanding of the world, but, hey, why should we let historical facts get in the way of our beliefs? Life is certainly easier when you just pick and choose what suits us rather than getting the bigger picture. Why we have border where we have them or whether they make sense, well, those are issues that have been decided, of course, so there's no need to worry our little heads about them. Or is there?

In the Western Hemisphere (a rather artificial construct, if I may say so) 1776 is a year worth nothing. In the Eastern, however, it's 1789. In both years, revolutions took place and both these revolutions had a significant impact on everything that followed. The former was a conscious (even if perhaps, unnecessary) decision; the latter, a spontaneous act that developed into something that no one foresaw. This raises a question whether revolutions are a matter of choice or fate. I don't know. What I do know, however, is that some folks peg their beliefs on the one, while others will tell you it was the other date that matters. It really doesn't matter at all.

Sometimes I think that the petty and silly animosity between Americans and the French is about who had the "real" or the "true" or the "better" revolution. Depending on who you are reading, one year or the other can be used as marking the shift of humanity into "modernity". Whoopee. So far, no one's been able to make clear to me why that makes any difference at all.

When we look at the facts, we're left with this: a lot of violence occurred, a lot of blood flowed, a lot of innocent people suffered, and a lot of misery was visited upon the participants. In the decades that followed, a lot of violence occurred, a lot of blood flowed, a lot of innocent people suffered, and a lot of misery was visited upon those who benefitted from the "revolutions". And for what? For me, that's the key question.

The reasons for both were more similar than different: injustice, be it because of taxes or the simple ability to feed one's family. The results of both were more similar than different too: a different group of oppressors took over, a lot of people had to pay taxes and couldn't feed their families, and we have a different illusion of what our role is in the grand scheme of things.

Don't get me wrong, there are good things that came out of both. But ... are we moderns really better off than those revolutionaries. I often wonder.

Groundhog Day

Today's a special day for the denizens, and those who hail from Western Pennsylvania. In a little town, known for nothing other than a cranky rodent, each year on this day, Phil, as he is affectionately known, comes out of his burrow after his long winter's sleep. If he sees his shadow, I suppose he's happy, because that sight sends him back underground to wait another six weeks for winter to end. And so the legend goes, year after year, time and time again (which was the inspiration for the movie of the same name).

Over the course of the movie, for all the wrong reasons, the main character, played by Bill Murray, does the right thing(s) in order to become a better person and win the heart of the leading lady, played by Andie McDowell. How touching (and humorous) it all is, but how true as well. Einstein -- no slacker in the thinking and intelligence department -- is credited with saying that doing the same thing over and over again in hopes of a different result is a sign of insanity. If Uncle Al is correct, then I guess we're all insane.

OK, I may not do the same thing over and over again, but it has come to my attention that I say the same things over and over again. It's not really that I expect different results, but any result would be OK with me. Still, I can't help but feel that what I do, and what Al was talking about aren't really all that different.

Today, I included a picture -- a word cloud, to be exact -- to show you what I keep talking about. The cloud is a visual rendition of the frequency of key words or labels for my blog, from the very beginning to the end of January this year. I sort of like the picture, it tells me a lot.

I wonder if it tells you anything.

Another turn of the wheel

September is coming to a close. For a lot of us moderns (in the Northern Hemisphere), it means the end of summer and the beginning of autumn. For a lot of cultures, both past and present, it means the end of a year and the beginning of another. The vernal equinox is recently behind us. Day and night were in balance, and from now until the winter solstice, darkness will increase at the expense of light. It's nothing new. It's been going on as long as any of us (humans - past or present) can remember.

We moderns like to think we're above all that "superstition". The change of seasons is a meteorological phenomenon, nothing more. There's nothing magical, mystical, or even significant about it. It happens every year and will happen every year in the future as long as any of us live.

