Musings of a Middle Aged Man

When I was a young lad, the only ginger in my neighborhood and schools, making me a target, altercations arose between mismatched combatants that generally used words as weapons, with occasional flare-ups into fisticuffs. We attempted to ward off those words with the trite saying: "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can never hurt me." I think the saying may have been a shield, a psychological shield protecting our vulnerable psyches from the effects of warfare as old as humanity itself. I've learned over the years that the saying is half true and half utter nonsense.

he USA's most enduring mythology, one the citizenry loves to chest-thump, is that we are the land of the free and home of the brave. That we are the last bastion of liberation in the increasingly repressed world. That we are a beacon of hope in a raging sea, guiding the masses suffering from psychological incarceration and servitude toward salvation, toward autonomy, toward emancipation, and the God-given right to live in the absence of tyranny. How does this mythology stack up against reality?

I adhere to a strict policy of truth. Much of my adult life has been invested in seeking truth in both my professional and personal lives. This is heavily influenced by my belief that truth will not only set society free of tyranny, but it also begets a clarity that positively reinforces an individual's confidence in themselves and allows others in society to have confidence in the truth teller. Assuming people relish a thinking society. My wife has said that I am too honest, too truthful. This is not a recommendation to lie, rather not to overshare the messy details of my thinking processes. It's a situational thing.

ove is quite possibly the most intense emotion humans experience, equalled in intensity by its opposite, hate, a form of negative love. Alternatively, Love is a form of strong positive care, while Hate is a strong negative care. Hate is not a negation of love but an emotional hole that consumes love as a black hole insatiably consumes light to the point that the light is essentially destroyed. The logician in me, where possible, prefers to view concepts in graphical form to more easily understand the relationships among...

f I had to hazard a guess, I would say one of the oldest conundrums pinging humanity's consciousness is the simple question, "Why am I here?" Not as in a physical location, though that is also a mystery. No. Why, as in "Why do I exist?" "What is my purpose for being?" The pursuit of a nacreious answer has led to all sorts of bricolage answers without ever really arriving at an answer that is satisfying to few aside from trite reference to mythical deities with a supposed plan for each and every being...human being. As humans...

Not only do we not need a new religion or Bible, we no longer need, never actually needed, the old religion or Bible. In fact, we would be much better off had they, and other holy tomes, never cursed the human condition by driving people to believe their contents are true despite contradicting evidence and internal conflicts. The new experience needed is a transformation in how we perceive our individual existence with respect to the reality in which we are physically embedded. The current "I" must be scrubbed from decades' worth of clinging societal detritus applied by social engineering designed to obfuscate the individual self. Our lack of diligence to protect ourselves allowed us to be absorbed into...

The Bible can and has been 'interpreted' to justify everything from chattel slavery to genocide to sanctioned rape of virgins to dashing babies on rocks...along with a smattering of niceties such as love thy neighbor, the meek shall inherit the earth, and forgiving transgressors 70 times 7 times. This is partly due to imperfect translations between ancient and modern languages, translators with bias, and readers blinded by their own disposition, prejudices, preferences, and preconceived notions they wish to impose upon others. Take, for instance, the Hebrew word Radah, translate...

Twas a season in my life when I was energized and invigorated by loud music and parties attended by many, with a heavy flow of alcohol lubricating social interactions and, maybe, a late-night tête-à-tête with a member of the opposite sex. Some of the best times took place at my parents' summer estate, a two-bedroom cabin in Central Wisconsin Lake Country, attended by family and friends, where each evening was closed out with many sitting around a campfire listening to music until the wee hours of the night, bleeding into morning. All while engaging in the lively art of conversation. Since those days...

It is a travesty that the richest country in the world ranks a paltry 20th in quality of education on the global scale. That our traditional adversaries in China and Russia are ranked higher does not augur well for an impressive future. There are a couple of factors leading to the embarrassing rank...hoarding of money by politicians for pork barrel projects and an undue influence from religious-based organizations, more concerned about Christianizing the education system than freeing the minds of students to soar with the elan of Eagles. The two are inextricably intertwined because...

