Sol's Inner Vault

Reflection time. Do I hash this out every year ending to self punish, or encourage, or take some other count? Not sure, but it feels like a requisite process that must be some form of healing, or mending all the unforeseeable hurts and surprises of the past dozen months. Perhaps each time I'm looking for purpose, or reason to count up all my blessings. There are always more to realize. It was a year of profound and consequential change, inevitable maturing, and generational shift. To our amazement, our boy turned twenty-one, truly a child no more. Personally, my own progress as a human being doesn't impress me. This year, I still worried too much, reacted to too much, and definitely another year of just thinking too much. Overthinking isn't good. Neither is emotion controlling the moment when it's unimportant.  Still room for so much improving, fine tuning, and just learning more. Maybe that's next year's theme: more discovery, being simply kinder.

For most of an entire summer vacation, I was brave Green Lantern. Green outfit, big green ring. I dutifully memorized and faithfully invoked the ring's secret oath every day, recharging its consequential power over uncool evil doers and such. Many innocent lives were saved around the apartments, my neighbors were safe and grateful.  But, I also had a close second DC Comics hero, favorite for a reason. Batman, unique among his mighty colleagues, had no superpowers! Along with his partner Robin, the Caped Crusader won his Gotham City missions without any magic, metaphysics, or otherworld tricks. And, as every DC diehard knows, Green Lantern and Batman just didn't really get along, although they did team up together many times. So, what did Batman have? Six major attributes taken to the very highest  levels of accomplishment:  - Martial arts expertise. - Gadgets and high-tech.  - Stealth and surveillance. - Strategic thinking. - Superior intellect. - Athleticism and agi...

Everything vibrates by frequency. Everything in the universe has the same vexing challenge: distance. We don't see the silent splendor. We don't feel the furious drama. Every thought is fully recorded.  All memory is retained and stored. There is this one single moment. Perception of time is an illusion. The illusion of time is all-powerful. Space expands faster and faster. But, all that doesn't matter when  I can not see this world revolving. I'm just outside walking my dog.

We can not always know who or what the teachers or lessons are. Some of what I learned early, still learning a half century later, a short and consequential list: Courage, the rarest of qualities. A hateful lie may live forever. Rage is every man's Kryptonite. Generosity can be swindled. Reason, the refuge from chaos. All have an unassailable core. Age, a number; attitude, timeless. Teachers and lessons come from both losses and gains, times of turmoil or calm, all unannounced, becoming the basis of experience. This daily instruction never ends.

Global. Cosmic. Eternal. Strolling down the supermarket aisles, filling the cart, my state of mind is a dozen eggs mundane, a loaf of sourdough below awake, even after my two morning coffees. We navigate our lives hour by hour, task by task, priorities announced, and we comply. Hard as we try, planning things as the day goes by, and little time for much reflecting. Whenever I remember resuming the connection to higher realms of thought, well beyond the lower politics of conflict and arbitrary division, the stress of the day seems to vanish along with inner bickering as moods often display. Can one function in this life while channeling the cosmos? Unlikely, probably not. It's puzzling. Mortal beings we are, bound to the trivial details of living, till the end. However, many would challenge that idea, believing the divinely conceived is inseparable from our quaint and worldly experience.

This morning I briefly walked around an ancient cemetery, my thoughts swirling and unsettled. Ending another blessed week with my amazing mom here in Mojave, we've had a grand time together.  Nearby is the Hardyville Cemetery, all that is left of a town that once thrived with steamboats and cargo along the Colorado River, all gone. There was a somber air this early morning, walking in the desert. It seemed so far away from the news, the shouting headlines, all the world's hubris faded into dust.  I've read this tiny, sixteen plot burial acre, with various sized piles of rocks separated by neat rows, has a dubious past. A tragic history of massacre, untold cruelties to the local river tribes living in the valley for nearly a millenium, they were crushed by many settlers, all vanished now. I thought of this past election, all the vitriol, hating, sore divisions. The silence of the small cemetary seemed to mock the shrill urgency of recent days - how it's all the same to t...

