blindbutnowisee

Freedom

2011-09-24T23:34:00.000-07:00

I think about the years in my family business ... no entanglements, no connections ... someone called us to do a job, we did it, got paid, then moved on ... and I remember how much I loved it.

Resign yourself to love

2011-09-02T08:56:00.000-07:00

This blog has been nothing but a lie. I state in my profile that the changes in my life have enriched me and I hope yours do, also. That's really a crock of crap. To be truthful about it, I've allowed the changes in my life make me bitter and mean. A friend recently told me that I'm, "mad and full of rage." How dare him? I thought. But it's true.

I'm mad that I didn't plan better for the future, which is here and now. I should've been saving money like a miser since I was 14. By that age, I was already drumming most every weekend , worked in my family's ornamental iron shop, pumped gas at Red Ace Service Station at nights after school and full time during the summer. I had very little leisure time as a teenager. And I'm mad that I did not whole heartedly pursue my dream, which was to be a drummer. At age 18, I got my first wife pregnant and went to work in my family's business instead of going to college and studying music. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I'm not so sure. A lot of young couples have had children and they still go to college. But I didn't.

The doors to the music world were flung wide open to me in mid-twenties. My rock band was signed to a management company in Nashville. We were touring occasionally, opening up for Black Oak Arkansas, Wet Willie and Brownsville Station. It all sounds glamorous, and it was, but it also sounds prosperous, but it wasn't. Most of the band's funds were being reinvested in the band's marketing and recording, so that meant no immediate money. And all the time invested practicing, recording and performing took time away from working in my family business,so I took an disgruntle attitude toward my fellow band mates, none of whom were married or had children. But in truth, the band was a business, too. We had investors and backers. At the time, I was too blind to see it; I needed money; so, I shot my mouth off and got kicked out of the band. But what good did that do me? None.

My first wife and I immediately started going to church. I walked away from a career in music and surrendered completely to the fundamentalist teachings of the Southern Baptist Church.

I could go on with the mistakes. But they all boil down to not having the good sense to invest in the future. I always grabbed whatever was right before, held on, and generally survived fairly well. And because I survived, I expected a certain amount of respect. I lulled myself into thinking that I had "high standards," and that I had "moral expectations." I expected the Christian to act like a Christian; I expected the Redneck to be as open minded as a tree-hugging hippie; I expected those who held a different worldview to consider mine. But what I expected from others was what was lacking in me! My "high standards" were a delusion and a lie. And that in and of itself was and is the problem. One cannot be respected by others if they have no respect for themselves. One cannot love others if they have no love for themselves.

This blog is still a lie, but I'm trying to find the truth, and the truth is Love.

My mantra for today is, "resign yourself to love." Love always loves. Love loves what disagrees with Love. Love loves mistakes.

Flip a coin

2011-07-14T10:08:00.001-07:00

What's the difference between government owning big business and big business owning government? Capitalism and Communism might be two sides of the same coin.

Happy Trails

2011-06-30T12:13:00.000-07:00

I’m almost afraid to say it, but I’m happier now than ever. I’m afraid to say it because I fear by doing so I will activate Murphy’s Law. I’ve always noticed that if I think about something bad, it increases the chances that it’ll happen. I suppose that’s why we all admonish others for thinking negative thoughts. Subconsciously, we want to keep the good vibes flowing, and why not? Deep down, we’re all self-protecting creatures; we all want to ease carefree through the day undisturbed by worry and fear. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s not completely selfish; if it’s good for you then it’s good for all those around you. So from that point of view, striving to not jinx my good spirits is a way of doing good deeds for those around me. Hopefully, my positive thoughts will outweigh the bad, and Murphy will be safely contained in his jail cell when I boldly proclaim, I’m happy.

Despite being legally blind, half deaf with a bad back and bad knees, being in debt and not knowing if I’m ever going to be able to make a living as a writer again; despite all that, I’m happy.

I’m happy that I celebrated our fourteenth wedding anniversary yesterday with my dear wife, Leslie, who has upon many occasions told me I was more trouble then I’m worth. I am happy with our home and the paths that wind through the woods around it, even though both my wife and I fear we may lose it.

Needless to say, I have not always been this happy. I have at many times in my life been suicidal. Thankfully, I did not act on that inclination.