I find it intriguing that death as a beginning is a belief held vigorously by both religious sects and the zombies amongst us. Two querlous groups, both looking beyond the immediate toward a future that may or may not have any basis in cold reality. I wonder how the zealots rationalize their bodies becoming animated post death, a time they mythologize that the soul separates from the physical before traveling the star path. Does the reanimation require the soul to return from the star realm? Is the awakening proof souls cleave off the corpse rather than sleep for eternity or until the postapocalypse, performing a necessary function as do the vulture people? The beings most likely to survive a nuclear holocaust...

Since the advent of time, it is conservatively estimated that 18,000 different gods, goddesses, and related deities have been invented for veneration and worship. The cults arising around the deities range from single-deity monotheistic religions to thousands of deities in polytheistic and pantheistic religions to 330 million in the Hindu pantheon. In practice, the Hindu number is symbolic, reflecting the concept that one ultimate reality, Brahman, can appear in innumerable forms, each a distinct god or deity. It is as confusing to me as the improbable holy trinity created by Christianity to elevate a murdered, itinerant preacher to divine status via a mythical resurrection from physical death. Ironically...

believe most, possibly all, humans have a deep-seated desire to be accepted for who they authentically are, including the rough spots others might see as warts or defects. That given a safe space, they would discard the accoutrements designed to help them blend in with the masses and stand emotionally naked, exposing those attributes, making themselves uniquely themselves. That they would sing their song at dawn or any other time of day aligned with their internal body clocks. Given our amazing diversity, there would be songs filling every second of every day. How glorious that would be?!?! Coca-Cola used to wish the world would sing in perfect harmony...

do my damndest to placate my soul with the goal of minimizing any hate harbored in my heart. Mostly, I am successful. It is a challenge to maintain a modicum of temperance, considering the country in which I am a citizen in good standing is going down the shitter because a narcissist with craploads of money has wrapped tiny hands around power and is using the power to take from the poor so the insanely wealthy can boost their financial holdings. This is not speculation...

The movie Shane, along with High Noon, released the prior year, and Unforgiven, coming 39 years later, are three Westerns that forever changed the genre. The first two shifted the narrative from simple good guy versus bad guy, both cowboys decidedly entrenched in the black and white decision-making, with nary a shade of ambiguity to add tension, to psychologically complex stories of conflicted individual heroes wrestling with moral dilemmas laced with moral uncertainty. The heroes battle in a land more gray than either black or white combined. The stories helped solidify the gunslinger...

In general, humans look upon the cycle of life with an eye toward the born version being the ultimate end goal. Human arrogance takes this thousands of steps further with the proclamation that all existence was designed so that humans could thrive... even though the Earth occupies far a less than miserly 3.08x10-58% of the universe's volume. That myopic notion arises because we humans are essentially aphotic with respect to the fundamental interconnectedness of all things. Many of those who do accept the truth of evolution mistakenly...

highly doubt our arboreal ancestors spent their precious time contemplating the existence of a soul, busy as they were gathering and hunting while keeping watch for the multitude of predators hoping to turn their tender flesh into a satisfying meal. Contemplation of abstract concepts is superfluous when struggling to ensure the tribe can survive, let alone thrive. Possibly, the only human foible more detrimental to the human condition than agriculture is the invention of the belief in an immortal soul, one that sashays to an afterlife at the time of physical death. That juicy rationalization...

If you were to ask my mother, she would say I was born with an appetence for rebellion. Where raising some children is challenging because they are strong-willed, I was doubly difficult because I was born with an equally strong won't. Thankfully, she was blessed with a fortitude of a saint, helping her steer me away from a life that could, under different circumstances, have propelled me into a life of incarceration. Plus, I was a bit lucky never to be caught...

Of all the world's religious leaders, I most admire His Holiness the Dalai Lama. Not because I consider Buddhism to be true, rather because the Dalai Lama has a propensity to not harass people to convert to Buddhism in any of its forms. In fact, he discourages conversion from other religions, arguing it is safer and better to stick with ancestral or cultural faiths because switching risks superficial adoption without true commitment. In his humble integrity, he opposes proselytizing because it exploits vulnerability, the very quality the Abrahamists manipulate to grow their flocks. The Dalai Lama's approach assumes...