Once upon a time, people knew all the answers. Questions were rare and usually just asked rhetorically. Folks nodded knowingly about nearly everything. Words were less needed, or just a noisy distraction. Language became simple looks and gestures, and speaking would lose its reflexive urgency. Silence was highly valued, for some even exalted. Solitude was the ideal vacation. Being alone was a blessed gift.

The sun behind the sail locks all coordinates for the heart's voyage. You're already unique in the universe. You've finally forgotten the future. You'll soon remember something you've never known. Expect the impossible while ignoring what is likely. First, face those fears with no name. Then, face that fear that names you. Names harness their random power. Who gave you those masks before you were anyone? When can you peel them off to begin again? Do you trust your own beguiling smile? Then, keep going in opposite directions, but tack to the most northern winds. You'll arrive at your destination out of breath, unbelievably tired. You'll remember: Gratitude is eternal.

At the risk of looking like the dropped burger patty on the grass, a few thoughts about how we Americans may celebrate this momentous day of independence.  Yes, it's about family, freedom, pride, picnics, and the fireworks. Yet, how many ponder or even recall how these rituals and joyous symbols still represent the chaos, uncertainty, and suffering of war? How the fireworks characterize "the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air." All the precious lives lost. My amazing mom, Rachel, never liked the shows we saw together as a family at the L.A. Coliseum, but I didn't know why until I asked. As a survivor of the Auschwitz death camp seventy-five years ago, the exploding fireworks and smoky drama only remind her of the fearful horror she experienced. Our gratitude for receiving the gift of life in America has been huge. Emigrating to liberty after tyranny and World War is a blessed voyage full of love, hope, and opportunity. Every year, so not forgotten, let...

So often, in so many ways, I'm reminded how two things can be true at once. A few days ago marked another anniversary of legendary writer Earnest Hemingway's suicide in 1961.  It is well-known how tortured his life had become his last decade, the illness and depression, the multiple shock treatment sessions, the alcohol. Finally, he could no longer write or even read, the two mainstays of his very existence, identity, and ability. But, my own empathy regarding Hemingway and his very sad decision is reluctantly blurred by the way he chose to exit this world. No, I don't mean by his gruesome manner of dying by gunshot.  I mean that he chose - however one is even able to 'choose' in such final moments of despondency and hopelessness - to end his life in the foyer of the home he shared with his wife. In his last act of brutish disregard for his long enduring spouse, Hemingway underscores the colossal, intrinsic selfishness of his character. Hardly a macho persona, but r...

Commander-in-Chief cognitively compromised  they knew it and we  knew it too so now  swamp rats leave rapidly  in single file seeking fast  and new heroes while  not looking back at  the sinking ship of deceit  and subterfuge cargoes  of peddled lies become  anchors of doom.

Well into 2024, there is now a prominently new and extra layer of consideration that is freshly attached to nearly everything. Already so quickly automatic, it's not even realized in the casual moment.  A requisite super question over all that we see and hear: "Is this really real?" A silly redundancy in phrase is suddenly a serious challenge to carefully negotiate. Today, everything encountered is suspect. Everything we hear, witness, and interpret can be something else entirely by design.  Definitely makes reality a conundrum, as if our lives are lacking in risk or uncertainty. No one wants to do this extra assessment, but with AI, VR, and other new technologies slipping into our lives like a blind and barreling movement, whatever traditional fabric of conscious world from before, now worlds are very much plural.