But I can’t say that I’m clueless as to why I‘m in a state of bliss. I’m sure a psychoanalyst would say I’m suffering from grandiosity or some sort of delusional disorder, and I might well be. Be that as it may, my current peace of mind came about after I made the unorthodox decision to disassociate myself from those with whom I often disagreed. To be more specific, I took a cutting axe to my friend’s list on facebook. All those “so-called” friends who wanted to constantly attack my politics are now gone. But wait a minute. I don’t want to sound like I’m some virtuous creature free of sin and guile, with only good thoughts toward my opposers. It’s just not true. I’m as guilty as they are for making smart-aleck jabs at them on their facebook page when I've disagreed with a political story or statement they posted. Absurd isn’t it? Yes it is. It’s absurd that I would let bad vibes into my life or even initiate them because of a silly political ideology. But then again, prior to W.W.II., some might have said it was absurd to argue about Nazism. Whether these new Right Wing/Left Wing politics that confront our daily lives in America are on that scale, history shall measure, but either way, I admit that at first glance, it might appear radical of me to cut ties with so many people I once called friends. But it’s not really. That’s just the way people are. As the old saying goes, birds of a feather stick together. Even the Old Testament prophet, Amos, asked, “Can two walk together, except they be agreed?” The obvious answer is, “no.” That’s why there are different denominations within Christianity; that’s why there are different religions. People who are going to be arguing cannot coexist peacefully. So is facebook a religion then? It is certainly a community. All religions have a congregation of some sort, and a congregation can be described as nothing other than a community. And most all world religions share another thing in common, they all teach that happiness is found by loving your fellowman. Whether or not facebook is a religion, I don't know, but it does expect everyone to abide by its social norms. People on facebook refer to their friends as their facebook family. So I suppose in order to be a happy facebooker, you'd have to love your facebook friends.

But I broke the cardinal rule, didn't I? I didn't love my fellow facebookers. I dropped ‘em like hot potatoes and have been a peaceful, happy person ever since. I have reached a conundrum, an impasse. Could it be that my current state of happiness has come about because I stopped loving my fellowman? Can I have happiness if I love some and omit others? Maybe I just lost my religion. I hope Murphy is not religious; l hope he has dropped me from his friend's list and that he leaves me alone. I'm happy and I want to stay that way.

Happy trails, Murphy, may we go our separate ways.

And now I leave you with....the Plumlee Woods

War Is Hell

2011-06-20T17:47:00.001-07:00

Becoming disabled means dealing with change. Change is a part of life. Everyone knows that. Many comfort themselves with that reliable old saying when the storms of life unexpectedly blow a tree across their path. But most people never deal with immediate change, such as when my eye doctor told me I could no longer drive. That one little sentence uttered several years ago affects me every day. I have to navigate around that roadblock constantly.

Even something as simple as getting a new set of hearing aids can be a logistical nightmare. Yesterday, I had an appointment to pick up these new contraptions. My wife leaves the house a little before seven o’clock for work, but my appointment was for later in the day. I didn’t want to sit in her office for hours before she could take me; plus, she doesn’t like for me to leave the house with her when she’s going to work because she says I slow her down. She calls me King Piddle because I’m always going back into the house to get something, or check on something, after we’ve locked the door. Of course she doesn’t confess that King Piddle’s trips back into the house are often a good thing. Many times, I have turned the coffee pot off, or worse yet, the iron on the ironing board. Consistently and predictably, I always turn off lamps. My wife was born with a genetic defect that doesn’t allow her to cut a light switch off or turn a lamp off. She is just simply unable to do it. Once she’s on the path to the door, nothing else exists but getting out of that door. It’s as if she’s caught in a tractor beam on Star Trek. Scotty has pulled the lever and she’s being transported to the car. It never occurs to her that leaving these utilities on will cost us more money, but I do because I’m now on a fixed income. I’m not pulling in the extra dollars anymore. I fear the Starship Enterprise is going to run out of fuel. Plus, I fear the cats could theoretically knock a lamp over and start a fire. So King Piddle’s trips back into the house often avert tragedy. But no ever brags on a stop sign at an intersection, they do; however, lament woefully if it did not have a stop sign and someone speeds through it, causing a horrible crash. King Piddle is the Stop Sign that saves the day.

So yesterday’s trip to the hearing aid store had to be coordinated with my son’s departure time from the house. He leaves for work an hour and a half later, so I rode with him. He dropped me off at my wife’s office a full two hours before my appointment. My wife took me. She and I listened while me man told us several things, which we both forgot most of, about the new, hi-tech hearing aids that cost more than thirty-five hundred smackers. But in order for my wife to take me to the appointment, she had to make sure someone could cover her schedule at work. Fortunately, the cute little girl from India who works part-time for her was able to be there yesterday. Whew! Good Lord.