Mired, as I am, in Western linear modes of thinking, I have a difficult time grasping the circular time concepts comprising the Vedic texts and the Bhagavad Gita, especially the lifetime conjecture scope in the opening quote. I was indoctrinated with the belief the human scope consists of a single lifetime, where the Gita outlines multiple lives dictated by reincarnation cycles bent by Karma Yoga, driving the rebirth cycle. In Western ethics, the goal is moral order and autonomy for our one and only life. In the Gita, the goal is moksha, liberation from Samsara, the cycle of rebirth. It emphasizes...

While I have never had the pleasure of living in Bear country, I have hiked and camped in Bear's world and had the ecstatic experience of seeing a Grizzly Bear sow and her three cubs. Seeing them in the Montana wilds, separated only by physical space, induced feelings of reverent terror coupled with awe that is impossible to achieve when viewing Bear from the safety of the protective barriers zoos erect to prevent the mayhem of the great bear harvesting a human or three. After all, it is difficult to feel reverent awe when viewing a clown in a cage or an incarcerated prisoner, a poor imitation of an authentic being able to snuff out human life with one swipe of its massive, clawed paw.

Most mornings, I sit meditating at my altar under the watchful eyes of Ganesh, Buddha, Athena, the Venus of Willendorf, three skulls of two raptors, one corvid, and an obsidian Raven with yellow eyes. Today, my space is scented by a slow-burning, earthy incense stick. I generally wait until one stick is consumed by the subtle flame before lighting a second of a different ilk to prevent intercourse between the two scents. I changed my paradigm this morning. Rather than waiting to ignite a second stick, I put match to tip, watched it flare briefly before settling into the slow burn, releasing another aromatic fragrance from the slew of scents awaiting their turn. To my surprise, the two smoke streams coordinated, interweaving with each other in a corkscrew spiral until the two became one.

wonder, does the spider know the insect net it creates by first laying down the Y frame, followed closely by radial spokes, all connected via the sticky spirals, giving it the classic shape depicted in Charlotte's Web, doubles as its own prison? That madame spider is at once guard, inmate, and executioner? That she is simultaneously a bull and fish, patiently awaiting the arrival of fresh fish to ensnare before exsanguination? Not only is Spider a prisoner of the web, but she is a slave to the silken net raised each night then razed each morning...

Too often, the word chaos is burdened with a negative connotation. Think: disorder, confusion, unpredictability, and lack of control that overwhelms or destabilizes. It is often associated with evil or malevolence, a consequence of what some call sin, undermining god's so-called perfect order. It is a view requiring walls to be arrow straight, all corners set at a perfect 90 degrees, all circles absolutely round, all hearts focused on pleasuring Sky Daddy, who defeated Satan, the one accused of being the author of ungodly chaos. The Devil angle is where the negative connotations are derived. This simplistic perspective overlooks...

Modern religious expression has become as fouled by selfishness as carcass-contaminated water. All who drink from it risk their mental health from toxins that infiltrate and infest the mind, undermining the ability to be a loving human. It is no longer an individual path toward spiritual supremacy, but a performance where the believers accost the non-believers (aka thinkers) to boost the number of people in the pews, where they are expected to tithe offerings and adhere to strict political agendas imposed upon believer and thinker alike.

This quote hit me with the force of slamming into an overhanging tree branch while running with abandon at full speed in the dead of night. Yes, I had to pick my ass up off the floor and it took me quite some time to return to my senses. On separate occasions, I have laid hands on the trunks of three trees, thousands of miles apart, and felt them vibrating with an energy that used my hands as a conduit, infusing my soul with a sonorous rhythm. Each time, the intimacy of the connection caused tears of joy to run down my ruddy face. The jolt to my system caused me to perpend deeply on the mystical interactions before I was able to extricate myself from their presence and move on, my body still buzzing.

f asked to diagnose society's ills, I would say the root cause of most, if not all, of humanity's problems boils down to polarity, the arbitrary divisions that are imagined and prevent us from unifying as a collective whole. Typically, those characteristics leveraged to keep us divided are nugatory, trifling, amplified such that we encounter others with our hands firmly grasping a war club when we should approach with an open heart and a willingness to embrace the new. At a minimum, we should be setting aside any biases that could hinder human connection. Well, not just human connection, but affiliation with all beings, not just those similar to us. Unfortunately, a society connected across strata would undermine those in positions of authority who keep a stranglehold on power by inflaming the people over arbitrary characteristics.