First Voice: There isn't any proof. None. You take the Bible's story on faith. Whether the entire sixty-six books, or just the Old Testament, or only the first five books. All the versions of the Bible's content require believing without tangible evidence for any of it.   Whether it is the ageless wisdom of the Torah, or the joyous Good News of the Gospels, the scripture in this and every holy book similarly compell readers to accept details as full narratives, or as confirmed, structured thought well beyond challenge or alternate understanding. The Torah claims a Messiah's arrival is yet pending. The New Testament says God, i.e., Yahway, Jehovah, Christ, Holy Spirit - sent his Jewish Son to die on a cross for the sins of man, thereby redeeming humanity for all of eternity. Neither story persuades me at all. Both belief systems stretch reality beyond rational possibility or anything plausible, desirable, or with arguably noble motives. I could never believe an allegedly...

It's occasionally necessary, definitely universal in nature and function, and it has its practical purpose. It's how we human types learn anything and everything. However, we can also resist the knee-jerk tendency of comparing, and that's what it is, a habit learned very early in life. I also struggle with it on occasion, like thinking too much on a topic, overanalysing till the cows come home. Usually, our errant valuing is actually more like apples and oranges, so that comparing becomes a pointless exercise of mental flogging that can become negative or dogmatic.  Instead, we can simply see, know, and accept differences without the constant comparing and contrasting that gobbles up so much of our time.

Whether it is the Bible or another book of faith or any work of self-expression, art, and study, it is the resonance that matters.  Sometimes, it really does happen, and it's happened to me, although it is very rare. There is no clear explanation, only hints and clues. The mechanisms of inspiration are not fully known, nor is there a charted path to understanding - it's all discovery. You start out reading a book, a certain book, and there is a transformation, page by page, a journey both natural and new.  Then, by the final chapters, you are no longer exactly who you were before. All thru some strange magic of conscious thought, evolution, words and ideas, and the crystal clarity of brilliant composition. Siddhartha is about the Buddha. His birth name was Siddhartha Gautama, and Hesse's timeless novel chronicles the panoramic inner journey to personal enlightenment.  Certain experiences can be life-changing or have inexplicable influence for a myriad of reasons. I starte...

I've heard the rumor, the kind that seems too good to be true, so my skeptic antenna pops and pings, very doubtful we could be so lucky.  I've read it in the sacred scriptures of various religions and faiths, most promising the stars, or life everlasting and perfect in nature. I've seen it on occasion, the bliss of a generous moment, the grace of simple kindness and good will. There's no denying charity's power. But, now I have a new word for the idea, a new definition to consider: Pronoia- the belief that the whole universe is conspiring to help you.

This cursed dementia is a wickedly evil teacher, but I've learned plenty. I understand now that everything is truly fragile, these structures of reality we imagine as sturdy pillars.  The bureaucracies of identity, our name, birthdate, license image, fingerprint, phone or Social Security numbers, kindred face, favored location- they become like shaky pilings beneath a creaking pier.  Hold on to the air, there's little else. What you thought was trustworthy is suspect, most familiar turns to side glance of doubt, afraid to look foolish while asking the questions again and again: Where are we now? My house? What are we doing? What is the plan today?  What we take for granted fills in all the empty spaces,  it cannot be otherwise, no one could function.  Dementia teaches how the world as we feel it is just a patchwork of collective ideas, Interwoven agreements too easily torn into forgotten patterns, lost routines, all that made us who we are, for awhile. ...

God is a circle of mystery but wait I can prove that it is the smallest circle where you're done once you've begun you're finished before starting alpha and omega the word always before big bangs black holes and dimensions before time and place or any soft coordinate of temporal existence  God precedes all these thoughts or sub-currents of pre-ideas forms of energy all matter all force of attraction and repulsion so you strive to recall the navigation that got you here forgetting that your efforts are lost since the path to God is a circle that changes with every soul's journey purely inviolate resolute and unknowable.

