Life Explains Religion

 

Over Labor Day weekend we attended the Greek Festival at the Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church. It’s a beautiful building. I’ve walked past it several times and always been fascinated by the logical sequence of gradual size inherent in the appearance, one thing leads to another, from the smaller offices and classrooms surrounding and attached to the exterior, climbing in orderly steps to the arched dome over the cathedral. It carries the weight of awesome symmetry from every angle. There is an order and structure to the shapes, they seem almost independent of each other, but so interconnected and mutually reliant it gives me an odd sense of being a mirage, a dream in the middle of a busy intersection, in a trendy, fashionable area. I had never been inside, so this was my chance to visit.

 

I’m not a religious person, but sometimes I wish I was. Life would be so much easier if I had something to hold onto when the discomforts of existence begin to grind away at my ability to resist. Inside a church you can almost sense the majesty of the almighty. 

 

We attended a tour of the nave while we were there. It was gorgeous. Stained glass diluting, refracting, and cooling the suns rays, taming the vicious nuclear fusion that powers the stars, refracting it into rainbows. There are depictions of the Saints, the Apostles, the Virgin Mother, the Savior. All looking beatifically from the upper walls, the vaulted ceiling. You can feel the strength of the unknown, the unknowable. 

 

Everything was spotless, as if the process that creates and distributes dust is unwelcome in churches. There was a shine and polish, a sparkle that was almost hypnotic. Churches must be some of the cleanest places on earth. They don’t smell of disinfectant, or cleanser, it’s almost as if they just don’t get dirty.

 

There is a solemn quiet, a hush that offers strength. It seems peaceful, serene.  Until two women bumbled in through the large doors below the balcony and sat behind us. They seemed to be playing video games on their phones and whispering insulting contradictions to almost every point the guide made. It was constant, beeping, blathering and completely distracting.

 

I listened, as best as I could, to the gentle, kind voice of the guide as he told us about the saints, and the spiritual reasons for the features, and depictions. There was a pattern and uniformity, across the Orthodox religion. It was surprisingly technical. I’ve always assumed religion was just interpreting the scripture. But there is an order, a method, a reason approaching scientific, maybe astrological. 

 

“Any questions?” He asked. 

 

After a few questions from around the pews I raised my hand.

 

“When did Christianity come to Greece?” I asked. He answered, politely and thoroughly.

 

I really wanted to ask, “Why did the ancient Greeks turn their back on such a rich, complete polytheism, developed over a millennium, a system of beliefs that could find a somewhat implausible, sometimes fantastic reason for almost anything and adopt a religion whose main explanation for any kind of suffering is ‘The Lord works in mysterious ways.’” I was mad at myself for not having the courage to ask. It was probably the last chance I’ll ever get.

 

Ancient Greece has the most fascinating history. In many ways it resembles “The Readers Digest Condensed Version” of world history. Everything that ever happened in the world happened on a smaller scale on the mountainous peninsula, wars, prosperity, desolation, revolution. And their mythology had everything covered. They had a god, or goddess for every occasion, it was a thorough, complete list of responsibility covering everything from hunting to the cultivation of crops. They had an explanation for disasters, unusual good fortune, even run of the mill, everyday life. It must have taken centuries to devise and record. And they abandoned it. For a relatively new phenomenon. An upstart religion based on a single messiah. I’m not sure how long the conversion took, but it had to be a tough sell. 

 

I was interested in the schism, too. What caused the western and eastern patriarchates of the oldest Christian religion to split apart so completely. I’ve taken a little time to look it up, and there doesn’t seem to be a clear answer for such a radical dissolution. It seemed to have been a slow process, that simmered over centuries, and involved fragile human egos, and petty political rivalries. 

 

As I read about ancient Greek mythology, and the schism behind the split a realization came to me, the only peace you find in a church you have to bring in with you, the only comfort you ever found you had to invent. Every church was complete with the mean little people who sat behind me. They were a part of the act. I remembered the services I had attended, Lutheran, Baptist, Catholic, all with the same message, conform, convert, or else. I remembered the evangelicals throwing themselves at Trump, acolytes before the one true grifter. 

 

Churches are ancient institutions; they’ve learned how to present themselves as islands in a sea of madness, sanctuaries against the unclean, the unholy. It’s a foolproof plan. But it’s an illusion, they are organizations designed to prosper, and grow. They sell salvation, it is their only product, and they are the only ones who can define it, and they have the only outlet. 

 

I love the beauty of churches. The majesty. And I wish I could find some comfort, more than a temporary feeling of escape. In many ways it probably comes from my unhealthy need to be an outsider, or it might come from the self-interest that seems to drive churches to indulge in shameless political promotion. Also, it could be the wealth, the enormous treasure churches seem to acquire and hoard. Still, religion seems a wholesome thing, in many ways, like politics, and business administration, it’s always the people who corrupt the process, turn it to personal gain. 

