Sol's Inner Vault

Maybe think too much, yes? Who else secretly dreads New Year? Maybe no one, maybe only me. No reason for it, it's irrational, like other inexplicable impulses that come without clue, just feel it, stupid, phantom algorithms.  And, it always comes up too fast after Christmas. So, why am I shvitzing about another year's routine end? What else could it mean? Just the cruel anxiety of appraisals? Annual accounts summary, tally of net losses and gains. But, life isn't a spreadsheet.  Yup, also had the typical New Year's. The joyous celebrations, the crowds, drinks, loud countdowns in taverns, friends homes, parties and such. There have been those New Years, too, no mourning, no big introspection.  Celebrating endings and new starts, it can be as simple as that, a custom or ritual, a dance to acknowledge time. But, the year's failures can weigh more than a number, while successes seem light, not enough good to cheer about. But, that's what I always think no matter wha

Many concepts Jesus of Nazareth taught with Scripture, parable, and story have a similar theme: that which was last becomes first- a reversal of perspective meant to challenge the truth of practiced values and customs.  Those who have the least have given the most, while those with wealth- the Pharisees and teachers of the Law- shall be the last of heaven's inheritors. Proportion becomes the real measure, while sincerity of heart is what God favors over vanity, whatever the tithe.  The Gospel of Matthew records what Jesus said, and His bar is very high. It's a challenge to consider how it could happen, given today's turmoil. Yet, Jesus spoke clearly about the meek inheriting the Earth, and the merciful receiving mercy. He also described how the hunger for righteousness shall be filled.  Jesus taught the three elements of faith: love, compassion, selflessness. But I'm only a man, forever imperfect. Loving my enemy has never been more difficult, or even impossible, if tha

Hope sees the invisible, feels the intangible, and achieves the impossible. ~ Charles Caleb Colton There is always being hopeful. Like when I'm with my dog at a nearby park, we're always hopeful we'll see a baby bunny bounce out of the bushes. Or, some black birds in a rowdy circle, quarreling and excited at something. Or, a fallen palm tree frond, my dog must inspect it every time, end-to-end.  Or, being hopeful as a self-healing, counter to all the erosive energy spent on worry, the needless, endless kind. There is always the salvation or calm of attitude, the only thing controllable, sometimes, especially the dark times. There is always the hope that loved ones and friends will be well, or okay.  Does my dog have any use for hope? Yes, but not as desperately as her dad. Perhaps her hoping is more a happy anticipation, untethered to enduring worry or fear, but only in the moment. Scripture describes hope as a virtue, as a mechanism of faith and trust. In Job 11:18, "

Known by many names and traditions, The Magi, the Wise Men, the three Kings, the visitors of baby Jesus are shrouded in mystery and scant reference. In Scripture, they arrive in but one of the Four Gospels, this fact alone is most puzzling, and only a few lines describe their contribution to the story of Jesus and his mortal history. Mathew writes how the three men of prominent status saw and followed a certain new star, traveling together to find the momentous occasion of the birth of Jesus.  Earlier in Scripture, Old Testament, prophet Isaiah's predictions regarding the Messiah's appearance hint at the events the three wise men wished to honor, but there was also much drama in those times. Evil King Herod, the dominant, ruthless ruler of the region, heard of the birth of a new "King", and felt threatened by the possibility he could lose his powerful reign. But, the savvy travelers suspected Herod's plan to destroy his future opposition, never returning to the pa

Day off from work, not my typical Sunday morning routine, but all my chores done yesterday, in the park with my dog, just made sense to do, no regrets! 😎 Found this gift set of Jack Daniels I had forgotten about, so... Had breakfast and coffee already, so this was a cool, impromptu treat. Let's have a tasting! First up, Gentleman Jack, an extra filtered, extra smooth delight, easy, and fruity finish. Then, there's Tennessee Honey, very nice! Just the best sweet balance, and a silky texture. Next, Jack Daniels #7, the classic sour mash blend, the brand coming thru in the traditional taste. Tennessee Fire, a spirited pairing of hot cinnamon and rich quality whiskey that so reminds me of those beloved cinnamon toothpicks every boy in my generation craved.  Finally, there's Single Barrel Select, the cream of the whiskey crop, aged differently, one out of hundred barrels is selected for a darker version with noticeably deeper, complex flavor. My new favorite in this group, the

Tiny victories. There is some deep and unexpected happiness to, by chance, going thru an old crate and finding your own ancient writings. Long forgotten, not really lost but preserved like an unnamed mummy in tattered notebooks and worn writing pads. Dozens of early poems, articles, stories that I didn't even recognise, but it's indeed my handwriting, they're my pages. So many decades gone now, lots of space to completely forget the most earnest past efforts, writing anything, everything, from mid-teens to twenties, also a bit painful to read again, most of it so bad! 😎 But, old writings become like childhood's stuffed critters, cozy familiar, all the old feelings flooding back. Tiny victories, they keep us going.

