Sol's Inner Vault

Everything changes, I say to my son. No doubt, he is sometimes annoyed to hear that, newly into his last teen year. What I mean is more the culture, the norm, what's considered by a society to be worthy, these values change. Strong in spirit, lively in personality, our son is a young man now in a world that often fries or frightens my wits, puzzles my often tenuous grasp of common sense, and too often rattles my own reality. Remembering to feel more reassured, as I somehow grew up in one cogent piece. So, is the worry justified, or even relevant?  Today's culture of random violence, mindless tiktok impulse, self-absorbtion, plus massive and constant cerebral stimulation, resembling hooked and crazed mice in some mad experiment of self-destructive design, is it at all sane?  Does it nurture our humanity, or help to advance our collective chances for being here or anywhere in the very near future? Still hopeful for my child's prospects, yet also worried about the social fabri

What seems most impossible is merely another reality in disguise. Take for example, the life and times of countless galaxies in the ever-expanding universe. Can it be true? The utterly inconceivable vastness of space, the distances between stellar bodies so great that entire galaxies may pass thru each other without even two stars out of hundreds of millions ever colliding? There is no impossible in the cosmos. Yet, how can one ever get their tiny arms around God, or a faithful belief in a single Creator of all that exists, when the universe mysteriously accelerates even faster its own inexplicable expansion? Belief and theory support as they do, but no one has a clue about where it's all going, or why. Faith is not provable. Meanwhile, the impossible becomes daily mainstream, the life and times of humans and galaxies continue onward, with no pause or plausible explanation.

If art- as some say and I agree- also becomes how we live our lives, then I'm working on one incongruent, strange, annoying, and perplexing project.  It can only be a masterpiece of chaos, a hot mess of possibilities, outcomes, choices gone awry, or a whirling abstract, or collage of unknown collaboration, lost connections, forgotten faces.  The artist controls far more than the haphazard strokes of life's images and events, often emerging with only mystery for design. The analogy weakens within the unyielding reality of chance or random circumstance.  True, attitude is everything. True, art remains how I may live my days, complete this project, realizing a final destination, or, maybe more. Art then is how I see. The artist strives to see things as they are, without embellishment, or commentary, or biased eye.

Ran into an old customer this morning, we chatted for awhile. She brought up "the old days",  and how life in the neighborhood didn't include today's horrific violence.  And, how we may have had the last best childhood. I generally agreed, but silently also wondered if every past generation felt as we feel, that theirs was the last best. My own childhood growing up in south Los Angeles, 50's and 60's, both blessed and stressed in ways that are probably more typical than strange, all families challenged, most have the mixed-bag whether known or realized.  Being loved meant we never felt poor, or without hope, or too afraid of the future. There was a trust, unnamed perhaps, but strong.  Some of my best early memories include markets. Grand Central Market, downtown on Broadway, now also a local historical landmark. Our neighborhood market, I think it was a Von's on the corner of Florence and Van Ness. I remember a meat market with my father, many visits, east

As the sun neither sets nor rises.  As the moon faces us seen or not.  As ocean waves roll as they're told,  and the world's winds whirl over shifting continents along corridors of storm, cloud, or desert calm. So may the breath of God be felt in a child's laughter, or an old soul's final moment , or a loved one's lost scent, or within joys of friendship. As stars devour the distance of space, and galaxies assume all shapes of gravity and growth, so do stellar bodies disappear away to somewhere else unknown, just vanishing in silence. There's much more to know which is a hopeful way of saying we're forever roaming, alone with our vaulted imaginations, still restless, still seeking.

Have some friends who are great artists, so talented, imaginative, free to see the world so differently. But, art is an aptitude that is within everyone in some unique format. Art can be an attitude, an internal lens that focuses all that we do. Art may be an invisible canvas for enduring hardship, emotional trauma, also physical pain-- art may be a healer. There is no special requirement. Art may be your simple movement thru a chilly, early morning home, waking up  with every careful step. Seeing the smallest details in all that surrounds us becomes an art of perception, both gazer and object changing the other in a moment's dance of recognition and wonder. Art may be a way to breathe in the quiet of your soul, in the moonless midnight of your challenge, alone and still, you find within the will to continue. Art may simply be a hopeful day to follow.