I went, paid my ticket, bought some food, and a few pins featuring saints of Greek Orthodoxy for my newest treasure, so I donated. I don’t mind pitching in occasionally, but that’s as far as it goes.

History, On this Day, August 25th, 1975

Today in History,

A Wasted Childhood.

August 25^th, 1975

 

It was the first day of school at Our Holy Redeemer and it was hot. At 7:30 in the morning it had been 75 degrees. Temperatures climbed all morning. and the humidity was hovering between brutal and unbearable.  To most of the student’s humidity was only a word from television and radio. Something old people complained about. But in the middle of an enclosed hallway, in an old building with no air-conditioning, when the atmosphere became so heavy breathing was labored, almost impossible, sweat ran down backs, dripped into burning, bloodshot eyes, clothes clung to damp, uncomfortable flesh, even students knew something had gone bad. 

After 3^rd period there was a small wave of students going in each direction down the wide, tiled hallway. The bricks were shiny with a malevolent, moist warmth, the tile floor had shimmering heat devils floating just inside observable spectrum. It was miserable. 

A basketball rolled insolently through the open gymnasium doors. Its constant, slow rotation seemed to be an affront, a challenge. It was as though it were daring somebody to do something, anything.

Ricky Belhaus did something. He picked up the basketball, his right hand went as far back as he could reach, his left leg raised until it looked as if he might tumble over, and he threw the ball as hard as he could into the gym.

Before he could recoil from the effort, the ball caromed off the stanchion for the practice basketball goal and flew into the kitchen.

There was a terrible crash, loud and liquid. It echoed off the walls of the gym, and disappeared into the curtains on the stage. Maybe it was trying to escape the terrifying scream that followed it almost immediately.

In a fraction of a second the hallway was empty. In less than a minute there was the head cook, standing there, holding a metal ladle, spaghetti sauce splattered across her face, small drops almost like little footprints climbing from her neck to the top of her hairnet. Her shirt was dripping red sauce and her pants were soaked in several spots. Her eyes held a terrible fire, as she looked from side to side. The metal spoon shook with an electric rage. But the hallway was empty, except for her.

Ricky breathed a sigh of relief, as he sat listening to the assigned work expected results of Mr. Harriman’s 4^th period American History class. He looked carefully at the syllabus and thought of how he was off the hook. He drew a lopsided basketball with a smiley face. He smiled back at his creation. He had dodged a bullet this time.

A loud crackle, and a pronounced serpentine hiss, filled the room. Someone was going to make an announcement on the public address system.

“Ricky Belhaus, please report to Principal Mycroft’s office.” Nothing ever stays secret, ever.

A chill ran through Ricky, he shivered, the sweat dried on his forehead, it turned icy cold on his back and arms. The room seemed to darken, and people tried to slide their desks a little farther from Ricky’s.

After 4^th period ended, students filled the halls, patterned, mostly predictable movement, leave one class, stop at your locker and onto the next class. Ricky came stumbling from Principal Mycroft’s office. He was a wrench in the gears of order. An island in the steady flow.

He was bent slightly forward at the waist, his hands clasped on his buttocks, fresh from the board, kept in the corner, to modify behavior.  Tears of anger, shame and pain streamed down his face.

“I hate that fat man.” He said.

Students looked all around, looking for the principal. He was nowhere to be seen. It was safe.

“Me too.”

“So do I.”

“Yeah, he sucks.”

And other whispered agreements rustled silently from the crowd. Then they went as quickly as they could, without looking as if they were trying to hurry. Nobody wanted to be around rebellion.

There were rumors about Principal Mycroft and his ability to be at the worst possible place at the absolute worst time. Throw your gum on the floor, spit on the light-switch, and there was the iron grip of Principal Mycroft, digging into an unsuspecting shoulder, or grabbing a handful of collar, marching an rebel into his office for a little pant seat discipline.

Some believed he had a network of tunnels running from his office to various parts of the school. Deep underground, dark, damp, a smell of decay filled the air. Tiny footsteps from rodents scurrying away to avoid the monstrous drumming footsteps of an angry administrator.

Others felt the only real explanation was there multiple Principals Mycroft. At the very least three, more likely five, or even seven. It was always a prime number. One student claimed it had to be thirteen. He had been caught several times. Once he had been busted executing a flawless plan to skip the afternoon of school. He waited behind the restroom door, and when it was clear he walked twenty feet and out the doors facing Elm Street, where there were no classroom windows. Principal Mycroft stood just west of the door, a silent fury distorting the air surrounding him, it was wavy and made colors hard to interpret.

A student whose parents were from California, was certain Principal Mycroft used astral projection to transport his earthly form to wherever somebody was going to try a small act of independence or rebellion or throw a basketball into a cauldron of spaghetti sauce. It seemed ridiculous but it made more sense than anything. It explained almost everything.