Some point out the search for God has been ongoing since the earliest time. God goes unfound, the non-believers will remind, a thousand millenniums, since humankind could think and talk. No scientific evidence of God to date. Nowhere is there a tangible trace of divinity, spirit, or any life after this life. But, if you are Baruch Spinoza, or Immanuel Kant, or if you are a Deist, you'll see all of existence thru the exact opposite lens-- you cannot find even one microscopic speck of the universe that is absent God's power! Not one dot of existence excludes God's glorified presence, not a single atom spins beyond God's frequency.  Either God is nowhere, or Everywhere  at once, inseparable and inviolable, the first light that had no start, has no end, beaming across the cosmos for all, a sacred realm of immortality, God's best idea. So then, is it God's eternal mind, or, our tiny, fleeting mind, where to place faith, if anywhere? There's no denying, looking ab

Dialogue: Devil and Saint Thomas the Apostle  "I mean, it's completely understandable. We are creatures who are aware of our mortality, as we see everything else die, too. It's not a big leap to assume we also return to dust. So, humanity being vulnerable and microscopic, there quickly developed a need to help folks cope and hope. There came a natural call for an elaborate rationale that could persuade folks away from the damning depression of death, and from these physical, earthly bonds. There came a.quick longing to create the idea of God- a Creator who is bigger and much prior to death. A kind Master to take everyone's mind off of obvious disasters, abject suffering, and fearful impermanence. There came a need for religion and blind faith that an eternity of dust isn't the final fate for our humankind, if we only believe. No one blames anyone for this delusional creation, this good news idea there's something else."  "If I could get a word in here

Feeling so unsettled and utterly lost, but beyond some explanatuon or good reason. Still awake thru this long, sleepless night, fearing my own dreams and state of mind, can I ask the universe for one healing hug? Feeling no arms embrace, no quiet words, it's still okay, I can imagine the comfort and caring, as if there is a special way, or some order to these cloudless skies, some code of relief just to get me to another sunrise, another day of possibilities. So, this unnerving solitude is only a subjective scourge, but where is the kindness and holiday in the world? In the hard, brash news there is more despair, more random suffering. Maybe sleep isn't important now, maybe just holding on, long night alone.  

It has become the ailment of our time. So many now are experiencing it secretly, unable or unwilling to admit their daily suffering. So many afflicted, but perhaps unaware, or ignoring the symptoms, denying a condition that is often difficult to plainly name out loud. Or, people believe it's something else, a phase, a temporary situation, just the circumstances of fate, or life's miscellaneous, unrelated details, not something pervasive, chronic, no big deal, no illness or undesirable malady. So many folks are in the constant presence of this harsh, excruciating, and uncontrollable state, this cruel form of unwelcome company. So many people suffering in quiet anguish, embarrassed, ashamed, uninformed. In truth, it's actually a veiled disease, often very serious, sometimes actually deadly when ignored over time, neglected for too long, disaster may manifest all at once, just beyond the reach of help. So many people, everywhere, potentially anyone, all around us, at work, at

In earnest resolve and open heart I've sought the key to believing-- yet the inquiry up until now seems to have no destination. But, is believing maybe itself the only key? Does the decision and practice of pure faith then unlock the mystery that's so illusive to pursue along paths of curiosity and doubt? Is some tangible bond of trust completed only thru love and acceptance, unquestioned by proofs or data? Assuming the state of faith, becoming a choice made consciously with confidence from the unchartable mind of everlasting hope. Unbound by time or worldly concern, with faith alone the key to God's gift of grace, not for our righteous acts and decrees we are told in Scripture, but by salvation thru belief in the Creator. So, believing has no other key, it is the key. The missing element that completes the elegant formula of meaning, that fills the nucleus of the unknowable with new light. Faith is a dedicated decision to stop asking the very biggest questions of this exis