Speaking both generally and symbolically, the various scriptures of ancient religions were set in stone, and remain today the unsettled subjects of interpretation, debate, and query. The historical scriptures of science- the research studies, citations, documented data and records of results from experimental efforts- it's all a work in progress, always evolving. Everything in science and discovery is also by nature unsettled, variously interpreted, and continually questioned. Theoretically, religions disallow any editing of their scriptures, claiming divine authorship. The Bible's books of Matthew and Revelations  both declare and warn against changing or altering the Law. But, science is always an unfinished book that promises new pages, new understandings. There is no punishment for not knowing, no condemnation for always  asking the next question. How do I accept, for example, that the Bible with its many authors is most accurate? How can I know what Noah really thought, or

Parents of critters at home will understand, others perhaps not. My doggie, Pomeranian Princess Chihuahua of at least our zip code, has her very own tablet, a 5" Fire.  That's right, her own. Hardly unusual considering our hound has her own table chair, her own couch, and her own mini-house. We didn't start this way. Six years ago she was a nine-week old palmfull of fur and floppy ears. Happy with merely a belly rub and some puppy grub, it was all easy.  At some point, my pooch got online. Packages began arriving. New collar, lavendar shampoo, yummy treats. We knew life would never be the same. Lately, Widget has been watching the Dog Channels with feigned benign interest, but as soon as I leave the room, she's watching for sure.  It's all good, just have to block her Netflix and such, no human drama. Widgie @ 9wks.

Our Sun, actually blue-green, who would have guessed? Most mysterious of all, blue is the royally unanswerable question that defines all other questions, the color that spins down from unknown space, as somewhere there is an undiscovered galaxy entirely blue and pulsing across some corner of the cosmos, unnamed. The eye's physics number the cones at three, so that blue is the shade of self, the enigmatic subconscious, as if the suspected soul had a color. Or, human spirit which is breath sparked to our brain as the blue light of some higher power we may get only a glimpse of. Timeless Shiva of prior understanding, blue as the color of intimations, secret wisdoms, sacred laws. How is it, blue somehow comes up with the very best and worse moments, the same hue?

Pristine splendor of small miracles, green springs eternal, the color of generations unborn but promised by a faithful future. The unfettered hue of new ideas and optimistic expectations, a fresh view in the morning to consider, the color of creation yet undefeated, reaching up thru the incredulous cracks of impossibility and wonder. All life welcomes the color of green's hope.

How does red register with the mind, what's the first red our brain sees? When does red become an action? It's the color of attention, seldom subtle, the color of alarm, perhaps ominous. We stop with red (or, we use to), it often merits caution and warning. Our blood is red only outside of us, maybe not so good. It can be the color of heat or warmth, or a cool, crimson Mohave desert sunset. Red may be a color of passion or pain. Yet, also a hue of danger and style.

The taste of memory is a fickle process more complicated than a sweet pickle. As usual, I was in a rush. Hordes of holiday shoppers were moving a pace slower, all I needed was a drink. Just something cold from the case, notice how they put those near the cashiers? The choices weren't good, all the designer water brands I never get, but no Fiji, my only plastic exception. An impatient line already behind me, I grab a Dr. Pepper can at the bottom and zoom thru an open self-checkout. Three minutes later, sitting in the park, the sharp twang of the first soda sip reminds me suddenly of the last three recent times- it was terrible. Medicine harsh, and too everything, like the carbonation and corn syrup were competing for attention. Then, a bad chemical afterburn that felt like acid sandpaper mouthwash. Yes, this same product- yet, actually far different from the icy bottled Dr. Pepper of my prehistoric youth. But, that's the issue: what do we sometimes remember when it comes to tast