Read William S. Burrough's Naked Lunch when I was a teenager, 17, I think. Wasn't too impressed with the so-called cut-up writing style, kind of a psychological chop suey mishmash of the unconscious, free association, and the darkest impulses.  This guy has major and multiple psychosis is what I concluded, as reading his book was akin to strolling down an unknown and trashy alley, not so much scared as disgusted. Meanings are illusive or imagined as one has to re-read passages to gain some clue about what was at hand.  The hallucinatory flavor of this peculiar and disjointed writing becomes more an annoyance of vague references and harsh imagery, shock for its own sake, colored with a victim mentality that seems to ignore any semblance of responsibility.  Understanding is scarce, and it all becomes a mental distraction of tedious plodding thru twisted and tortured paragraphs of madness, mindless indulgence, drug addiction, and pitifully gruesome self-loathing. Could be I'...

We have no shortage of pundits and experts, just pick the topic. We hear from them constantly. They're everyone's life coaches, but we didn't hire them, nor can they be fired, inundating the airwaves with their unsolicited wisdoms and truisms. From various pundits we hear "There is no God-Time; they're both just convincing illusions." Or, "Our Republic, in grave danger, the other party is the egregious threat." Pundits often say anything but the obvious, like the fact that idiots in both parties are democracy's real threat, or like the entire American political process being so demeaning to our intrinsic humanity, contrary to solutions for social problems. So, try to tell my 71 year old knees that Time doesn't exist, after riding my bike all day. Or, my back, after breaking down my third water pallet for the morning! And, presuming for now, tell my soul there is no God, when I've lost all hope and good cheer. When I question the purpose o...

Where do we start? As Scripture and believers direct, we must begin with Genesis. Typical objectivity has no relevance in this inquiry, facts are scarce and very oblique. Believers accept the divine authorship; they don't doubt. Inquiry science accepts nothing.  We have hard science facts proven by experiment, repetition, precision instruments, logic, mathematics, and physical laws the accuracy of which have been duplicated, demonstrated, and verified beyond rational challenge. Genesis "time" must not be typical or measured in ways we've come to comprehend.  Too many facts get in the way of Genesis, its accountability or literal accuracy. Perhaps that's the word. Accuracy equals both plausibility and believability with what we call knowledge. Faithless science only goes forward where the data goes, not biased by inclinations or story.  The puzzling quandary over the age of planet Earth, for example. The Bible’s genealogical records combined with the Genesis 1 acco...

Back on the train, another week in Arizona with mom. Is it possible? Things are somehow better, even as it's all worse? A real enigma. Born from grief or harsh deliverance, still another day must begin. Nothing ever remains really except the next steps forward.  But it's no longer like before, an impervious illness controlling everything. We've learned how this monster operates: sudden fog of unfamiliar, pointless quarrels of confusion, the stealing away of all certainty, ambushed by strangers.  Now we tolerate it, much less fear. Expecting its daily onset, knowing what to ignore, we've reclaimed control over the household, all  loved ones on board, bonds intact, an injured family's resilient power.  We understand it won't be stopped or retreated, but neither will our caring ever stop. Nor will disease define our days, for the grander assembly of caring wins over pain, myriad designs of experience all drawn to frame the story within.

Imagine when all you know slides away, the seams of self unraveling, the reason for being somewhere, the rooms of reality shifting with fake walls and no safe corners, ceilings raising and lowering like a nightmare carnival tent, imagine you're the hapless guest today. Receding into pale distances, all your ties to common words and images, what do you need most? Reassurance. Something to count by, or any clue about direction and purpose; you grasp at anything. Mom's sense of her situation is an unyielding spectrum of extremes. Goes from "Leave me alone, nothing wrong, I'm fine." to  "I don't know what's going on. What am I doing?"  There is no map back to ourselves. There is no trail to find or even create. Lost in the fast firefalls of thought, connections crisscrossed and scrambled beyond any untangling, imagine how you're the observer now only hanging on to remember.