There is no questioning over heaven when I talk with my mom, 96, dementia bad now. There is no casual doubting or stray musing about the hereafter when she asks where everyone has gone. "Where are they? My family. My sister Rebecca. We were holding hands when they pulled us apart, she went to another line. We waved to each other. My parents, everyone, where are they now?" I answer my mom with certainty, like I'm really informed. "They're all in heaven, mom, with father, all together, they're ok. Some day, they will come for you. You will see them all again." I tell her all this calmly, almost matter-of-factly, like I know for sure. There is no questioning when answers are unknown anyway, no doubting when it serves no good purpose, like hope or peace of mind. No time for intellectual speculating when the eternal is in the room, like beams of light thru the curtains mom made.  

For this thought stream, God's reality will remain unquestioned. But, what must God be feeling in the midst of global fractured faith among Christians and Catholics? Is God sad with all the ongoing quarrels of opposing doctrines? The internal battles never cease to boil.  Even as Christians are harshly persecuted around the world, painful philosophical differences endure over a millennium. Today, Pope Francis is attending the great Synod meeting, where Church philosophy and practice are reviewed. Many seeking policy reform have been hopeful their views would have a turn. For instance, the very contentious issue of women receiving holy ordinance, then becoming priests, as Lutheran and other denominations may permit. But, this Pope, as his predecessors, will not consider at all such radical change. His Holiness explains it cannot be done without also changing the structure of Catholic beliefs in Revelations, and that no one has authority or cause to alter God's design: only men c

(Excerpt from the 1855 preface to Whitman's Leaves of Grass.) "...hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown..." Thinker and poet Walt Whitman wrote about our many human contradictions, the personal traits that make no sense, that seem so opposite and impossible. Being a resigned agnostic who prays, for example. Or, being a questioning explorer of the boundaries of science and faith, how they both share a long, confusing border of reason, beliefs, facts, and emotions. A dad for two decades now, I'm still asking myself what is the best way to help my young son understand his own contradictions, or impulses that may shape his choices and even outcomes.  After Hebrew school, Bar Mitzva, and me talking about the Commandments, he's a young adult now. We always have frank conversations, so he knows my agnostic traits, and that my praying is contrary to my doubting, still a part of

Mind wandering after work, thinking about writing and other forms of self-expression, what's similar what's different, and the parallels are many. I'm blessed with friends who are pros in the visual arts, drawing and painting, sculpture, crafting of all kinds. Having so little skill in these amazing talents, writing somehow seems maybe easier. For instance, thinking of words and colors, the basic core tools of creating, there is such a numerical difference! Due to light physics and our eye structures, there are three primary colors from which an endless range of hues emerge. If words were colors, with thousands and thousands of hues in each language, what is their ancestry? If words were colors, what then are the primary three, from which all emerge? "Me, You, We"? "God, Love, Eternity"? What are your three?  

A week of sporadic grappling with the urgently irrelevant. Going home now. Coming back again next month for another week. How is it possible, there's so much around me to contradict this feeling, yet it's daily. So alone in this universe? No, not all day, the sensation comes then leaves, the disconnected sense can last for hours, an alien malaise with no other symptom beyond heartache. Feeling alone in a crowd as they say, strolling the day invisibly, or straying about with no purpose, but in pain, inverted screams implode between normal thoughts, but it's not important now who goes nuts or who survives, when you're down to the tens and fives of your rationality, the constellations say it all, wheeling above you in plain encrypted sight, too far off to dispute. How is it possible, if I have a soul is it vacant, does someone return in time? Hoping so, as alone in this universe seems vainly focused anyway. You'll say, but what about family, dearest friends, neighbors

Don't be alarmed or distressed, the nonsensical is all around us, all of the time, no matter compass or your GPS. It's a functional part of our commerse, common speech, interacting in kind. Reason has its place. But, fantasy gives us the possibilities to surge beyond our limitations; fantasy lets us see the broad frequencies of colors, and channel them all thru unbound imagination. Magic is okay when kindness is in play. Someone will say to another, "May you be blessed a thousand eternities." Fine salutation, the sentiment counts. But, odd words. Is there even a plural for eternity? What would we do with two?  

Uniquely palpable sense of self, those fingerprints of a lifetime's history, the feeling that you are you, I am me, banks of random memory, all of this dementia steals away day by day, stranger hours get tangled over nothing important, nothing recalled. Little by little sense of self never was beyond some dream that seemed real for decades but now it fades like fog or the last cloud passing thru an epilogue.