The Skeptic says that humankind intrinsically wants to be important enough to have a soul, an afterlife, some continuing status of existing. Hopefully, as important as the stars. Evidently, the universe doesn't care about wants and quaint daydreams, and the entire history of humans is equally important as a blade of grass. Of course, that seems neither fair, nor right as we comprehend cherished life. Yet, the elegantly unfathomable math of the cosmos and humankind's crude slide rules cannot join for any lesson in divine equations, creation, or demise. It's perhaps most wise to put aside the biggest mysteries before the bell rings, seekers, believers, and skeptics alike. Seeking God is overrated, while feeling God's presence in endless forms becomes a lifetime game and pleasure. Pining for a glimpse of God is both vain and pointless, missing obvious clues all around us, or, we remain unconvinced. Are we really just seeking our parents who left us, every generation passin

You can call it a conversation, but it's gone on for a millennium or longer, no one is certain how long. The difficult dialogue between two tethered states of being continues because they are forever parallel to each other, no points ever intersecting, intellect and faith: "You've stressed your ways of blind believing for a thousand years by now. Do you have no other rationale for your path? You are loyal, that is certain, even beyond strange and contradictory Scripture that puzzles even you. But, who can follow your logic? Even the incomprehensible doesn't generate one ion of doubt? Then you, Faith, are unshakeable!"  "You misunderstand me so grandly, Intellect, but it's clear the cause, using logic as compass can still get you quite lost. But, I am a bit shakeable, yet the point of all faith is 'Don't Break'. A little shake makes me stronger over time. To comprehend who I am, you have to feel me, not think me! Feel me?" "Not exactl

It's in between the small shadows that separate us, a crevice rarely seen but influential, the essence of all that binds us into one type of human, beneath the superficial quarrels or feigned differences of trifles, a certain kinetic power that electrifies our very being, some call it the soul for shorthand, an idea that has certainly endured.  Forget there's no evidence at all you could submit to any court, yet the echo of our spirit follows us thru every valley of resonance and common experience, the soul as every man and woman's twin, beyond the hard proof of facts is the intuitive realm of deliverance, the intrinsic laws we didn't know, but always knew by other names and languages lost to the ages, buried cave symbols and drawings that describe the soul as something real with wings, who then doubts these timeless things?

Cherish the wild for its purity, its wisdom beyond word. Untouched by human influence or distortion, the wild roams on in our dreams, or remains shrouded in mists of wonder and rapt silence. Blessed are the wild souls untied to worldly pleasure and worry, free from the drudgery of time, turned only by direction of instinct, driven by secret gravity of order, unknown and known both gone, forgotten in a blink of momentary haze through the stands of trees, a seamless symmetry, if not for the eternal wild, all of us wander lost.  

This must be written backwards. Last to first, deceptive time passes in fast-slow illusion, or not at all. There was choosing before you were you, before you had a name and face, before your DNA became the human who is living in the world as if you've never been. Then your choosing began, go this way, go that way, deciding who you should be while a world nods its acceptance-- it's a daily reverie! It's been your destiny, your story written as you constantly create the identity most inclined to your unique frequency, no one else is that authority.  It's been the mission, the assignment, the reason to believe each new day is worthy of passing in its own quiet glory, this old universe so full of dark mystery.  It has been the path of your life, you are still on it, it is still before you, still the unknown to discover.

It was obvious my close friend was annoyed. It wasn't the answer he wanted or expected, the question being: is humankind intrinsically good? He says no chance of that being true or even possible. In fact, my friend thinks the opposite--that humans are basically not good by nature. My answer: there is no compelling evidence for either good or bad. All I really know about our kind, homosapiens, is that we are, thus far, survivors. That's all I know. Whether we are good or bad is more driven by our own survival, and the survival of loved ones. There's no higher code than this, and our actions at any given moment are governed by the circumstances at hand. Very often, the protection of those we cherish supercedes our own instinct to live, so we sacrifice for them willingly. Our life for theirs, the selflessness that only makes sense to the specie's generational memory, and the greater good. The qualities of our better angels can be so illusive in daily life. Simple charity o