Harmony serves as a core principle in multiple belief systems, emphasizing interconnectedness, balance, and peaceful coexistence with other humans, animals, plants, and the objects we tend to arrogantly misclassify as inert. I can attest to rocks having unique spirits by virtue of the 19 rocks gracing my altar, each emanating stable spirit energy unique to their character. Harmony is a tenet of Confucianism, Taoism, Hinduism, and the animistic beliefs of the Mvskoke, Lakota, Iriquois, Diné, and many other indigenous peoples. Harmony is a key ingredient to achieving happiness. Indeed, sustained happiness is impossible if the individual's spirit is locked in discord.

s it any wonder that people living intimately with the Earth view all things as having life, spirit, and personhood? This encompassing perspective sees these three qualities inherent even in those things Western philosophy has relegated to the lowly, inanimate classification. They are treated as pretty much irrelevant in the grand scheme and completely devoid of that spark that gives life and agency to the animate. If we were to stuff the close to the land people into a religious box, that box would be labeled Animism. Animists know the natural world is alive and relational, rather than a collection of inert objects. The Animist philosophy sees humans as part of a larger community of living and spiritual beings, not separate from nature.

n Thoreau's book, Walden, he creates the illusion he is far from civilization, where he is immersed in solitude, far, far from anything and anyone intrusive, enabling the opportunity to bask in the soothing salts of solitary living. However, Walden was only a couple of miles from his home. His temporary cabin was on land owned by Ralph Waldo Emerson. Henry was far from being isolated. He frequently walked into town to dine with friends and entertained friends in the cabin. Knowing this context neither taints my enjoyment of his musings nor negates the impact of his words. However, I do wonder if his semi-solitude hindered his ability to escape quiet desperation and express his song. His book, Walden, may very well have been the song within him. It is a lovely song.

I have seen many animal prints in the backcountry, but never one left by Lord Bear. I have encountered Grizzly in Montana, Black Bear and Black Bear scat on the ramp to the Kuwohi observation tower in Smoky Mountains National Park. Relative to Grizz, the Black Bear looks like playthings, really, really large dog-type companions tagging along on a forest jaunt. Looks are deceiving. The Black Bear could tear apart a human in nothing flat, rendering the next scat pile a mixture of berries and partly digested human bits. I did see Grizz scat while hiking a Glacier National Park trail, but no sign of paw print nor claw indentations in the soil. It was as if Lord Bear levitated while shitting. At least, the piles answer the age-old question about a bear shitting in the woods...

When I need inspiration, respiration, a catalyst, or a spark of divinity, I must exit syphilization, stage left, and immerse myself in a comforting bath of wildness. There, the plants, animals, rocks, dirt, and insects conspire in relationship to infuse my soul with a serenity that draws from Earth's vast resources. There is no specific habitat type that anchors me. The biome can be anything from beach to desert, grassland to dense tropical rainforest, and everything in between. The key factor, the space in which I set temporary roots, must feel untrammeled, pristine. I can pretend a worn path is animal-made during their daily searches for food or annual migration patterns. An errant gum wrapper or selfishly discarded cigarette butt are enough to destroy the carefully coiffed illusion I create that I am on a solitary journey seeking connection with interconnectedness.

Numerous times, numerous seasons in my life, I have fantasized about simply walking away from my place in syphilization and taking up residence in the back country for a life of abject solitude. In that respect, I envy Jack (no middle name) Reacher's nomadic life. Off-grid. Out of society's clutches simply by boarding the next bus on the road to everywhere and nowhere. The key difference. He weaves in and out of the general public, stumbling into all sorts of mayhem, whereas my phlegmatic personality prefers the serenity of forests, mountains, plains, and deserts, as long as the location is devoid of other human elements. What kept me in situ rather than pursuing my fantasy was the responsibility to those individuals depending on me for food, shelter, and guidance, responsibilities I owned up to, for I am not a monster. Err...not that type of monster. Not that the nuances are worth dithering over, for any dissimilarities are mere pettifog.