Sometimes, when you go somewhere, you take a certain route, because it is the best way. Coming back home, you may take a different route, again because it is the best way. There is no contradiction, especially if you are walking and there are hills or inclines. Consistency in life may be undefined by routes taken, but then refound by steady purpose, lasting values, and some enduring hope for no particular reason.  

Horror of war begins with the false premise that lives have different value. There are no obscure lifetimes, only lack of storytellers. Most of our stories go untold, except for awhile, maybe for generations, by those we know. Old photos, anecdotes handed down, second-hand reflections repeated again. What can we do? The universe isn't big on permanency, ever expanding as it is, so humans cannot expect much, except by faith or belief.  Fully composed, the chronicles of humankind would stack to the next galaxy and beyond, a swirling trail of volumes and titles most unimaginable, countless pages, every day's details described, every person's story told.  There are no hard and fast rules. Whatever seems like the most simple lifetime, if studied up close and personal, it would reveal all the similar triumphs, hardships, gains and losses found in all biographies. Every human who has ever lived or will ever live is a compelling diary of intense interest and value. Every unique lif

Let's see where this goes. Thinking that is magical in nature. Thought processes involving an ongoing series of ideas, images, concepts, beliefs and feelings passing in processional order in our minds. But, these thoughts have no actual basis in reality- they're magical. Magical in this context refers to thought process not grounded in reason, logic, and accepted facts in global evidence. As in, the Earth is round, a fact. Thinking it's flat is magical process.  Magical thinking includes magical mathematics, magical physics- the hapless and doomed Wiley Coyote, hanging out over the cliff's edge, suspended in air for funny moments before vanishing beneath the screen.  What does all this mean, reason or magical, facts or belief, illusion or reality? How does it affect me right now, in this one moment of my life which has continued for seventy years, and hopefully counting? What is the choice at hand? Magical thinking may include nearly every religion, any belief system be

The athiests or doubters would explain it with little challenge. How natural and expected, they'd say, that God's personality was described by the early Torah authors with so many attributes most familiar to human experience. Beginning in Genesis, Yahweh is the sole Creator of the universe who also at times expresses great wrath, jealousy, vengeance, remarkably mortal qualities that, to many who strive to understand, are most puzzling as divinely shaped descriptors of an All-powerful and All-knowing God. Scripture clearly confirms that we're made in God's image, yet we've also been vexxed with painful, immature, and negative characteristics. Folks of faith might say our God's image is now a distortion because of sinful behavior. Disobeying Yahweh is the beginning of sin, Scripture pointedly describes. God had no mercy for Adam and Eve's mistake, no tolerant understanding. Cast out into suffering, they knew nothing of God's purported universal loving or f

I learn about something, a fact, an idea, or a concept, then I'm scratching my head, struggling to understand how it's true. Like, considering the impossible. For example, quantum physics. It curls my brain into question mark pretzels, so that I almost have to "feel" what I'm learning. Contemplating other dimensions is like trying to leave the room without moving, or, like leaving and staying in place at the same time. My consciousness and the cosmos are in fact always inseparable, but there's a constant and convincing illusion that some division exists, and this trick is accomplished thru an endless myriad of momentary distractions called "life". Mathematical magicians assure us that the computational certainty of these other dimensions is beyond question, all of which doesn't help conundrums of unanswered enigmas, and how I go about steering this mortal wheel's roll. It's believed that I, as observer, must at the same exact time affect

Although appearing later in the Bible's New Testament, this particularly defining Scripture is really the start. Believers must begin here, where faith makes its primary claim, and where all doubt ceases by conscious selection. Verse 3:16 says "All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness,". Many verses preceding and following review in detail the dangers of association with non-believers, and the inviolable Word of God being eternally beyond question. This is the seminal point of departure, the nucleus. Did God say it, or are these merely the words of humans?  Formally marking a certain finality of knowledge, one must choose to believe that every "jot and tittle" of Scripture is God authored. This is the biggest challenge to overcome, or rather accept as being true. Various secular world views, based largely on reason and science, react with quickly determined rejection, refusing to believe without