We cannot lose ourselves. We cannot ditch our shadow. So, can we ever see things as they are? Aren't we always included in whatever we try to see clearly? There is no true clarity, we are the lens, focus, and image all at once.  Our own unique influences are part of any observation, analysis, conclusion, or any process of comprehension. We are in what we see, so we can't see reality without being part of its scenery. Human objectivity is impossible even for a single moment in time, because we always come along instrinsicly, reflexively, hopelessly attached to the subject in sight. So, reality becomes only a temporary agreement between observers tethered to their respective space. We agree this is a tree, that is a house, there is the sky over us all. Flimsy agreements at best, so you'd think the general instability that seems to be the fabric of existence would harbor our mortal humility or something like grace. Yet, no signs of that as thousands of mindless missiles from h

Jesus of Nazareth was many things, and someday all will be revealed. Yet, one characteristic certainly framed his powerful persona and astoundingly enduring influence: Jesus was no fool. With unsentimental, keen awareness, he knew exactly where he was, the moment in time which was Rome's moment, and the hard political reality of his people. Some among his rapidly expanding followers-- the restless or angrier men-- wanted Jesus to take up the sword of revolution. They wanted challenge or conflict with the regional authority, even combat to regain their autonomy. Jesus, carpenter by learned trade, and prophet-teacher-rabbi by natural inclination and talent, was not a soldier that way. He knew too much about the selfish hearts of men, the bitterness of hatred, and God's redemptive salvation.  Loving and forgiving are more powerful than fighting, Jesus believed in his heart, even though he too had his moments of grave doubt or confusion. Jesus took no comfort in the Mosaic traditio

Isaiah 14:12 "How you are fallen from heaven, O Day Star, son of the morning! How you are cut down to the ground, you who laid the nations low! ... " "So, here's your so-called prophecy, an unlikely story! Hasn't changed much over the countless millenniums. You want us to just believe- on faith alone- in a God who so far still remains hidden, who allows random suffering of innocents, and who then offers up only an unknowable promise of life after mortal death. Is that right?  I thought your God was powerful and all-knowing, the greatest force in the universe! So then, why allow a schoolroom full of children to be blown into death's oblivion? Why allow mass famine, cancer, world wars? Why allow pain? Why allow senseless, irrational death and loss to occur for no reason? Your omnipotent God can stop it all instantly, but doesn't? Why? That's the aloof God you worship? Indifferent to human suffering, all so unnecessary or horrific? Why?  Why would we bel

It doesn't say to love, like, or admire our parents. It doesn't say to celebrate them, or to please our parents. The Commandment doesn't direct us to be generous, appreciative, or even caring to our parents. These qualities are all worthy, ideal, and universally beneficial. Instead, God only commands us to honor our parents, just this, so we may know the distinction.

Since everything in the universe is in motion, all matter, every atom, every sub-atomic partical, then all observation is by necessity of the past. We're always seeing what was, just a nanosecond, year, or light year ago.  The background radiation glow from the Big Bang--13.8 billion years ago--the universe's most recent re-birth, is observable. The moon is really the moon a second ago. The sun, nine minutes ago, a faraway galaxy, we see how it looked before its light traveled for trillions of miles to our telescope lens. We can essentially see only the past, therefore we may never witness anything 'just as it is What else lingers in experience like this? What other observations that travel the deceptive distances of perception. Delayed, yet perfectly on time, defying the physical laws of memory and imagination? How does love travel thru the cosmos? Is it an undiscovered constant, like the precisely consistent and well-proven standard of light's finite speed? Do we feel

Unlike these floating rainbows, it's the unsolved mysteries that will endure beyond our tenure, that will challenge the next seekers into the future. However curious, we cannot know certain things and will likely never know, if knowable at all. If God is obsolete, or unnecessary, then what takes authority? Can a secular civilization thrive?