This morning I awakened from the rushing waters of sleep, the cool aquifers of dream all disappeared in a single moment thru the warm window light, thoughts wandering as if still looking for something, an unworried and peaceable search. Who knows what remains from the fleeting unconscious of slumber, the slow scenes of story, or glints and flickers of fast dramas? Very often nonsensical or puzzling, familiar or routine, unknowable connections thought to thought, image to image, meanings veiled beyond our grasp. Then, for whatever random turn, my thoughts go to this notion of how our best human traits aren't competitors, or ever need to be. How strong may coexist with kind, compassion and self-interest, how one value doesn't lessen the other.  No doubt there are worse places to be, awakening this morning from sleep's hidden chambers, grateful for every reason this is a typical Tuesday, another episode in this re-gifted light.

"Without humility there can be no humanity." ~ John Buchan What is humility except the kind self-reminder of my own smallness. The returning realization of my status as a mere speck of existence in time and space, a particle of life that breathes and feels with no knowledge or insight as to how it's all here, also no clue about why. Humility is the tap on the shoulder, the instant resizing of reality and my remarkable insignificance in this universe of endless mystery. Humility is a yardstick measuring the distant between us and God, yet it's a Creator's work close at hand that defines my comprehension of even the smallest pebble or a giant Sequoia. The splendor of creation becomes the backdrop of humility, across the cosmos and thru the wonder of nature's boundless beauty. Humility is realizing, again and again, my place in this conscious world, my position of witness, reverence, and discovery.

It's unfortunate, and probably a bit humorous, that there is a common term like "devil's advocate", when an opposite view is examined. At least, I don't feel devil-influenced when I explore different ideas. My friends of faith might say yes, but the devil is sly, friendly, normal; but I'll leave that for others to cite.  To me, an opposite view is just an opposite view, where my mind might naturally wander, to consider perspectives around any subject. Faith itself- belief with no proof- may be considered and examined, as everything else under the sun. What does it mean to "believe"? What is said, not said by accepting as fact what is recorded in a book like the Bible, clearly the most enduring and influential work in civilization's million year journey. Faith means facts proven aren't considered crucial to credibility. Faith has no need whatsoever of evidence, arguments, and debate. Faith means a distinct decision, a choice to assume what is ...

Days can drag us down like dutiful robots, the drudgery of normal life.  It is a small thing, but maybe vital. If only I can periodically remember,  amidst a day's norm of distraction, to turn my thoughts away from the  temporary and back to the eternal, anything other than the mundane,  just reset to a higher frequency, how much calmer I'll be, if only;  a small thing to recall, after all.

Words may be tools for hiding, lying, distraction, the shiny object that's never the point; words are just so ready at hand for bullshit.  We all at times use our words to evade the obvious, ignore the truth, and try to create another reality. However, it always remains that our actions- what we actually do and don't do- are a more accurate measure of values, priorities, what we truly cherish.  Very often, our words are exposed by our actions, contradictions of jarring conflict are the harsh result. Who says what they mean, and means what they say? Sure, all of us on occasion, some of us more often, only a few do this consistently, as a standard. You cannot play hide and seek with your actions; collectively, they list your actual hierarchy of values. Our actions define us without all the nuanced ambiguity of words. We show the world majorly what we really believe and trust, so that our words by comparison are minor.  Yet, how much false importance is given to tiresome spe...

The eternal experience of God changes only with perspective, position, relational coordinates, even as it never changes at all.  For the reposing turtle and her babies, there's only the God of sun. For the busy squirrels, the tree God provides. For the ducks who sip out the tiniest bugs, their pond is God. For new pups leading their leash thru the parks, their beloved master is their only God; for cats, birds, all home critters, same.  Your God is whoever takes care of you beyond even your own efforts. Found everywhere, God precedes all faiths, all scripture, all legends or rumors, all the earliest stories, or theories painted on cave walls. God is always before and after us, because the universe has no beginning or end, a very difficult truth to understand and accept.  The God experience permeates all living things, without exception or even awareness, it's in effect at every moment, we are tethered beyond choice, recognition, effort, it's already designed by a wisdom pr...