Is there any merit in quibbling over unknowns? Early this morning, 3am, roaming the house on her walker, my mom says it again. It's been awhile now, a repeating thought. "I just want to know what happens afterwards. Where do I go?", she asks in earnest. How easily I could answer that no one really knows. Yet, many, many believe that heaven is real. Lucky place at the throne of the Creator of the universe.  So, I always answer her the same: "You'll be with father again, mom, that's where you'll go. Where he is." What do I know? Just another sinner here, typically imperfect to answer the most important mysteries with clarity. On whatever conscious or instinctual plain, believing is a decision that helps bring the mind over to heart matters, like devotion and unconditional love.  There is no merit in quibbling over unknowns. In the end, it matters little what we actually can prove, because within the limitless realms of faith, all is possible. Calming c

Dementia When mom bolts straight up from the couch, from quarelous sleep or menacing dream, and shrieks out "Help me! I'm dying, I'm dying!"- there is a moment when you think Death itself would be scared off, frightened, in shock. The ritual of daily heartbreak is continuous, witnessing her struggles and confusion now, so active before.  Everything about dementia is a startled, dreadfuly unwelcome reset. Random, sometimes ominous blanks from memory banks clogged in evil fog, mired down with star maps gone, destinations lost.  How do you even hate a disease? Chemical imbalance. Plaque. Brain processes run wild. The most insidiously impersonal of crimes, it has no face to despise like Hitler, like Satan. Maybe each face of dementia's victims is held mercifully in God's great Hands, but names and personalities are still uprooted. Minds of loved ones are still ransacked, disheveled like tossed hotel rooms, numbers gone from the doors.  Anyway, hating it never help

A night so crowded with pale haze and lavender mystery, even the darkness is grateful how the moon wasn't having it, beaming thru the whispers, low clouds and intrigue intermingling.  The small town continued its deep slumber, uninterrupted by queries or controversy, the last few lights gone out several hours ago, a quiet calm settling down upon the village as if all the questions were answered, all the dreams counted one by one, all the longings fulfilled as promised. A night when the sky has other plans, the wind near dawn knows its place, the oldest secrets are all explained in unknown languages filtered thru fog and an alphabet of encrypted symbols, hieroglyphs of random spirits spread across galaxies from the original past. Constellations of conscious mythology, the moon understands their meaning, a night when souls only want to hide.

This quizzical life is also constantly heroic, as evidenced all around us. Everywhere we are, small acts of courage occuring with hardly a notice, lost in the traffic of days passing, hours dissolving into weeks and months of quiet miracles by the hundreds of millions, uncounted in the reverie of the moment. Despite all the faceless, unconscious fears of this veiled mortal experience, humans are yet prone to help each other, it's not purely a selfless instinct. We all somehow intrinsically know thru our DNA that each survives better when more survive together; it's in our bones, this original kindred knowledge. Commonly great heroes are ususally disguised by the immediacy of the challenge, the crisis or problem in play. You can see them better when you look sideways, past our entitlements and prejudices, we all have them, they make us all blind to the most obvious. It's the mom, or dad, or grandparent, trudging along in the routines needed, thanklessly toiling day to day, d

He pooped it all out. Literally. Didn't discriminate. He readily flashed his unmistakable talent, then his ass, alternately, likely valuing both the same. Sober, drunk, irrational, he made excuses as we do, then let it all go.  It is always the restless, resourceful reader who plucks out the diamonds from the waste, plenty of both on every Bukowski page. At first, like a street fight, you can't turn away; but later you do just that. He doesn't read as well later. The redundant victim crap gets weaker, familiar darkness now a bit too comfortable for his pained words. Nothing is fair or meant to be. That's all just an ugly myth of lies. Bukowski tallied up his bad breaks, and created many himself. That's a personal math of self-destruction only he could decipher. The notion of winners and losers gets confused, people aren't that different after all. No one lives on. No one escapes to tell the tale, And anyway, to whom shall it be told? All end up atop the big heap

Birdies may come with kindness, but don't expect them. Decency is still par for the course of this life. It is simple gratitude that scores the double eagle.  

Sometimes, a random but relevant wisdom can be found in the smallest moment. Like, remembering to enjoy the tangerine wedge by wedge, longer, more focused, not hurry the partaking.  