Andromeda and Milky Way galaxies merging, and humans pondering insurance plans, or warring over pieces of countries, or binging TicTok. Black holes vacuuming up stars around them, and humans enhance their lips and buttocks, or zip line into tourist jungles, or take selfies while getting carjacked. Massive structures a million light years across barge thru the cosmos as giant, drifting gravity monsters that menace magnetic domination, and humans crowd source a new drone pizza chain, or follow with devotion the fine and fickle minor gods of desire and vain consumption. No one can comprehend size and distance in the universe, or how sub-atomic humans factor on any celestial map, insignificant to quasars, supernovas, unknown clusters of undiscovered chaos very far from this oxygenated orb, yet all unaware, all irrelevant to human life.

Last sky I see will be a pastel collage of me, illuminated from behind as if a kind Artist had steadied my hand all along.  Calendars of wheeling days, colors blended into who I became beyond my name, old hues of incandescent splendor, fleeting shades of discovery, moments found, lost, then found again when least expected, skies of keen surprise and rapt wonder, last sky I see  will be the quiet dissolution of me, then endless merging, beyond the canvases of time, last sky I see, fading kaleidescopes of memory.

Certainly one glorious day, followers of Christ assure us, answers will then be revealed. Speculate, or simply choose to believe for now and eternity, but choose only one. What did the disciples witness after the Crusifiction, after three days had passed? Can we know what they saw, or, if their telling is literal? Sightings of Jesus are episodically mentioned in Scripture several times by both individuals and groups of people. The first to see Him was Mary Magdalene, in   Mark 16:9 , “Now after He had risen early on the first day of the week, He first appeared to Mary Magdalene, from whom He had cast out seven demons.” Then, in Luke 24:15-18 , the other disciples, in deep discussion about Him, see Jesus but do not recognize him.  But, what does this mean? Was Jesus disguised, and why? They couldn't possibly fear His second nortal death. Then, Mary, mother of Jesus, is mentioned in   John 20:14 , “When she had said this, she turned around, and beheld Jesus standing there, and di

After the small family took their photos and walked on, the thousand-year old debate between the two giants continued, not an inch closer.  "Fine.Then, tell me-- who made you? Who made me? Who made all these others? You think it's more like what made everything, not Who? Or, no one created all of existence, it was already so?" "Not exactly, but cleverly phrased, my believing friend. What is more tree than the idea of God? Most trees want and need a kind, loving parent. There is comfort and security in assuming we're not in charge. The idea of God is the answer to existential loneliness, and the mysterious experience of death. Once God was believed to exist, trees could relax a little bit. We're just the children, after all, under God's care and control, except we still have free will? More than confusing, it's clearly an irrational, contradictory deal. All-knowing God would also already know our free will, yes? No. But, no one is entirely sure, or can

This makes me wonder about unknown connections, unbelievable if we did know, hidden from normal awareness for good reason, master circuitry of pan-neural messaging, physics on the other side that would blow our mortal minds, how in this expanding universe everything affects everything, mostly unseen, we can measure differences and similarities, redraw the jigsaw to our sense of physical limitations, still we cannot know who talks to me or you, and by what fantastic venue. Can a sudden, unlikely bunch of blooms be a magical hello from another realm, maybe from someone who's simple company, a cherished blossom, is so dearly missed? Who knows? Not I, or where the mind may go, or return from, those pathways remain conundrums of veiled view, bouquets of mindfulness in bowls of day.

"Every jot and tittle." The famous bit of Scripture near the end refers to the sanctity and wholeness of the Bible. No one dare change, misinterpret, or misrepresent any single detail from Genesis to Revelations. The belief among Scripture literalists is that it's all-ordained, complete and errorless, God's Word sacrosanct for all eternity, no question of divine authority.  If only I could accept that direct caution, life would be simpler. But, I cannot because I've also read about the history of the Bible's organization and final collection. This apocryphal legacy- what gospels and works were included and excluded- is an intriguing and controversial chronicle of politics, power, and struggle for influence.  Included among the four well known Gospels are at least twenty other gospels authored by early Christians in the First, Second, and Third Centuries. The main ten that were ultimately excluded: Gospel of the Infancy, Gospel of Bartholomew, Gospel of Mary Ma

The man realized he no longer cared about the report card of his life, how successful he was, how many winning days tallied, or how much love he had known. Instead, a strange sense of uncaring washed over him like a flush of cool, calm acceptance- the race had been run, but the man didn't care at all who had won. The last portal was ahead, but who could say what's final? The man felt light years beyond fear, he fully knew his passing thru was near.