I was infused with the attitude of a contrarian in my genetic makeup. I have always existed at odds with the collective. Many in society would consider the trait to be a dross gift, the dregs of Santa's bag, worse even than lumps of coal in the stocking earmarked for the naughty list. However, despite the associated challenges with going against the societal grain, I consider my propensity to embrace the adversarial in the face of lemmings a great gift, bestowed by a universe in desperate need of individuals comfortable with embracing their individuality. Those of us who don't go along to get along tend to be at the forefront of change, of eschewing the status quo to instead seek transformation, to innovate away from the routine, for the obliteration of the mundane plaguing society with mindless conformity.

am reading a book that nauseates me, similar to the disgust I experienced when reading Nabokov's book, Lolita, which immerses in the mind of a pedophile in the process of seducing his preteen step-daughter. The book that has my attention now is set in the 1600s, in what the colonizers renamed from Wendake, 'The Island' in the Huron language, to Ontario, Canada. The book, Orenda, centers on Bird, a Huron elder, Snowfalls, an Iroquoian child, and Christophe, a French Jesuit priest set on stealing their souls for Christianity. The book is rife with violence. Physical violence in the clash between the warring Huron and Iriquois is described in graphic detail. And the spiritual violence inflicted by the priest upon the people, a priest obsessed with converting the people to a view of life arising from a Stone Age tribe dwelling in the Middle East on stolen lands. It is this soul violence that makes me want to retch.

Since my early youth, I have been enamored with words. My earliest word recollection is their arrangement into the Hardy Boys Mysteries, which I would devour whenever I could convince my mother I was in desperate need of yet another book in the series. I vividly recall the time I was reading in my bed on a summer's day when she forced me to go outside to play on "such a nice day." I obeyed, reluctantly, remembering some fifty years later, and am still a bit irritated at the overriding of my personal autonomy. As I recall, my malicious compliance was to sit on the back porch and sulk. Unfortunately...

have long believed the sign of a quality mind is the ability to change even the most strongly held beliefs when contrary evidence is presented. To do otherwise exposes a dearth of intelligence, a condition detrimental not only to the individual but also to society. Imagine a society that operates on dogma at the expense of data. What a flippin' mess that would be. Correction. A reliance on dogmatic proclamations has helped send the US into a state of chaos not seen since 1941, with the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor. The current tumult has made the US a global pariah, not that we were loved anyway. Grudgingly respected only by nations willing to accept our dogmas because they, too, exist in a knowledge vacuum, making them prone to believing the irrational.

It seems to me all, but the ardent sociopaths or psychopaths are acutely aware they have a darkness dwelling within. The same applies to our bright side, which is also inaccessible to those suffering from Antisocial Personality Disorders (APD). On the whole, humans are a balance between dark and light, evil and good. A dualistic nature possessing innate capacity for both profound compassion, empathy, and altruism, dancing alongside selfish and destructive tendencies. We are inherently complex. If dark is evil and light is good, humans exist in shades of grey, strains of muted...

recently experienced what I can only account for as a eureka moment. A pure flash of clarity emerging from the business end of an incense stick, releasing a heady scent of sage mixed with sweetgrass, two sacred plants. When I inhaled deeply while purifying my energy, the prayer smoke took not only my utterances but also my vision to elevated heights. I floated out of myself on the wings of the smoke and was left floating above. From the elevated position, I watch my seated self in front of my personal altar. I was wearing a serape hoodie. The color pattern is predominantly orange, interwoven with thick black and white threads in a pleasing pattern born of reason. As is my norm, I was meditating by putting dark blue ink onto thick, off-white paper. My body is luminous

he American mythos is embodied in the mythical Marlboro Man, ruggedness and independence, extolling the virtue of individualism, a right enshrined in our foundational documents, guaranteeing the right to pursue our own happiness. So important is the idea to our collective legend that children across the country are indoctrinated into society's collective hallucination with a daily school recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance. It wasn't until 1943 that students earned the individual right to exercise their choice not to salute the flag, stand during the pledge, or even recite the jingoistic pledge.

Possibly, the saddest twist of human existence is the failure of most individuals to recognize their inherent divine nature. Followed closely by the heartbreak of people glomming onto external concepts of the divine instead of dwelling within their personal divinity. In the West, where I am a dwelling deity, it is ingrained culturally that we are born unworthy because we are saddled with a sin nature. A curse passed from generation to generation to generation, originating when the first humans were unjustly punished for committing an act they could not possibly know was wrong to do. It is a form of mental prison that kills logical, rational thought. As is apropos, coming from an evil god concept that would punish others for the imaginary breaches of arbitrary rules and regulations.