Pretty straightforward, isn't it? Pretty sad, too, isn't it? Yes, it's sad. Do you remember when you were a child and the world was full of magic? Make-believe was real. Fairy tales were true. The world was populated with ghosts and spirits and pixies and who knows what else? Sure, we like to tell ourselves, the time come when we have to grow up, but does that mean we have to stop being enthralled by the world? What if -- just, what if -- we could be reasonable, responsible adults and still maintain some of that mysterious magic of childhood? What would be wrong with that? If we take the time and make the effort to think back to those times, most of will find they were the happiest and most creative times of our lives. For too many young people, for children, today, they are anything but that. Today's children, for the most part, have to grow up fast and tough. There's no time for childishness, for magic, for anything that doesn't help us make a buck. Now, isn't that grand?

When seen in a certain light, our lives today are not all that different from those of our forebears. Oh sure, we have electric lights and appliances, indoor plumbing and heating, and the marvels of modern science. But, at bottom, most of us have a dangerous, demanding, and too often exhausting struggle for existence. Living from paycheck to paycheck really isn't all that different from living from one harvest to the next.

Taking to time to acknowledge the turning of the wheel, be it of harvests or seasons, is a way of allowing that magical creativeness that is a part of each of us to recharge and rejuvenate ourselves. We don't have to leave the magic behind us as we get older, we need to find new, perhaps adult ways, of incorporating it into our lives.

Of course, if you have no idea why you're even here, you won't know where to put it anyhow.

The meaning of life?

The controversial, yet nevertheless fascinating, German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche once wrote, "He who has a why to live can endure almost any how." If you've been following the most recent posts, you'll have little trouble understanding that I think the man was onto something.

Another German (language) thinker, Viktor E. Frankl, survivor of the Holocaust and psychoanalyst, said, "Challenging the meaning of life is the truest expression of the state of being human." Those of who you've been following the most recent posts will have little trouble understanding that I think this man was onto something as well.

There is no lack of "good" advice as to what you should or should not be doing at any point, at any stage, at any minute of your life. Most of this advice is naturally well-intended, but we all know about how the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. While not necessarily being so critical of such intentions, in the end, what really matters is not what think or believe, but what we decide to do about it. Frankl also informed us that "A human being is a deciding being." At this point, I also feel compelled to remind us all that deciding not to do something is still making a decision.

There is no book on the face of this planet, nor has one ever been written, that contains the answer to question regarding the meaning of life. The only person who will ever be able to answer that question is you. And, you can only ever answer it for yourself.

No one is more surprised than me at how many words I can find to throw at this one particular topic, but given the magnitude of the question, the importance of the answer, the consequences of decisions made on that basis, I feel justified in trying to get this horse up on its feet again. You see, when I look out into the world, at the state of affairs, at the news -- from shootings in Ferguson to the Ukraine to Iraq (again), through all the political posturing going on in both East and West, to what we're doing to our home (the Earth, in case you were wondering) -- or merely at my fellow commuters trudging to work everyday, I have to ask myself repeatedly why we make life so hard on ourselves? If there were such a thing as aliens and they were "checking us out", they would have to be confused by the sheer degree of contradictions we foist upon ourselves each and every day.

And so, I can only encourage -- admonish -- each of us to take a step back from the brink, for the edge of whatever abyss (actual, psychological, emotional) we've driven ourselves to and reflect for a while on the "why" of your own life.

The meaning of life

Taking the time to come up with a reasonable, considered answer to the question "Why am I here?" is worth the effort because it provides you, quite simply, for your own personal reason for living.

People with severe depression, terminal illnesses, who are imprisoned, being persecuted and tortured, starving to death, or worse often lose (at least sight of) their reason. I am saddened deeply when I think that so many will leave this place without ever having the slightest inclination of why they were ever here. But you, dear reader, are in a very privileged position: you have the time, the ability and the wherewithal to do just that: find your real reason for living, for being on this planet at this time, in whatever place you are. But as I never hesitate to remind you: it's not just about you, it only starts with you.