One simple trip is a logistical nightmare somewhat akin to planning the Normandy invasion.

After the battle, we finally got my hearing aids. The man who sold them to me warned that they might have to be adjusted. Sure enough, the longer I wore them last night, the more I realized I can’t hear any better out of these thirty-five hundred dollar contraptions then I could out of my old ones; therefore, I’m going to have to schedule more appointments for them to be adjusted. My wife has a business trip tomorrow, the next day her sister is having surgery, so I don’t have a clue how we are going to coordinate the next battle plan; there will be guerrilla attacks, booby traps, moral breakdown among the troops, etc.

War is hell.

Temporarily Out Of Order

2011-06-15T17:29:00.000-07:00

Yes, I had every intention of blogging more often, but being a typical human being, I've done too much too soon. Laying dormant for several months after eye surgery has surely made me a wimp because I did a lot of yard work yesterday and today, I'm a hurting MoFo. My back hasn't hurt me like this in years. The last time it hurt this bad I had to have back surgery. My surgeon has since retired and the doctor that saw me last at Vanderbilt has since moved on, so there's no one I can call for pain medicine. That means I'm going to take it easy, lay on the couch and watch the Idiot Tube for a few days. Oh no, anything but that.

A Thief In The Night

2011-06-13T14:24:00.000-07:00

So, here I am back on my blog after a long absence. Got it all spruced up with a new look, paying tribute to my English heritage with the cool red British phone booths. I’ve recently made a decision to start writing again. I thought the phone booths might serve as a visual reminder that I come from good stock. After all, some of the greatest writers, both new and old, are English, i.e., Charles Dickens, Charlotte Bronte, Jane Austen, Jeffery Archer, etc. Not that I’m from England, but I did trace my linage once and three Plumlee brothers decided to make the trip across the pond to the new world some time during the 18th century. I don’t know why they left the fair island of Albion and I don’t care to know, because the reality of why they left would probably shatter my illusions of coming from good stock. It’s a given that they were probably not aristocracy. But they were English, and that gives me some hope, delusional though it may be.

I never meant to stop writing. It’s just that I got so busy drumming that I had neither the time nor the inclination to do so. Neither did I aim to get that busy drumming; I only started doing it again for physical exercise. I was in truth, getting old and fat, my blood pressure and cholesterol were through the roof. I’ve always been an extremely intense drummer, fancying myself after the likes of Buddy Rich and Gene Krupa, so I figured drumming would help me lose some weight. I lost 40 some-odd pounds and went from a size 41 waist down to a 31. But life is a constant trade off; you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. Beating drums with that intensity also means beating them loudly; therefore, while my heart attack risks decreased, my hearing loss increased. So much so, that I can rarely understand what my six and eight year old granddaughters are saying anymore. While I might be young at heart, they surely think of me the “old man” who always asks my wife, “What’d they say?” But, I kept drumming because I like being skinny.

A recent close encounter with blindness made me re-evaluate my decision to drum. On April 14, 2011, I had surgery on my right eye. The doctor inserted a tube in that eye to relieve pressure caused from glaucoma. I had to have this done because I lost quite a bit of eyesight between January of last year and February of this year. Glaucoma is a dastardly deceiving disease; you can coast along for a few years thinking you might not lose anymore vision and then WHAM BOOM BANG, it steals a bunch of eyesight when you’re not looking for it to happen. That’s why they call it a thief in the night.

Looking back at it now, I suppose the surgery was successful; the pressure in my right eye, the one my doctor put the tube in, is down to nine, which is where she wanted it. But for the first several weeks after surgery, my vision was extremely blurry in my right eye. Imagine squirting KY Jelly in your eye and maybe you’ll get a clue as to what half of my world looked like. I’ve lost about a third of the vision in my other eye and that was all I had left to navigate my way through this world. I spent weeks stumbling over the toys my granddaughters left in the floor at our house, and trying to listen for the sounds of people’s voices or footsteps as I made my way through Wal-Mart, so as not to run straight into them. It was a rude reminder that I’m slowly going blind and that I also have progressive hearing loss. I joked with my doctor once that I was on the Helen Keller Highway. She worriedly replied, “Please don’t joke about that.” Sometimes I think she’s more worried about me ending up being blind and deaf than I am. She says I have one of the worse cases of glaucoma she’s ever seen. It’s a blinding disease. I hate to be a fatalist, but unless God intervenes, which He might do since I’m such a lovable guy, I will go blind unless I get drunk and fall off a cliff first. My hearing loss is more speculative, no one knows for sure why I keep losing hearing. But one thing’s for sure, beating drums like a madman is like playing Russian roulette with the main sense I will have to depend on when I do go blind. And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that drumming will only hasten my hearing loss.