Memory is many things in the lifetime of human experience, always with us, who can say when it all begins? Is there memory pre-birth, maybe of sound or sensation? What could rekindle such an early imprint? Mostly, I think of memory as the lifelong friend who we know will not go away even for a day, if we're lucky. But, the friend is both welcome and unwelcome, enjoyed, tolerated, maybe sometimes dreaded. A friend considerate with kind recollection for a vulnerable moment, most useful. Or, an insensitive friend, intruding rudely into a perfectly pleasant afternoon with a scene from long ago, far better forgotten. That's how friends are, and how I am as friend to others, both aware and unaware, I'm certain. Memory hangs around, always near, what else can we do but be grateful it's still in our grasp?

What happens to the idea of God if extraterrestrial contact is ever made? Genesis says God created heavens and earth, but there is no mention of beyond our little rock.  The more I learn about the physical universe, the more impossible that we're alone. With trillions of trillions of stars, certainly innumerable solar systems will have equidistant planets that harbor life in some form. Types of living organisms may vary like limitless forms of energy. We cannot imagine what we cannot invent even with our imagination. The universe must be vastly teeming with biological possibilities. So, where is any trace of it, life? Why haven't we heard from these statistically innumerable cosmic neighbors? Why no proven contact in all humankind history, so far, at least? In a word: distance. Anything out there has the same dilemma everything else has: the unthinkable distances of space, unfathomable to the mind's sense or dimensional and proportional comprehension.  We cannot conceptuali

Here's a scary notion: defined or undefined, we are 24/7 vessels of God's energy. Here's a joyous notion: defined or undefined, we are 24/7 vessels of God's energy. What? Both cannot be true. Yet, the scary, joyous fact is that we cannot escape from this truth! Living in the world is both, with God's omnipresence like gravity, or Dark Energy--we see only its wondrous effect, yet little else.  Scary because of the arduous responsibility, joyous because of the privilege. Each moment another breath of wonder, each breath another gifted moment. As a divine vessel in human form, what do I bring to the day?

Both atheists and believers bank their faith in unknowns.  Both may loathe conceding key points of rational challenge. My last three essays examined the legitimacy of doubt, and wise counsel of ambient uncertainty. The integrity of not believing with no proof of evidence. So, it's only right that the inherent positives of believing are also reviewed. An atheist hates to admit the very obvious benefits of faith. Or, he or she will question that any benefit still results from magical thinking, or, "facts not in evidence". First and foremost, faith and praying are intrinsically selfless. Thru focus on God, we defuse from ourselves, and our selfies. This shift of consciousness away from the 'me-ego' naturally encourages wonder, awe, and appropriate gratitude in kind. Next, faith is sustainably healing, redemptive, and nurturing. We are simply and humbly comforted by faith, held fast in the secure heart of God's universal love for all Creation. That's a Big Clu

The case against faith has a long history, as long as believers have chosen their own path over skeptics and seekers. Six centuries before Jesus of Nazareth preached his Gospel of Good News in Jerusalem, teaching that the life of salvation and deliverance was imminent, Siddhartha Gautama stated that belief cannot come from a prophet's words or ancient religious books. Rather, the Buddha favored applying the test of reason to all matters of fact, belief, and knowledge. There is nothing more human than humans feeling so exalted in inspirational thought that they also assume their mortal revelations must come from a Higher Authority, a God who singularly speaks universal and eternal truths thru their personally channeled prophesy. No doubt, during our species' prehistoric time, well before any civilizations formed, the very first cave prophet declared that the Sun was in charge.  Everyone wants to be believed. Claiming "God said so.", lets the prophet off both hooks of c