You may discover "a" reason for your life, but is it "the" reason? How would you know? Remember, you are not alone here. There are plenty of others around you all the time, some close physically, some genetically, some psychologically or socially ... your mileage will vary. How does your reason stack up against theirs? How compatible is it with theirs? How much in conflict is it perhaps? Is your reason better/more important/more worthwhile than theirs? What makes you think so and what do you think you ought to do about it? My guess is that you'll come up with a pretty significant number of reasons along the way to finding the "real", the "true", one.

One of the things that both amazes me and simultaneously disgusts me at the same time is how lightly we take such questions and how ready and willing most of us are to assert our reasons over and at the expense of others'. I think it's all too clear -- and even a casual look around you or at the news on any given day will confirm -- that way too many people think their supposed reasons are much better/more important/more worthwhile than others'.

What entitles me (or any of us) to more water, food, shelter, clothing, natural resources, security, happiness, recognition, or love than anyone else? Why do I think I should have more of any of these and that others should simply have less? How did we come up with the idea that coincidentally being born at any given place at any given time should determine what I may be allowed to even expect from life, let alone justify the reason for my existence? That's never really been clear to me and no one has ever explained it in any reasonable way. And so I continue to wonder, to be amazed, and, of course, disgusted.

I'm not foolish enough to think that many of you will take up the challenge. It's much easier to dump a bucket of ice water over your head (or not) than to stop and ask yourself what is the real meaning of your own life.

Take a step back from the brink

The last couple of posts were a bit of an excursion, a slight diversion. They were, if you will, simple exercises in what I was implying in regard to knowing oneself.

If we're honest, most of get up in the morning, go about our daily business, find fleeting moments of happiness, others of frustration and aggravation; we chat with others about nothing in particular and wish the world were a better place, but are, for the most part thankful, that we live in a pretty good part of that world. And that's it. Don't get me wrong, I'm not faulting anyone for that ... the phrase "most of us" implies at least that I'm part of that group, though I have my days when I don't really feel like playing the usual game. (On those days, I generally write this blog.)

But here's the thing ... well, two things actually: first, we're not here just for ourselves; without others there would be none of us individuals. But, second, the deeper, more important question is why we're here at all? I know, I know, you're thinking, "he's finally lost it," but I haven't lost anything at all.

Seriously, did you ever really stop to think about it? Why are you here, where you are, why do you even exist?

Any quick-and-dirty answers you might come up with ("because I was born", "because my parents had children", or any other nonsensical statements) are not answers at all. They are things we say so we don't have to think. Materialistic science will tell you that we -- any and all of us -- are here by mere chance; we're accidents of nature; there's really no reason at all. Some people may be satisfied with that, but I would bet that if they took some time to seriously think about the question, they wouldn't be so satisfied anymore. Fundamentalist religion will tell you that you are here to participate in some Grand Scheme in which a select few will live forever and the vast majority of others (mostly because they didn't say the right things at the right time or didn't do the right thing when told to by someone who had said the right thing at the right time) will be tortured forever and ever. Sounds more like a Sadistic Plot than a Grand Scheme if you ask me. It also sounds like a useful way to dupe a lot of people so that they can be controlled more easily. In other words, even some of the alleged, thought-through answers aren't answers either.

No, the only person who can answer the question for you is you. You are the one who has to take some time, stop and think, and come up with your own personal answer. It won't be easy, I can assure you, but it is worth the effort.

Tomorrow's Bastille Day

Tomorrow, though most of my francophobic (Freedom fries?) countrypeople don't know it, is Bastille Day. This is the French equivalent of America's 4th of July: a great day for praising one's own greatness (which the Grande Nation is very adept at, like their American cousins) and for celebrating one's accomplishments (even if they are drenched in blood). More than anything, it makes a great day for flag-waving. That makes July a pretty red-white-and-blue month, I suppose.

Far be it from me to pick on the French. Even they don't necessarily want to speak English when I'm there, and even if they do frown upon my speaking German, I like France; I particularly like Paris, Bordeaux, and Avignon, where I have been fortunate enough to spend more time. No, the French, as much as anybody, perhaps even rivaling Americans, are deeply imbued with that, as Einstein called it, "infantile disease" called Patriotism.