So that’s it, I’m through, I quit drumming! Fate has forced me to return to writing. To be truthful, I’ve felt guilty for drumming for quite sometime now. I knew I was hurting my hearing, and I also knew I was neglecting my other gift, writing; the one I went to school for and got a degree in journalism. I believe that willful neglect made me bitter, mean and angry. In the past three to four years, I’ve been way too quick to challenge to a facebook duel anyone who opposed my political views. But that’s fodder for a later post. So I hope you and I both enjoy the foolish words that follow.

Cheerio.

Revelation

2011-04-29T21:51:00.000-07:00

I've had a very keen revelation tonight. Maybe I had it a long, long time ago but refused to accept it. That revelation is that the rock & roll night life is not good for me. It has ruined my reputation and in no uncertain terms, made a rebel of me.

Between the years of 1978 and 1990, I rarely played drums. I was a church going man, for all practical purposes. But then the love of drumming lured me back to the nightlife.

It's not that playing music is bad, but I think in my soul, there has always been a question as to whether or not I should be doing it. And as the scripture says, a double minded man is unstable in all his ways.

For the duration of my days upon this earth, I want to be known as a good man, a fair man, a just man; not as a rowdy rebel who demands his way in everything. Because that's what I've done. Selfishness is the root of it, really, plain and simple selfishness.

I must be wise in this transition. There are probably some recording ventures I've been asked to do that might be just fun. But I really intend to make a radical turn from the nightlife henceforth. Many will try to sway me, but deep down, they'll know it's for the best. I have this deep conviction that if I try, and try hard, that I'l be able to restore my reputation and a stable man of character before I leave this world.

Game Changer

2011-04-29T07:58:00.000-07:00

It's a strange thing to fear putting up the dishes. My doctor said I'm to be a couch potato. My latest surgery for glaucoma hasn't worked out so well. It was two weeks ago yesterday. I've had severe pain, more then I've ever remember, and I haven't been able to see well out of my right eye. I nearly lost my vision completely in that eye a week ago. The doctor had to do emergency surgery because my eye was leaking fluid.

But today, I was finally seeing better. My wife and I got up in the wee hours of the morning and watched the Royal wedding. I bragged about being able to see better out of my right eye. And the pain seems to have nearly disappeared. This is where stupidity comes into play. I told myself that since I've turned this miraculous corner, I'll take the clean dishes out of the dishwasher and put them away. I was careful not to bend over because my doctor has ordered me not to. She also said I'm not to pick up anything heavier then 10 pounds. I told myself I'd use my brain, not my brawn. I sat in a chair and reached over into the dishwasher, slowly getting one glass at a time, then a bowl, then a plate, until I had emptied the dishwasher. I had no intentions of over straining myself or overdoing it. But human nature, being the productive beast that it is, took over. I started rationalizing. Since it was okay to pick up one plate, why not pick two at a time, then three, then four. I was careful not to bend over, so how could hit hurt to have a hand full of plates. It'd save time. No harm. Piece of cake. All is well.

But then suddenly, without warning, I noticed my right eye is extremely blurry again. Why am I such a fool?

My friends don't understand how precarious my situation is. I look well enough. At least, I think I look good. So, I'm sure I look good to them. They must think I'm lazy. Several musician friends of mine want me to play music with them. I can see that questioning look in their eyes when I tell them my doctor says I'm not supposed to do anything. They think I'm a hypochondriac. A fellow musician came right out and told me so on the phone recently. He confided in me that another musician had called him, inquiring about me and my health problems.

"He's alone at home all day," he told our friend. "He's bored and concentrates on his health more then the rest of us who have a job. It's hard for him not to be a hypochondriac. He's got nothing else to do."

I sat there, holding the phone, listening to a long-time friend tell me that he told another friend I'm a hypochondriac, and I'm thought, "Damn, I don't need this shit." But I didn't say it.