Anyway, on this day in history, Ricky Belhaus learned you were never safe until you graduated, maybe not even then. We had spaghetti with some catsup and a small amount of butter. Bruce Springsteen released his third studio album “Born to Run.” It was the year of the rabbit in the Chinese Zodiac, and people born on that day were Virgos.  

 

 

 

 

 

Ghost Towns, Today and Memories.

While we were in West Virginia we visited a ghost town. Nuttalburg, WV was a coal mining town in the New River Gorge. It is at the end of a long lwinding, narrow road, with several tiny, narrow bridges, a few places where wash outs had made the road even narrower, and some spots where you just had to question whether the trip was worth it. It was.

West Virginia is a place of magic, a land filled with deep, tree covered draws, steep, forested mountains and after a rain it is easy to imagine the white, cotton mist as a living thing. We met so many welcoming, wonderful people. The WV Department of Natural Resources does such an extraordinary job it is hard to think of them as merely human. And Nuttalburg was no exception. They mapped the ruins, describing the function of each, explaining the location, most importantly maintaining them in such wonderful condition, much better than the road.

This is the chute that moved the coal from the mine down to the railroad tracks. It was very elaborate. Careful plans were made to ensure that the coal was not damaged or reduced in any way, as it was conveyed down the mountain. Of course the miners had to walk up and down a long steep path to get to the mine. But, that’s the price of being human.

The ruins probably covered a half mile, a narrow strip of a forgotten time, hopes, wishes, prayers. It didn’t take a lot of imagination to hear the children laughing and playing outside of the ruins of the school house. Children with their own dreams, children whose parents made the long trek from all over to scrape out a living in the coal mine. Families whose lives were bound up in the mine, the coal, the trains that took it away. 

At the far end were the ruins of the company store. People traded their time for wages from the company and the wages from the company to the store owned by the company. It was a closed system,  the circle of life. Everything was there, everything rode the rails in or out. It was a perfect circle. It made me a little uncomfortable, it seems there should be some homage paid to the sacrifices made, the work, the industry, the ingenuity of these people. 

Today, I woke early and sat on the deck, and I thought of those people whose lives were tied to the mine, the railroad, the river, the company. Did they ever have the opportunity to set, drink coffee in solitude and wonder about the nature of living, the cost of being human? In a hundred years would people have different dreams? And, I couldn’t find any answers, so I looked at my pictures, said a silent prayer for all of humanity, past, present and future, and wrote this post. It’s the way I escape.

Vacation off the beaten path.

When we travel we like to venture off the beaten path, sometimes so far off it might not be a path anymore. It may turn into a wild game trail. West Virginia makes it easy.  It is a state with a scattered population living in small towns that seemed to spring up in the few flat places available. Rugged mountains, flowing rivers, and small outposts of humanity. Sometimes it isn’t really a town at all, just three or four houses built in a place more hospitable. 

Most of the towns in southern West Virginia are small, there is not a lot of room for anything larger. And most of the people give directions in a sort of comparative, relational altitude shorthand. “Take that road, and when you get to the bottom of the mountain, turn right.” “Go across the bridge, turn left, in one block turn right, about halfway down the hill there is a one way street, take that and it will get you there.” 

Following directions is hard for me, it takes me a while to figure out right and left; north, south, east and west are just words to me. Now these people are adding a new dimension and it was hopeless. In a town of less than 10,000 people I couldn’t find Kroger. Well, I could find Kroger, but only by driving on almost every street in town. I was playing checkers and everybody else was playing three dimensional chess. 

But, it is difficult to criticize people who are so polite, and assume you can follow simple instructions. They even look at you with a little sympathy, as if they can’t believe you would have to ask directions in a place so small. And they didn’t realize they were they were third group of people I asked. I wanted to scream at them “don’t streets have names, or numbers, or some sort of designation?” Down the hill, across the bridge, at the bottom of the mountain. If you drive into the lake you’ve gone too far.

We did find Kroger, and places to eat and places to kayak and small towns too numerous and unique to believe. Everywhere we went, though, we ran into wonderful people. 

Sometimes, in places that had nothing, no stores, no cafes, nothing, people would look at us as we drove through, uncomfortable with our intrusion. In some of these places trailer houses, and small shacks lined the road.  The only road into town, a one lane road, overgrown on both sides, and often we didn’t even know why we were there. It was a road running by the river, and we just followed it. 

A town would blossom, hugging the road. People on their porches, trying to find a little relief forms the heat. Porches filled with totems, icons, artifacts of a world they cherished.  Love of God and country well represented, and other things, personal things, a life on display for all the world to see. At least anybody with enough time to drive off the beaten path a way. Some porches were so crowded with colorful little trinkets it was almost impossible to see the people watching us roll past. We were outsiders, it was obvious.