As I pointed out just a few posts ago, Americans may be suffering from a terminal case of the disease, but the French are not far behind. There are lot of others, like the British, the Dutch, the Russians, the Chinese, just to name a few, who are not far behind. Like I said then, I don't get it. I just don't understand it. There have been a lot of disastrous things happen in the course of human history, and most of them have been perpetrated either by religions or countries (or what we, in retrospect, call countries or nations). Whatever truly great things that have happened in the course of human history, like the mastery of fire, the discovery of the wheel, the finding of a cure for some terminal disease, have all been done by individual human beings (with the huge support of other human beings from other countries and other cultures). It's not the country that makes the difference, it's the person.

When you look around you to see what is great about the world you live in, you'll always find that, first and foremost, it was brought to you by another person. People matter. Not organizations, not localities, not tribes, not regions and not countries ... people matter. I don't know why that is so hard to grasp, but apparently it is.

The real difference, in my mind, between people and countries is simple: people are here now; they are with you; you can feel, smell and touch them; they are real and concrete. Nations, on the other hand, are mere abstractions. They serve their purpose, to be sure, but it is a small purpose in contrast to what another human being can do for you.

Think about it.

Can biology help us?

I'm pretty sure you weren't expecting this to get scientific. After all, what has biology got to do with the miserable state of the world today. No, I'm not going to lecture you about environmental destruction, global warming, pollution, or whatever. There are more than enough people who can handle that a lot better than I can. No, in keeping with my theme of simplicity, I only want to recall to mind some things that all of us actually know, but we don't think about very often.

There are those, and not a few of them being scientists and reasonable people, who would maintain that human beings are, at bottom, just animals. Now, I'm also not going to go off about humanity being the "pinnacle of Creation" either. My point is much simpler: yes, we share much in common with our animal cousins (our DNA is 98% the same as chimpanzees), but we are, nevertheless, different. Every animal (and plant, of course) on the planet is unique and special in some way, and each species is biologically programmed to do what it does best. That's really how it works, and there is little we can do about that. Still, human beings have capabilities and abilities that none of our animal cousins have, and it is toward these that I'd like to direct your attention.

I know some of you are asking, "are we really all that different?" but I would maintain the answer is "yes", but this answer has two parts: "how?", and "what does it mean?".

My first piece of evidence is that last question. We can, do (and I would say, must) ask what things mean. We know of no other species to date that thinks about, considers or searches for meaning. Yes many species communicate, in a variety of ways, but we've yet to find any other species asking about anything. Humans can ask questions. Humans can question. And if nothing else makes us different from other species, this certainly does. This does not mean, however, that we're better than any of the others. Please note: I said it makes us different. The corollary of being different is where we find the challenge, however: since there is something that we can do that no other species can do, and since each species on earth is designed to do what it does best, then it only seems logical to postulate that since we can question, we should be doing it to the best of our ability. I, personally, don't think that's too much to ask (pun intended).

When is that last time you questioned something? When is the last time you asked yourself what something really meant? If you haven't done it for a while, I can only recommend that you start practicing again. It's like any other capability that we have: if we don't use it, we lose it; what rests, rusts.

My advice, then? Question everything.

Who's going to celebrate?

We moderns are just silly enough to think that it was a good idea to decouple ourselves from nature, from the natural world around us. Oh, I'm all for modern conveniences and technology (to an extent), but losing sight of where one comes from in the end means never being able to figure out where you're going. You lose all sense of orientation.

I find it meaningful that two of the world's significant religions decided to have their holidays at this particular time. The fact that they are movable, that they can, and do, occur not on a specific day but at a specific time, tells me that the fest was there first, the reason came later. This does not diminish the significance of either of religious holidays nor the reason for their veneration in each of their complex of beliefs. After all, what should religions be doing other than helping us understand ourselves and our lives more deeply. And I believe that is precisely what the religious stories surrounding this event do.