That phone call took place a few weeks before my surgery. But I catch myself thinking about it again today when I realize I've put my eyesight at risk by the mere, small act of putting up a few dishes. I find myself wishing my friend were correct. I wish I was a hypochondriac. But whether I am or not, his conversation was a real game changer. I'll never be the same. I'll never put myself in a position I should not be in again. My life is about to change.

Where'd it go?

2011-04-27T15:48:00.001-07:00

I seemed to have lost my ability to write? It's very scary. Words used to flow, now I sputter through each and every sentence and nothings sounds right. What happened to my gift? Where'd it go?

Savor Each Second

2011-01-13T23:06:00.001-08:00

Now that darkness is starting to close in, I feel a real need to latch on to reality. I even feel guilty whenever I drank too much wine because with blurred vision comes blurred memory. And now that I've lost more eyesight once again, I want to savor every second, every sight, every smell, every taste.

Either Or

2010-08-25T23:32:00.000-07:00

Now that I have convictions, I have no companions. For the life of me, I cannot decide whose company is the loneliest.

A new day

2010-08-09T13:54:00.000-07:00

After reading my last entry, I've decided to change. No more looking back, no more trying to find myself, no more wondering what I should be doing. From now on, I'm just going to do; going to be whatever I am at the moment.

Just before posting this, I read a quote by the Dalai Lama that reinforced my new attitude.

"The most important benefit of patience consists in the way it acts as a powerful antidote to the affliction of anger - the greatest threat to our inner peace, and therefore our happiness. The mind, or spirit, is not physical, it cannot be touched or harmed directly. Only negative thoughts and emotions can harm it. Therefore, only the corresponding positive quality can protect it."

Lost

2010-08-05T17:29:00.001-07:00

I can no longer move. My heart is froze with fear. I have faced the evil that lies within and it frightens me.

There's nothing more tragic than a man who has lost his way; who can no longer trust his heart to find it. Should I speak of myself as tragic? It is a sad state of affairs that I do . I am lost in a forest, hiding behind each tree is danger. I am afraid to walk on and afraid to stand still, not knowing what sort of beast is lurking just out of sight to prey on me.

Once, a long time ago, I was on a path. I knew where I was going and I knew the way home. Now, I am lost.

The Last Of Our Days

2010-06-17T19:25:00.001-07:00

At one time or another we all ask ourselves how we will spend the last of our days. Will they come in springtime? Will the smell of honeysuckle and the sound of birds chirping fill the air? Will you look to see a grandchild running off into your woods, or watch the cattle move slowly across the field? Though we speak of it not to our neighbors the thought plagues us daily, if not hourly. But we come to terms to with it; we know it must come. And in some odd way, we look forward to it; the end of strife; the end of struggle. Somehow we think that if there is something beyond, it must be restful. Occasionally, we breathe a sigh of relief, knowing it will come and that we don’t have to arrange it; we don’t have to send out the invitations or double check the guest list; we don’t have to do anything but wait. And there’s some comfort in that. It’s one decision we don’t have to make.

America The Beautiful

2009-12-04T08:05:00.000-08:00

The frost covered the fields across from our house as we pulled out the driveway just past dawn. The mostly-full moon shined bright in the pale morning sky. I turned the stereo on and "A Whiter Shade Of Pale," by Procol Harum filled the air. I sipped coffee from a go-mug and looked at Leslie, her skin smooth against the mist rising from the land. The thought of how fortunate I am did not escape me.

We drove slightly uphill till we reached the peak of a small rise on the highway toward Russeville. When the road leveled out, a panoramic picture of rolling land lay before me, reminiscent of the English countryside; trees sprinkled the fence lines and filled the far-off hills framing the horizon.

There were signs of commerce along the route amidst the country homes dotting the landscape. I wondered what it'd be like for someone from Europe to see this part of Kentucky for the first time. I often complain about living in Kentucky. "I'd rather be in Europe," I've told my friends upon many a gathering. And if the truth be told, I entertain this thought almost daily.

I like Europe because the people there seem to me to be much more broadminded. But then again, I've never lived in Europe; I've only visited there. No doubt that it's not as grandiose as I make it out to be. I'd imagine it's much like America; views change as often as the scenery. Certainly the French, with their love for wine and insatiable appetite for sex, would be much more accepting of the liberal minded than the Italians who live in the shadow of Roman Catholicism. They, much as we who live in the southern states of America, never escape the all-seeing eyes of the church; ours, of course, is Southern Baptist.