It sometimes seems that the future has thoughtlessly forgotten the past. But, the intrinsic and forever magic of Los Angeles is not lost; it's in safe hiding, behind glass, tucked away in the mystical and inspired Sequoia scene displayed in the old, locked up chapel in Clifton's Cafeteria, Broadway & Seventh. The tiny chapel, which would be 2nd floor right side, had a lighted cross on top. Inside, a single small chamber, and large pane of glass covering a beautiful miniature pristine forest in the Redwoods. The detail was amazing, a work of love, with flora and fauna amidst a backdrop of trees and mountains. On the counter, a button to press. Then, the full magic begins as a deep, resonate voice comes thru the small speaker; a voice that may have been Smoky the Bear himself, or someone as important like John Audubon. The narrative describes the scene, and the acoustics in the little cave made it easy to channel directly North to the enchanted wilderness. The audio only last...

Just a passing thought, but maybe a key aspect of actual immortality, even the sense of surviving spirit, is being perpetually curious; right to the end, being interested in the worlds within and around us.  This engagement is the attraction of tomorrow's headlines, the process of learning becomes neverending, while this wondering about all things must have its origin within our DNA, or else we follow course with countless species come and gone forever.  Being curious keeps away energy draining attitudes of popular cynicism, and boredom even from ourselves, it's normally inevitable. Always learning, until the very last moments, that's what I'll hope for.

One might begin with a noble philosophical question: does any species truly know the experience of another? We too often assume all life feels what we experience. Anthropomorphic perspectives are nearly impossible to avoid for most of us. We reflexively attribute our own mortal sensations with any flora or fauna of passing interest.  Mostly, the analogies and comparisons aren't accurate- all critters do things for reasons they understand. Yet, clearly most forms of life also example some degree of empathic reaction, as we so often witness in nature. Feeling more connected, we are comforted by these parallels between us and other species, it's understandable.  But, it still remains true- as far as we know- that a creature will in the end freeze to death in the subzero storm, without knowing even one moment of what we would call remorse, regret, self-mourning, or the dreadful sense of non-existence.  

So, last night we're watching old episodes of Wheel of Fortune, there's a free channel where they show nothing but, and mom suddenly blurts out-- and nails-- the final combo puzzle answer, "SHRIMP AND FRUIT COCKTAIL.", well before the contestant missed it.  Yes, mom is beyond amazing, but this moment set off a bell in my head: how remarkable, even when ailing, is the human brain? It varies a great deal in severity, type, and manifestation, and dementia can be so greatly diminishing. Yet, what is most amazing is how we may still experience and enjoy things, how consciousness still drives forward, even as the harsh disease process slowly develops. Two nights ago, I got the goofy whim idea to give my mom a quick, crash course in smart phones. Within a few minutes, she learned to select, scroll, and click. So, then I started the ChatGPT app, why not, right? We started asking the program about Greek and Spanish words translated to English, etc; mom was instantly intrigued ...

It's the learning curve that hurts, you realize there's no arguing with dementia; it argues back in disconnected hieroglyph you can't comprehend except by pain. You learn that challenge does no good, it can't be brought to awareness or memory. You can't win, but you learn there are indeed also ways not to lose. You learn- thru repeated failure- that this horrible monster can be outwitted, and then you are better help to your loved one, and to yourself. The sudden outbursts of raging, combative and stubborn for no reason except maybe the need to grasp anything not fleeing from the moment, some illusion of control. The 4 a.m. wanderings to the kitchen, to the empty bedrooms, to the garage, to the neighbor's driveway across the street, to the "Don't know why I'm standing here.", to the precise locations of phantom dreams, to the long stare across the living room of nowhere.  How all of it must be welcomed as if dementia wasn't enemy after all,...