When songs have become old friends, we hear them with our entire being. At 70 now, my go-to songs and artists still strike cords comfortable, and not. I've always suspected we take each and all stages to the next, and the influences accumulate into the moment we are now. The boy hasn't gone anywhere, the old man is present and more tolerant, the middle-age man recalls the mistakes and lucky blessings. Death is behind my left shoulder, always, and waits in silence, but that's cool. The early music like Santana, so many more, it has all become the music of my spiritual vault, where I return for a refill when my hope is lowest, and the old songs never fail to reconnect me to...what? I don't exactly know, but it's essential for healing, and going on again. These artists still playing and performing, some older than I, and each of us with a unique list of our favorites, they've collectively helped me keep my thoughts where they best flourish: not to the dust of the p

When we say attitude is everything, is it merely a casual repeating of an old but still relevant truism? Or, are we actually considering how attitude affects every conscious moment of our existence? Sometimes, I think that our attitude is the only thing we actually have in life, the only quality we choose to control, and independently direct as our own. There is no big mystery to personal conviction based on knowledge, belief, and experience, as there is no conflict between a heart and mind at peace. Attitude clarifies direction, the path gets no easier, only better defined. While many believe a good idea is always possible, just as many believe every good idea is only the temporary flip side of misfortune and regret. But, it's also true that much is not in our control, the unexpected happens. Can't pretend to always have a positive attitude, some days I may measure this existence hour by hour, only surviving. Perhaps the best we can do is dutifully recall- often if necessary-

What would you think if I confessed to finding myself in these occasional, absurd moments when I seem to realize all at once that it doesn't matter about the existence of a Supreme Being, a moral higher power or Creator. It still remains true that whether or not God actually exists is a wholly unprovable matter of belief. Faith does not negotiate with reality. You're all in, or, you're following some other path. But, how may it also be ultimately unimportant? Because, God or no God, we're still just stuck here on earth for this finite time together. We're still challenged with undeniably good and evil acts, uncontrollable acts, and instances of random suffering no one can explain, not even the devoutly faithful. Mysteries remain mysteries for everyone, and there is still surviving, in this harsh place. We are still stuck with enigmas like charity and selfishness, fear and tyranny, sociopaths running nations, unimaginable and common cruelties, and the ruthlessly incl

Motivation is difficult to assess or measure, it can change masks at will. Writing is most certainly a way to tell folks about myself. Simple as that. No matter the subject or the perspective expressed, we want readers to know who we fundamentally are in nature. So, we use a few words to fingerpaint a rendering of ourselves, to leave an impression, a flavor of our personality. Writing is often a revelation of intent, becoming then a voluntary or instinctual reaction to our intrinsic aloneness, our calamity of uniqueness. Existing never before and never again, writing is a way to feel more at home.  

There is no debate between faith and a lifetime of questioning, seeking, and uncertainty. When you decide to believe in something, the details and facts take a quick backseat to pure emotion. Proofs and disproofs no longer matter when faith is the conscious decision. So, belief thru faith is in every respect a whole other reality. It cannot be partially embraced, or casually experienced. Faith is a total immersion of commitment to living that is not influenced by flawed human example, or transient understandings.  Folks have always debated about the accuracy or meaning of Scripture. My sense is that all of these many, human authors sincerely believed that God spoke thru them, and that they were merely recording the expressions of the Spirit.  After a lifetime of studying these subjects, my sense is also that the fairly well-documented history of the Bible's assembly is a compelling chronicle of subjective inclusion and exclusion, politics, intrigue and religious rivalry, culture an

In the Holy Quran, the term for the hereafter appears over a hundred times. A certain realm is described for both heaven and hell, paradise or eternal fire, based on one's deeds. In the earliest Sanskrit Hindu Vedas there is no reference at all to afterlife. Yet, later scripture adds the concept, along with cause and affect Karma, literal reincarnation, the transfigured soul. Many Buddhist beliefs are most similar. Christian tradition believes in both the Old and New Testament. In the Old Testament, the Jewish Bible, there is no clear cut view of the afterlife. The New Testament, created within Christianity, teaches that, depending on a person’s belief in Jesus as the Savior of humanity, one would be consigned to heaven or hell. All of these belief systems deal with the hereafter differently, and all require blind faith in the sanctity of scriptures.   It is hardly unusual for any beings to wish their own existence to continue in some eternal form or manifestation. There is nothing