The English have conservative and liberal political parties, as we do. So they too, must be fraught with frivolous arguments of who-knows-best. But I must admit, there's a great advantage to having a pub on every corner, as England does, and trains and buses in even the smallest of villages. So, I cannot totally escape the fantasy of owning a farm in the English countryside. But what would an Englishmen think of this view I'm seeing right now, or a Frenchmen or an Italian? No doubt that they would be no less enchanted watching a beautiful woman drive them faithful toward Russellville. And when they'd return home, they'd tell their friends America is beautiful. And yes, I can verify she is. I'm lucky to have known her.

Tired of Pretending

2009-11-03T07:59:00.000-08:00

I'm sick and damn tired of pretending every thing is okay. It's not okay. It sucks not being able to drive. It's just a damn hassle all the time. If I want an allergy shot or a haircut, or if I have to do anything that requires going in town, then I have to go in with Leslie and sit around all day long, wasting time, and then figure out how I'm going here or there, or where ever it is I need to go. Living in Rockfield, or just about anywhere in these blessed United States and not being able to drive just SUCKS OUT LOUD. All these frigging politicians arguing about "big government" or "abortion" or "whatever the latest bullshit they're saying to get elected" doesn't do handicapped people one damn bit of good. Who the hell is trying to help the blind, or the deaf anymore? NOBODY.

vv

2009-10-09T22:53:00.000-07:00

October 9, 2009
State Dept. on Nobel: 'Better to be thrown accolades than shoes'
Posted: October 9th, 2009 05:09 PM ET

From CNN State Department Producer Elise Labott

State Dept. on Nobel: 'Better to be thrown acolades than shoes'.

WASHINGTON (CNN) – "Certainly from our standpoint, this gives us a sense of momentum — when the United States has accolades tossed its way, rather than shoes."

That's the take of Hillary Clinton's State Department on President Obama being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, according to her spokesman, Assistant Secretary PJ Crowley.

Crowley was referring to the incident last December when an Iraqi journalist threw his shoes at President George W. Bush during his final visit to Iraq of his presidency.

Muntader Zaidi, who worked for the Iraqi television station Al Baghdadiya, hurled both his shoes at Bush and called him a "dog" during a press conference with Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki. He narrowly missed the president, who quickly ducked.

The shoe-throwing, considered one of the highest insults in the Middle East, illustrated the deep anger toward the United States over its invasion and occupation of Iraq.

Crowley's comments suggested a recognition by the Obama administration that the Nobel Prize was as much an indictment of the Bush administration as it was an effort to praise President Obama's outreach to improve the US image around the world.

Echoing comments by the White House, Crowley said the award was not just an "affirmation" of the Obama administration's foreign policy strategy of engagement, but also on its robust foreign policy agenda, which includes non-proliferation, dealing with Iran and North Korea, and pursuing peace in the Middle East.

"There is an opportunity here," Crowley said. "The tone has changed — but obviously we recognize that, while the tone in the world has changed, the challenges remain. They are very significant."

This "call to action," Crowley said, will fall primarily on the shoulders of Secretary Clinton and the State Department, who will look "to advance the president's agenda and confront the challenges of the 21st century."

Filed under: Nobel Peace Prize • President Obama • State Department

Now

2009-09-26T02:32:00.000-07:00

There's no time,
it's in your mind,
it never did exist.

It comes from pain,
regret and shame,
it's a long, slow goodbye kiss.

Everything is past
Everything is now,
Everything will come to pass

We're moving through,
the me and you,
the first and the last

If you look,
it's a finished book,
not a page has been wrote

It's never been,
It's always been,
Let it be

The truth is clear,
everyone is here
All are free

Pain

2009-09-26T01:50:00.000-07:00

I just need a break from pain; pain from pressure, pain from drumming; pain from politics; pain from people with different politics; pain from digging trenches; pain from pain. But mostly, I need a scotch, single malt, please.

A Road Not Taken

2009-06-21T03:42:00.000-07:00

There are times I'm deeply troubled about the changes in my life. Sometimes I wonder if I know myself at all. It seems strange that I've gone from growing up in a family that rarely attended church, then became a devout Christian at age 25, only to find myself questioning the validity of the church now that I'm 53.

But the oddity of it all is that in many ways I've never changed. I drew a picture of a clock with wings and titled it, "Faith," when I was merely six or seven. Seeing as how my family almost never attended church, it seems strange that I would've even known what "faith" meant. Maybe I didn't, but I did have a very secure belief in God.