The Passover story is a story of true liberty, the chance to go forth and establish a just and free society. Sure, we're all still working on that ... most people everywhere are still working on that, but the story reminds us, at a minimum, that this particular struggle is worth the effort. It tells us that true freedom is gained with others, not in spite of others. The Resurrection story is also a story of freedom, the ultimate second chance. It is a story that tells us that even when we screw up, there is still hope for us, but only if we stop thinking just of ourselves and start thinking of others as well. What both stories tell us, what they have in common, of course, is that they are about a new lease on life ... not just the lackadaisical, oh-I'm-feeling-better kind, but rather a deep, profound, existential lease of life.

It is our modern arrogance that too often prevents us from accepting and embracing the opportunities we are given. Myth, my friends, is simply truer than we might want to believe. The details are not the deciding factor, the moral of the story is. The stories being told right now -- mythologically, spiritually, cosmologically -- are worth listening to. We all have reason to celebrate.

What's to celebrate?

Sometimes I'm just naive enough to think that everybody knows why we have holidays. I'm always amazed then when I find out how many people don't. OK, maybe it's not necessary to know the exact formula for figuring out when Easter and Passover come, but seen cosmologically, there does appear to be a very long-standing tradition of why it's now.

The Easter story is pretty straightforward: a young Jewish rabbi is accused of rousing too much rabble, so the powers-that-be decide his number's up and they crucify him -- the standard abominable punishment of the day; contrary to expectations, however, he doesn't stay buried, was raised from the dead, met his disciples leading them to draw the conclusion that this man was in fact the long-promised Messiah ... thus (in very abbreviated form) Christianity was born. Easter, then, is Christianity's defining moment: no Easter, no Christianity.

Passover is perhaps a little more complicated, but not very: the Hebrews are slaves in Egypt, Moses, who was incidentally raised by the Old Pharaoh, is tasked by G-d to get the New Pharaoh to free the slaves. After a dramatic series of events, the last of which killed the first born of the Egyptians, but not the Hebrews (for the Angel of Death passed them over), the Pharaoh relents, lets them go and they leave; then, after wandering in the desert for 40 years, they settle in what is now Israel and become the Jewish nation ... thus (in very abbreviated form) Judaism was born. Passover, then, is Judaism's defining moment: no Passover (Exodus), no Judaism.

Aside from any religious or ideological issues, am I the only one that finds it odd that these two holidays should coincide. OK, it's not all that rare that two different groups may have holidays around the same time, but these two holidays are not just any old holidays. Instead, in both instances they are the holidays that more or less define these two groups.

Sure, I hear the skeptics already shouting "coincidence", but to me the fundamental significance of these holidays speaks against that. As we saw between the years, it was anything but a matter of chance that Christmas ended up where it is, but what we also saw was that there had been a long tradition of a particular type of holiday at that time. Is it really to unreasonable to think that the same forces might be at work here? I don't think so.

The tune of life

Why is country music, alt country, pseudo-country, and wanna-be country music so sad? I know that one comedian after another, Southern or not, have taken jabs at it, from my woman done left me to she killed my dog, too ... and there's lots of whisky drenching it all. When you listen a little closer, you side with her anyway: he didn't deserve the woman or the dog and nobody knows how he affords the booze.

No matter. Apparently it speaks to a lot of people. There must be a lot of folks who shouldn't own dogs. A lot of guys anyhow. And a lot of women who know they shouldn't have pets either.

One of the reasons I think about this is because a lot of Germans I know tend to like it. I'm not sure how many of them understand the lyrics, but I'm also not sure that's what's important anyway. I think they like it because if any instrument can cry, it's got to be a steel guitar. Oh, sure, it can be silly, faux happy, but behind it is a simple melancholy that is as much a part of life as birth or death.

I don't think we listen to instruments enough. We get into songs and forget who – what – is getting them to our ears. I really don't care what you music you listen to ... it's not the style that really matters. Find out which instrument is speaking to you, and you'll have a friend forever.

Music reaches deep. Deeper than we may like to admit. Of course, you have to stop just having it on in the background. Take a moment ... just listen.