Gender First thing to say is, I'm not influenced by personal experience. This is a topic- current and virally debated in our culture- that I look at only as an observer. I have no close transgender friends, family, or neighbors. So, not directly informed here beyond my own reading, conversation with others, my thoughts. The core of the issue: I'm not persuaded that actually changing gender is even possible. It's like asking or expecting x and y chromosomes to switch seats. Can't happen in science. You can change hormones, physical structures, and psychological or attitudinal beliefs. The merits of doing so are endlessly discussed pro and con.  Yet, there's no doubt the suffering of feeling disconnected, wrongly oriented or misaligned in ones own life and body, it must be excruciating. The motivation for drastically ending this suffering is readily understandable. But, could it be the wrong remedy for the wrong problem? Misdiagnosis via yet incomplete psychological i

If some sublime words of wisdom are on cue here, they're not forthcoming. I'm bewildered by this number, and how I got here, because year by year doesn't seem possible. But, as my teenager at home said, "there's no other way, dad. You got to seventy the same way everyone does, it's cool!" My son cannot know this almost vaporous feeling of decades passing, years dissolving like honey in my coffee, and the deceptive pace of daily life in all its sundry detail, time goes both fast and slow, endless days, weeks that flip by like stray afterthoughts, and months tearing pages off the calendar almost as a casual, forgotten gesture. My gratitude, I must find it again each day, to recall and resume a journey that never reveals the path too soon, never a clue about direction, only some unnamed but determined force that holds the faith of tomorrow's fate. Time is an invisible fabric of thought, much like a quilt, patched from event to event, milestones sewn into

We have always worn masks. It didn't begin with a virus. We have fashioned our masks since civilizations emerged. Worn daily, we present ourselves with masks for each encounter or challenge. Masks to explain who we are, what we fear or celebrate, the masks protect us from bad surprises or even dangers. The masks we make for ourselves must change constantly, and there is nothing to hide except everything, so the masks must be fast, effective, and individually designed to interact with others masks. This doesn't mean everyone is false, or insincere, masks are essential for all. Without masks we are simply too open, too vulnerable, too unpredictable even for ourselves. The masks allow control, at least enough to give us time, figure out what's good, what paths to take. We only understand our own masks. They're not to be loathed or dismissed. Within our masks are the key mysteries to our longing, the desires that drive us daily, that reveal our fragile humanity. Greet your

So many human traits are universal. There is nothing more human than desiring eternal life. No one wants their existence and identity to terminate. Beating death is the main human wish, the basis for entire belief systems to evolve over millenniums of thought, the fingers-crossed promise that is professed by some religions, and with no evidence, only the choice to believe. There is nothing more human than wishing for a Parent over all of us, the Guardian of our personal fate and future, the moral judge of this life. Because we know so little about why we're even here, how this universe works, and what God is all about. Most of us either want to know these very big things, or, assume that we do know. There is nothing more human than believing in a Messiah concept- a soon to come, anointed Savior tasked with the objective of transporting humanity from the mortal fate of death to eternal life and the end of all sin and suffering. But, nothing escapes the possibility that all assumptio

When does simple debating turn into jousting to the death? When does civility leave a verbal disagreement? When does discussion become strategic movement on a battlefield?  When the talk turns from the topic at hand to the people who cannot agree. When we shift the talk to you and me. When differences in perspective are weaponized to then hurt and harm in an ad hominem attack made personal. When a person's integrity is questioned because of a different perspective, it's another conversation, apart from the start, and meant to weaken the other. You don't accept all the assumptions of global warming? You're anti-science! You don't agree with critical race theory? You're a racist! You don't agree that male and female bodies competing is fair to anyone? Then, you're anti-LGBT! Debating enters the Octagon when we forget our own decency in order to condemn others for their opinions. Discussion goes off the rails when one is willing for dialogue to crash and bu

Proverbs 9:10 "The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom: and the knowledge of the holy is understanding." When certain redundant absolutes invade our thoughts, it's already an impossible expectation. An example can be our human fear. In its essence, fear is always a state of not accepting something, dreading some reality. Who can say they are without some fear or disabling worry? It can even be nameless, but nonetheless present, fear can self-identity in an instant. Isn't some fear good, normal, even desired? I'm not going to dance on the roof, fear of falling is instinctual, even protective. Common fears include all aspects of illness, injury, or death. Fear of others, the dark, clowns, insects, all common. Many around the world and here fear their government's power to control. Faith is said to be an antidote to fear, yet believers are afraid of unsaved souls, afterlife punishment and such. Fear of judgement is a huge and universal fear that likely