Maybe it's because I was nearly killed at age two when I was run over by a car. My skull was fractured front and back, both legs broken in several places, as well as my left arm. When my grandmother found me in the middle of the road, she said my skull was cracked open so wide she could see my brain. The ambulance never came. My cousin, William Cox, is said to have wrapped a rag around my head and held the wound together swhile my grandfather drove me to the hospital. They waited six days to operate and set my legs and arm because I was too weak to survive an operation.

Maybe when someone walks to the line between life and death, they are privy to the councils of the Almighty. I wonder if all who have touched the face of death and lived have a firm faith in God? I do.

So why am I deeply troubled about the changes in my life when there actually haven't been any changes at all?

Because I know there's still a road not taken.

Incredibly Irresponsible

2009-06-17T00:12:00.000-07:00

My mother refused to talk about politics or religion with anyone. She just flat out would not do it. I always thought it was because she didn't know much about either subject, but now I realize it was because she knew far more than I gave her credit for. I can't think of any two subjects that have caused me more harm, i.e., damaged relations, multiple misunderstandings, etc., etc., etc. My mother refused to attend church and she refused to vote. I thought her to be incredibly irresponsible for not doing either, but maybe she knew understood far more than me.

If you attend a church, you have to align yourself, in one fashion or another, with the people of that church, i.e., the way they dress, their ideology, even their eating habits. For example, Baptists brag about eating fried chicken, so if you attend a Baptist church, you're supposed to believe God cleanses the arteries of the faithful and stuff grease down your throat like a glutton. My mother didn't like fried chicken very much, so she never became a Baptist. My mother was very independent, so she wasn't about to let any preacher tell her what she should and should not do; therefore, she never offended or pissed off any preachers. But as for me, I rebelled against my mother and started attending church when I was a younger man. I found out that preachers have a habit of asking for volunteers. Being a young convert, I of course said yes to just about everything the preacher asked me to do. But after a few years, I needed a break, so I stopped volunteering. And when I did, the preacher paid me a visit. He wanted to know what was wrong, if someone had said something to upset me. When I told him I just didn't want to do teach a Sunday School, drive a church bus, help out in the baptistry and all the other various positions I had been donating all of my free time to, he was just heart broken. I hated it. There I was, sitting in front of a Man of God, telling him, "No, I don't want to work in the church anymore." It was a tough conversation, and it was one that my mother, who I thought to be incredibly irresponsible, never had to have. Why? Because she had much more sense than me. She knew that once you started doing something for someone, they expect more, and more, and more, and ....

And she knew if she started voting, then she'd have to inform herself about the politicians. She already knew all the local politicians because she ran a business. I suspect that's exactly why she wouldn't vote for them; she knew them. And she knew if she started following national politics, she'd probably slip up and tell someone what she believed. And she knew she'd eventually run into someone, as I often have, who would be pissed at her for voting for the opposing party. So, she simple had no political party. She didn't like any of them, which I thought to be incredibly irresponsible.

Maybe she was an idealist; she certainly lived apart from all the bullshit CNN, Fox News, MSNBC, ABC, CBS and Newsmax, 24/7, in your face media that floods our airwaves now. If she were still here, I suspect she'd never turn the television on. If she wanted to watch something, she went to the movies. She hated TV. She didn't even watch the news when JFK was assassinated, which I found to be incredibly irresponsible.

Well, I'd give just about anything I could be, or could have been, that irresponsible. Because in that irresponsibility lies the secret to living day by day. It's also the secret of getting along with everyone. So my creed and goal is to be incredibly irresponsible from now on.

Rockfield morning

2009-06-07T03:49:00.000-07:00

I walked out into the early morning mist. The sun had not yet surfaced the horizon. It's light sent a clear blue hue across the sky. I stood beneath a low tree branch and gazed out over the field across the road from our yard. The cattle that did move, moved gently, as if they were still clearing the sleep from their eyes. But the birds who had nestled in our woods quietly through the night were now wide awake. They chirped without ceasing, flew in formations from the trees over my head. The squirrel hopped from one treetop to another.

God can only be understood at the dawning of a new day. For it's then that one realizes God is not only the author of art; God is art. Only a being of absolute beauty could have created this canvas. How I long to know such beauty. To feel it every moment throughout the core of myself; to be in His presence and filled with His presence.