The long tail

Let's face it, Americans are highly competitive, almost ... no, to a fault. There are only winners and losers. If you don't win, you lose. Ties are like kissing your sister and the silver medal is just the one who lost gold. Too bad. I don't think most of them know how much they are missing because of this one, small quirk of thought.

A world that only has winners and losers is just another type of monoculture, that ... well, American agriculture appears to love so much as well. No, dear friends, sustainability only comes through diversity, as tough as it is to accept. It's not all about who wins, it's about who has something to contribute. And that's one of the only reasons I like modern technology.

Huh? Wha'? Whazzat? Yeah, technology. For all the evils of the Internet that too many governments think they have to get under control, the widespread, cheap access to technology has allowed us to find all the losers who aren't. Yep. For you business freaks, it's called the long tail.

Being there may be more important than being promoted. Oh sure, I suppose there are enough talented artists ... especially musicians ... who big labels pick up and squeeze dry. But, truth be told, they have never really interested me all that much. While most of my friends were hip on the Beatles and the rebels were pushing the Stones, I was a Kinks man. Go figure.

I'm not going on a promotional tour here ... don't get excited, but there's a lot more exciting stuff off the beaten track than there is out there in the mainstream. You have to want to look. You have to want to go through some dry spells, but swimming in the hidden swimming hole was always more fun than being out there with everybody else in the lake.

Surprised endings

It struck me a couple of days ago how many things have ended. I mean, there have been a lot of bright people making these claims. It's not like Joe Shit, the rag man and his cronies down at the Dingy Bar & Grill have been talking this up. OK, I did overhear at the local McDonald's the other morning that it was time to stop something or other, but those guys didn't think anything oughta end. Sure, they wanted the government out of their lives, but as long as they kept the social security checks coming, just how bad could they be?

That's part of the problem, I think. Everybody wants something to stop, but whatever it is, it shouldn't be theirs. Well, there are some things that, while they may not have absolutely come to an end, are really close to just going away. On the other hand, when we hear about "ends", we think about what's going away, but that's only one of the meanings, isn't it?

Ends are what means lead to, aren't they? And when that's the case, you can go back and read the posting from last time, and it's a whole different thing. Of course, you have to add the question marks yourself and decide where we should be heading.

Toy boxes

One of the few pleasures of living away from home is the times I return to see how things are getting along without me. Last week I decided it was time to make the pilgrimage again. After being there just a short while, I realized that everything was in good hands, and, as usual, my five year-old brother dominated the scene.

Five-year olds have such an unconscious insight into adults and how they live. Sometimes it is frightening, to say the least. But, dodging the paranoia, I thought it would do me some good to talk to the boy to see how things had been while I was away.

He was not in sight when I got home, but deducing that he would more likely be in the playroom than the library, I went in there to find him. I came very close to breaking my neck as I stumbled over the toys which were strewn about the room. At first, I thought the room had been ransacked, but then I spied my brother in one corner frantically going through his toy box. "Hey," I called, "you're gonna kill someone if you don't quit throwing your toys around here!" He just looked at me as if I had committed an unforgivable sin, but being ignorant of the ways of a five-year old, and determined, with all my adult naiveté, to find out what was going on, I persisted.

"Whatcha looking for, sport?"

"My fire truck."

"Any particular reason?"

"No, I know it's in here though, so I wanna find it."

"You sure you didn't leave it somewhere? Outside maybe? Or up in your room?"

"Nah, all my toys are in here."

"It must make things pretty rough to get at – all those toys in one box and all. No wonder you can't find anything. Everything is just piled in here on top of each other. You're gonna break them all, if you keep this up."

"Well, Mommy says I gotta keep them all here. She says if I don't I'll lose them. But I still can't find my fire truck."

"Want some help?"

"No. Oh! I found it! I found it!"

Sure enough, out from beneath the ton of debris in the box, he pulled his fire truck. It seemed rather small and not worth the search, but I guess to him it was, and off he ran, leaving me sitting there amidst his mess. Many people think that young children can teach adults a great deal, and my experience with my brother bears this out. It was a lesson well worth learning. But I'm going to have to sit and rummage through my mind though and find out exactly what it is.