How do we experience "time"? Put aside, for this stream, the space-physics and science dynamics of time. Rather, how does time feel? Certainly, time involves pace, and sense of past and future. We may feel time in a crazy rush of parenting years, our kids shooting up like instant sprouts, time in a great big hurry straight forward, no looking back or sideways. Fleeting time. At other stages, the chapters can read much slower, during both bliss or sorrow, both joy or deep anguish. Time may creep as a prison term, or as if on a paradise island, moment by moment, so slow it seems there are even more moments in between. Or, time may suspend to stillness, as in the last, breathless moment of existence.  So, we feel time fast-slow, stopped, or flown by, all of these paces and tempos of consciousness, as background and context, imaginary or real. As science would explain it, our very limited senses and sensory systems create an illusion of time passing as a continuam of experience.

Sometimes lately, like now, my brain feels almost fevered, as if my quarrelous thoughts simmer away to a quick boil. And, I just got up. 6am. Haven't even seen the headlines yet. These times we're living thru, everyone jokes like it's funny-- crazy, right? But, how crazy?  How insane has our culture become, and who really cares? Today, we see more men being publicly violent with no restraint, as others video the damage for TikTok hits; the masses always comply. Today, abject cruelty is ranked, scored, reviewed, discussed to death, and classified to social archives for future reference. Today, what a man and woman are can no longer be defined. Arbitrary identity towers over individual integrity. Fast and gratuitous wealth dominates over random charity; while power is the most sought after asset. Today, gutter profanity flows everywhere like running water. Tiny children curse and their parents laugh, how cute-- hey, mom, dad, isn't that the future? Remorseless media celeb

Wheeling galaxies suspended in fine motion pinned to a backlight of faint mystery far away glitter for fools or God's handiwork too many questions like stars that show then vanish  beneath horizons envisioned in dreams filaments of space repeat as neural pathways tributaries of experience measured by light years of distance no one can transverse not yet at least the vast dark expanse of universe that bars our knowledge of each other too far off doomed as strangers beyond mapping out fantasies of zodiacs heros and villains across the heavens battles of good and evil rage on as we sleep all forgotten when we rise as a final star blends into daylight the cosmos hidden behind a busy day's light  of chores and commerce but everpresent in every passing moment the galaxy calls out with gravity's insistent pull over all bending the doubtful persuading the stars to form their clusters as cerebral branches of networks with lights in chains of overlapping influence as if we cannot eve

Non-believers say it's a zero sum game. All or nothing. Glory, or folly. There's no middle status or compromise. This is the essential core of fundamental Christianity. With nothing less important than souls at stake, and salvation the timeless mission.  It is also an impressive quality of the literalist Bible followers of Jesus Christ--you have faith in the entire story, accepting every word inspired directly from God, from Genesis to Revelations. Bethlehem to the Cross.There is but one path. If there is no Sabbath, there are no Miracles. If there is no Garden of Eden, there is no Resurrection. The whole story of the  traditional Messianic narratives foretold by divinely driven prophets, and promised to lost, wandering humankind. Faith means you accept as true above and beyond any proof or evidence of fact. You choose to believe without justification, inquiry, or critical evaluation.  Faith is the fabric of knowing hopefulness, and the rock solid foundation for values. All is

For this essay we assume God's unqualified presence, and the moral judging requisite of a Creator. God both exists, and judges right, wrong, glory, sinfulness, and life from death.   Then, does God also judge entire nations? This is a tricky query, because the intrinsic notion may be that individual souls are divinely assessed, not whole countries. But, Scripture is clear: nations are strictly held to account all throughout the Bible.  In the Torah, i.e., the five beginning books of the Old Testament, the nation of Israel is frequently admonished for sustaining a culture of sinning, and turning away from God's values. Shockingly, God ultimately floods the entire world, all the nations, for ignoring the Commandments that pained, frustrated Moses was given. Another interesting pattern is described throughout Scripture. In chapters of Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Isaiah,  there are nine oracles of judgment against a group of nations—Egypt, Philistia, Moab, Ammon, Edom, Damascus, Kedar a