Is it true that everything is up to you? Bukowski, the others, were they wrong? About The System keeping us down, no matter what we think or believe?  Is it true that happiness is something you decide over time? Having tried decades of prior chaos and parade of marching calamity, finally it becomes the choice of joy that arrives after all?  Doing things to be happy fills the day, but activity cannot replace attitude, so it is possible to do nothing, happily. Imagine the global energy expended by humans trying hard to be happy, the psychic footprint that must eclipse any carbon tracks of transit and trade.  When all the while happiness can't be negotiated, marketed, or contracted. Choosing happiness overrides any random reliance on good fortune, good works, or the best intentions. Deciding my happiness assumes all responsibility without dependence on circumstances or changing variables.  It's only our desire that defies gravity, the longing to resist sorrow or strife-...

We know and witness this virtue in various forms including joyfully, or with sadness, or timely excitement.  The forever loyal dog, waiting day and night for his master who has passed. The unappreciated spouse, ignored for too long, yet innocently yearning for a deeper, more real love, someday. The beleaguered worker, a raise long overdue, still getting up before dawn. The thoughtful child who saves her pennies and dimes, recounting her tally each night. The happy believer, waiting confidently for heaven's call.  The absence of this quality may prove reckless, or may endanger you even more than random life intends. Or, you may learn it again and again at every age, rooted in simple faith and hopeful planning, the power that beats time's hold, sometimes with eyes calmly closed, the virtue of patience.

Below "Don't you know?  Death mocks faith.  There is nothing after, says Death.  Don't you suspect that faith is myth? Don't you fear Death night and day?  It's okay, you'll forget it all anyway. All faiths crash when you disappear, here then gone never returning, existing in memory and worn pages, as if no one ever resided in your soul, but that was only one of many tales."  Above "Don't you know? Faith rebukes Death.   Faith promises an eternity.  Don't you suspect Death is a rumor?  If Death can't scare us, it's powerless. Where is the dread of Death in faith?  Don't you know? Believing saves.  Trusting belief is the test.  Don't you suspect believers know?  Believers, protected by a mighty Word, only smile at tricky Death, undeterred. Faith continues forward without facts. Knowing, as opposed to forever seeking. Accepting, as opposed to deciphering."  Don't you know? If you have faith and loyally believe, you'r...

The sheer, crazy vastness of the universe is conceptually impossible for our dim and linear brains to grasp. But, trying at least to feel some sense of it, or attempting to comprehend these great distances becomes a sort of meditation in kind, a mental voyage, or expansion of physical possibilities. How smaller and smaller we must become to consider the distance of even a single light year- 5.88 TRILLION miles- there must also be an internal humility of perception; or, a shrinking down of self-importance that may- with practice - facilitate the best understanding humankind can know. This utter massiveness of the expanding cosmos can be personally intuited, or palpably suggested thru many methods and approaches. A simple exercise, for example: imagine yourself launching skyward directly into space, the Earth rapidly receding into a disappearing dot against the deepest darkness. Then, keep going. Up and away from everything, higher and farther, until your mind continues on its own power ...

Here's a cheery thought: everything ends. All relationships change or end in some manner, whether change of heart, or days run out too soon, it still ends. Didn't mean to ruin your day, just having a moment of sober reflection.  So, what's to be done with this strange and transient existence? It would seem change is the only principle of physics that approaches the eternal nature reserved for supreme beings and such, as if impermanence is the only universal religion. With endings come new definitions. Nothing can end without also starting again.  The same mechanism of uncertainty doesn't seem to bother the galaxies, wheeling thru space in ever greater distancing, expanding into more, what, exactly? More space, more change, more unknowns than grains of stars across a vastness too big to embrace?  So, how do we negotiate this shifting course of no-confidence, spontaneous events, unpredictability the standard? Simply enjoy the fleeting moment we have? I've  got no usef...