Simplicity

Max sat hunched over his paper. "Gawd, it's hard to put anything down anymore."

He sat for while looking out his window, but it quickly degenerated into an empty gaze. There was never anything to put down on paper. All that is never was, and all that was not ever wasn't either. It all seemed so simple.

The trees were swaying ever so slightly, being restrained, however, by the fact they were leafless. The lack of leaves made them unable to whisper those same truths Max had been so desperately trying to translate into words that everyone could understand. It was so simple in theory, but it was obvious that too many people were afraid of what the trees might say. It's not an uncommon problem, but a chronic one.

Max got up and went to the window so he could get a better view of those same things he had been looking at for so long now. They never changed, or so it seemed. He couldn't imagine why no one ever saw that. It seemed so obvious, yet here he was trying to get it across to those vast, unseen, faceless masses who really couldn't care less if they knew about it or not. Stagnation oozed through the window.

Everything he saw was saying the same thing at the same time and all those voices quieted themselves into a hushed chorus of unimaginable harmony.

"It is all too simple," he thought, "when taken as a whole, it is beyond expression, and when taken one thing at a time, it becomes garbled. No wonder so many artists decide to shoot themselves."

Max never entertained suicidal thoughts himself. There didn't seem to be much point in it. Disillusioned drunks were a dime a dozen. Lonely people went for half the price. Max knew which category he fit into.

"It's not so bad being lonely," he figured. "Hell, there must be millions of us out there – somewhere."

Contentment from fear

The first time that I can recall visiting my grandmother was when I was about five years old. The only thing I remember about the visit was her half-smiling and asking me if I had gone to Sunday school that morning. Being so young, it was difficult to describe what I felt, but I remember I was very uneasy. Now, I know I was frightened.

The house looks the same now as it did the first time I remember it. It is an old frame house covered with gray, imitation brick. The porch was painted a darker gray, and on it was gray swing which never failed to squeak when it moved. To the left of the house were two old pine trees, with branches so thick they kept the sun from shining through. The grass over their roots was always dry and dead and covered with brown needles that had fallen from the lower branches. The grass in the small backyard was always untidy. Every time I saw that house I felt a twinge of fear. It seemed very old, very desolate and it never changed. It reminded me very much of my grandmother.

I recall how reluctantly I walked up the steps to the front door. I knew exactly what I would see and hear each time I walked into that dimly lit, drab living room: my grandmother sitting on the gray couch just to the right of the door, my grandfather in the recliner to the left of the door, but he never frightened me. He moved about and talked, but my grandmother didn't. She just sat there on the couch in the same gray print dress, staring blankly out the front window, as if waiting for someone to come. This was odd, I thought. She was healthy enough so why just sit and look out a window? Even though she was old, I thought she could find something better to do. Maybe I was just afraid of my grandmother.

I always asked my mother if I could go out an play. I had to get out. Outside, I'd head straight for the car and jump in. I'd to sit behind the wheel and play bus driver. I wanted to drive away as fast as I could. Each time I had to stop for a traffic light, though, I would think about my grandmother. I wondered why I wanted to get away from her. After all, she had never been mean to me, but I just couldn't bear to watch her look out that window. I wondered what she was looking for. When I got out on the front porch, I would look far down the street, but I never saw anything. Everything always looked so normal to me.

I think I played bus driver every Sunday afternoon for the next seven years. Every time I went to see her she sat in the same place, looked the same way, and caused me to feel the same way too. But one Sunday, we left to see her, but we did not go to her house. This Sunday I did not feel so uneasy and I had no desire to flee. This Sunday we went to her funeral.

As I stood there and looked at her, I was finally not afraid. She lay there peacefully in a pretty pink dress and seemed more content than I could ever remember. When we went to her house after the funeral, I stopped before going in. I paused and looked once more down the street where I had seen her stare so often. I still saw nothing strange, but I felt content. I was not happy that she had died. In fact, I now missed her a little. Yet, I could not help but feel she had finally seen what she had been looking for, for so long.