Religion threatens us with the mythical gates to hell for all eternity unless we diligently adhere to the oft-conflicting commands espoused in self-proclaimed holy tomes, despite being littered with errors. Not being a theist of their ilk, I understand the threshold they fear is actually the doors of perception, exposing truths the sacred books prefer to keep hidden behind closed doors, for fear others may pass through the veiled portals of the divine and finally understand we are all gods. Had they opted to skip around the thresholds of their dreams and trudge through the aperture of awareness, then stand in the midst of the arbor of atonement, they would have become acutely aware that their gates of heaven are nothing more than an egress to anguish and save themselves from an eternity in the bunker of bitterness.

Powaqa invades my dreams...conclusion

Powaqa invades my dreams...

Powaqa invades my dreams...

Powaqa invades my dreamscape...

Twenty years ago, death infiltrated my life when my father, at 73 years, was diagnosed with stage four cancer that had already spread to his brain, bones, lungs, and liver. Much too late for any real hope at a cure or much, if any, reprieve. He did endure one regimen of chemotherapy and radiation, which, if it did actually prolong his life by a few weeks or months, left him wheelchair bound then bed-bound until his final breath was breathed while he was in our home living room, surrounded by all but one of our family. Seeing the horrid effects of chemo, I don't think I could ever submit to that therapy. His death came 22 years after he underwent an emergency quad bypass, with one artery being 90% occluded. He used to joke that he wanted to be buried in the backyard beneath the above-ground pool.

Growing up without many things due to the economic realities of a large family, I splurged on stuff once I started earning money. Probably not the best use of my limited financial resources, but that is water under the proverbial bridge in a raging river from which it is not possible to claw back the money that floated away. It wasn't until later in life that I learned money invested in experiences pays dividends far exceeding money spent acquiring things. Thankfully, it is a lesson I learned prior to retirement, allowing me to build a nest egg that will provide for future experiences, adding a richness to my final years that would otherwise be risky as far as finances are concerned. All that purchasing has saddled me with many things that accumulate as clutter that I struggle to dispose of, while adding only items that bring value to my life.

Having a place that feels like home provides profound psychological comfort, reduces stress and anxiety, and enhances physical as well as mental well-being. There have been places I have lived for extended periods. While some gave me a measure of comfort, I have always felt as if I were a transient, a vagabond mole burrowing into a place to lay my head temporarily, knowing it will be fleeting. Paradoxically, the homiest places I've ever been are lands where I have spent at most a few days to a week before moving back to my "official" home, as per my driver's license.

As an A-Deist, I struggle with the conceptual existence of separate spiritual and physical components comprising a whole human being. Atheists tend to deny that humans have a spiritual side, along with having no place in their worldview for an immortal soul, attributing consciousness, an emergent property of complex brain activity, to electrons firing in the human mind. While I mostly agree with the Atheists, there is no denying the life force departs from the physical at body death. While it may go against convention, I define that leaked out life force as the spirit or the soul, with the understanding that there is no after life component. Dead is dead. The living spark animating the body is termed the Anim.

I have spent time lying in a meadow surrounded by a circumambient blanket of color and felt a deep and abiding joy, infected as I was by the laughing and tittering of the flowers radiating ephemeral colors accompanied by heady perfumes and evanescent arias wafting from the throats of radiant birds rapturously praising the glory displayed by the flora. Alighting from flower to flower, drunk on the nutritious nectar, the butterflies flutterby clothed in kaleidoscopic hues, clap their wings in a delicately raucous celebration of their own joy at the visual and olfactory bouquet. Surrounding the meadow, stately trees shield those less robust from buffeting winds that would rip petals from receptacle and hypanthium,

Now that I am retired and no longer obligated to occupy my mind for the benefit of a large corporation, I am free to focus on topics of personal interest or follow my mind as it wanders to and fro. Sometimes, those wanderings are drawn to a topic that elicits deep focus. My monkey mind tends to bounce between being the horse drawing the cart and the cart being drawn by the horse. I must be careful to prevent the tail from wagging the dog for too long lest I succumb to doom scrolling the day away.