If not for it, we'd still be in the caves. Some scientists say it's really a curse; when it leads down unwelcome paths. I'll concede, there are times when it's vexing, beyond annoying because of the persistently all-consuming moments it can take over, mind of its own, almost as if from another power. There are times when I could just say get lost, go away, not now! But, the need overwhelms other sensibilities, it's typically no match, I cave in to the craving, and the urgency. Most days, it's much appreciated, and valued for what it is: a blessing. Thankfully, I've always been afflicted, and it drives the motivation to learn, while keeping the hours and days endlessly explorable, and interesting-- the irrepressible pursuits of curiosity.

It's a headline for some of us, a real lack of knowing or realizing. For others, it's a simple but vital reminder: you don't need to be nice to meanness. Neither should we waste too much time with well-practiced haters, remembering they're experts, but they've robbed their own soul. Maybe it's your nature to lead with kindness; that's a virtue made of love, patience, and faith that good can win. Maybe it's your personality to shun conflicts, avoid hard words, and ignore antagonism. But accommodating bad behavior only guarantees its safe return, and indulging others' cruelty only normalizes hostility's expectation. Some folks will bash you from left field, sucker punch you with criticism, or turn loyalty and friendliness into the bus that you're suddenly beneath. Don't feel too bad when it happens, just recall that meanness doesn't deserve your allegiance to decency Facing abject human meanness, you smile, you walk away, you continue t...

Don't recall ever playing Cowboys and Indians. We were huge Lone Ranger kids, we loved them both. Yeah, I know, stereotypes; but, I was seven. Mostly played war with my buds, in the vacant lots, parks, or around the apartments. Anywhere can be a battleground when you're playing.  We were never against each other, always the same platoon. The enemy was only a hologram in our young imagination, otherwise invisible. But, I could actually see them as we played. They were always nazis, in uniform.  After all, they did kill my parents' families, only my mom barely surviving, a prisoner in Auschwitz. So, ità was easy for me to imagine I was a soldier, like Sergeant Chip Saunders, Vic Morrow's great charactee from the TV show Combat, that I always watched with my father, himself a brave resistance fighter in Greece.  It was easy to see these imagined enemies as we acted out our boy version of war dramas, easy for me to focus my anger and resentment over never knowing my own gra...

It's true, have no reason why, things that are unexplained are hard for me to accept; it always bothers my psyche more than it should. But, some things, or, how about everything really, there is just no plausible cause and effect. As with the subject of reincarnation.  Have recently revisited the intriguing topic of very early memories that seem incongruous or even fictitious. Countless accounts, many thoroughly researched and documented, infants and children describing vivid memory, dream, entire recollections of other lives prior, or even their own death, and other inexplicably detailed and specific descriptions-- is there anything actually happening here?  If true and real, it would seem to involve one core question, or some similar query: Can our primal life code- the Human Genome- somehow, via pathways we're light years away from understanding- can DNA transport or import memories of experiences of lives that have past? In their own unrehearsed words, these unsettling but...

How significant are we, humankind, on this small spheroid called Earth? Consider the following: Each dot here is a GALAXY...  Each GALAXY has roughly 100 BILLION STARS.  Each STAR has at least 1 PLANET.  This is just a very little parcel of the universe.

Reasoning. Did we ever learn about this process? It's my last refuge, before praying. But, neither reason nor prayer guarantee an outcome my soul may rest upon. This secretive spirit within, often restless for no visible cause, nonetheless pressured, anxious for the next thing, then the next, pulling to the furious future, maniacal at times, the unnameable longing for that which is just beyond the border of reason, as if logic alone cannot fulfill another desire, the call to new worlds. Yet, those panicked, shallow breath moments when feeling most alone, most afraid, confused, or forlorn, who or what to trust then? Deity? Dreams? Dumb luck? Maybe an expert, or total stranger? Or, no, none of the above? Reason is still my best friend, best chance to survive the momentary crisis, best bet in all storms, still the #1 adapting-survival skill. But, employing reason is not all of it, there's another critical element in play, the part that challenges me the most: trusting reason, over...