Beginning with an incongruous statement, a seemingly opposite set of terms, how can doubt be wise? Doubt isn't a pleasant experience, it often comes with worry, or confusion. No one is ever willingly doubtful. However, doubt implies a certain standard of proof, a verification of assessment.  Doubt equals "still inquiring, not convinced by facts presented." Still exploring, still questioning, unwilling or unable to accept what others claim as facts. Being skeptical is a state of mind that doesn't necessarily involve conflict or a negative denial-- it just means I'm not convinced regarding some well-established narratives that have been accepted as "reality". The wisdom of doubt includes the liberating quality of vigorous curiosity, the freedom to keep inquiring, learning, and thinking.

Problem isn't exactly the right word, more like dilemma. My dilemma. I'm only a flawed human, reading and trying to comprehend God's mind, but the Bible is so woefully inconsistent. Certainly, a huge ton of Scripture is remarkably inspiring and eminently sensible, therefore very useful. Then, there's occasional Scripture that's crazy, like declaring an adulterer must be put to death, and ditto for gays, death again. Also, less lethal bigotries like men cannot marry divorced woman, that's adultery, too. Huh? Sorry, no way that's God's word or will. So, not every "jot and tittle" of Scripture was Creator inspired. The dilemma becomes separating the "wheat from the chaff", gleaning that which is godly true from negative, man-conceived ideas.  More ungodly notions include: in Jeremiah, God allegedly commands cannibalism against Israel's enemy. But, wow. In Psalm 137.9 we read: "Happy is the one who seizes your infants and dashe

Don't like God. You read it right. There is no Commandment to like God. Love, fear, and remain in awe of God exclusively, yes, for all this existence we most affectionately call the Universe.  But, there's much about God that only frustrates me with shrouded unknowing. God won't reveal, confirm, or prove the idea of a Creator. Instead, we are told to believe. Faith. Believing that which isn't empirically proven or verified. So far, no trace of God's face, or much insight into God's nature. I don't like not knowing. Simply deciding to believe isn't at all satisfactory to me. That idea only leaves me unfulfilled, seeking as before what is true, what is false. I don't like God for being so inconsistent. Save the Jews with Moses, desert the Jews of Europe WWII, and everyone else lost in all the world's many wars. God allows suffering of innocents with no explanation.  There are countless more examples down thru history. Terrible evil wins every day a

Tyranny is an irrational monster.  A godless empire, empty of soul and faith, it cannot be won over with mere appeals for justice. Of course, Jesus of Nazareth never accepted that notion. Menacing Rome, with its powerful, systematic dominance over all of Judea, had no conscience to bend, no mercy to encourage. Yet still, the single mission of the Gospel was clear: bring the Good News of God's redemptive kingdom to all, including the non-believers. Jesus thought of old Moses, and of besieged Noah, and of their seemingly impossible tasks, their deep will of conviction against the one-eyed giants of human evil and fear. After his baptism experience in the desert with his prophet cousin John, Jesus retreated to his time of fasting and prayer, just as the prophet Elijah had done in his time of anguish. The Gospels most often quote the books of Psalms and Isaiah.  One may wonder and research which scriptures Jesus may have drawn strength from. Perhaps, Isaiah 41:10- "Fear not, fo

Many forms of life feel sadness. But, remorse is reserved for humans, and unknown to all other creatures. A thousand year old redwood giant by fate and destiny must topple over, and with no regret, none whatsoever. A tiny spider completes a final web, then casually dies in its corner, no prey of remorse entwined. One day, long from now, a very senior owl in its last frozen moment will bow down in deep silence, into the snow, as if the normal course all along, another departing winter, no remorse.