.

But, as I looked at them, looking at me I realized we were not that different. Certainly we had taken different paths. These people had a history, a past, roots in the mountains, streams and rivers. I never had that heritage, we moved a lot when I was young and my traditions are mostly transient or imagined. But, we are both struggling to face a changing world. We are together in our feeling of being excluded from modern society, they have retreated into the valleys of the Appalachians, and I hide in plain sight in the middle of the city.

A New Empty Lot

Less than a block from the place I work was a building. Over the years it has had various incarnations as different night clubs. I can’t, for the life of me, remember any of the names. Over the years the economy got worse, and nobody wanted to roll the dice on an urban club, in a run-down building miles from where the clientele lived. It sat empty, and decaying. The roof began to cave in.

It was a grey, black stucco covered eye sore. But it was old, and it had a history. A history no one man probably knew. It had a house that was probably over a hundred years old, and at some point, probably 60 or 70 years ago someone had added a squat, rectangular, windowless building. Why is lost in the ages.

A family of feral cats moved in and sometimes if you looked out the kitchen window of our building at the right time you could see one of the homeless people sharing food and milk he got from the mission with the cats.

Since the economy is better, and people are willing to roll the dice they tore the building down. Some big moneyed investor is probably going to construct a new apartment building. A glorious marvel of profitability overlooking the scenic homeless shelter. Until the can find a way to relocate the shelter. As long as the economy stays strong, anyway.

I looked out the window and saw a guy standing there holding a garden-hose spraying water on the building. It seemed odd, he wasn’t a fire man, at least he wasn’t dressed like a fireman, the building didn’t appear to be on fire, and it was raining lightly. Then, in a display of raw machine anger and fury, a deliberate, malignant show of mechanical superiority a claw rose over the roof and smashed down. Puffs of dust rose, and were quickly extinguished by the rain and the guy with the hose.

In one day, one guy with a big tractor, and his side kick with a hose knocked the building down. It was an astonishingly efficient act of destruction. Now the cats and the homeless have to find someplace else. We never really try to do anything about homelessness just the homeless. They can live with the problem, just not the symptoms.

It was gone, years of memories, parties, and friendships, brought down to an elemental pile of splintered rubbish. To add insult to the injury they parked the tracked, claw wielding tractor on top of the heap. Just to make sure it didn’t reassemble itself overnight. Then they bought in a parade of dump trucks to haul the pile to some final resting place. 

Progress has to march on, I understand, but does it have to be so thorough, and so callous, so cruel? Months later it still sits, an empty lot filled with weeds.

 I can’t help but think this is how things will end for me, knocked flat in one ridiculously casual act of terrible, violent indifference. Moistened to avoid any flashes of brilliance, no chance for a final act of neon glory to offer hope to the disillusioned and lost, just torn to pieces and hauled away by a force much greater than my own. Turned into the moral equivalent of a parking garage, or office building.

A New Day,

Yesterday we looked back.,Today we look forward.

 In these five simple characters is an entire universe of information. But, we are going to focus on the enormous destructive implications. Energy equals Mass times the Speed of Light squared. Light travels at 186,000 miles a second, square that number and you have something indescribable to a layperson.  Working backward it becomes obvious that it doesn’t take much mass to create a lot of energy.

Burning a 5 pound piece of wood would yield, if you could capture the energy given off as heat, light and the gasses in the smoke, five pounds. A simple chemical conversion, fuel turned to energy, E=m. Even a chemical explosion is governed by the same laws. In the explosion the energy is just released very quickly. A chemical reaction can only yield as much energy as the mass involved. It is the release of the atom that changes everything. 


There is a tremendous amount of energy holding atoms together. The building blocks of the  universe. Breaking the nuclei apart or forcing them together (fission, or fusion) releases energies on an enormous scale, the power of time and space. 

At the center of a nuclear explosion temperatures can reach 100,000,000° Celsius, the same as the center of the sun.  Within seven-tenths of one millisecond from the detonation, the fireball from a 1-megaton weapon is about 440 feet across, and this increases to 5,700 feet in 10 seconds.

Shock waves travel out, smashing buildings, trees, crushing people, turning the area into finely shredded kindling. Soon the entire area is burning. Dust from the blast combine with smoke and soot from the resulting fires and rise into the atmosphere. 

Since the infrastructure has been destroyed, most of the population killed and those unfortunate survivors are being painfully consumed by radiation poisoning there is no hope of containing the fires. So, they grow, and consume everything in their path.

Before long the clouds block the sun’s rays and the temperature begins to Plummet. Computer models suggest it could remain below freezing for over six months. Fortunately, we have yet to test the accuracy of the predictions.  But, even if they prove to be less drastic, and we can only hope we don't find out, the radiation and prolonged cold and dark would interfere with photosynthesis killing much of the food crop.

Before long many of the plants and animals would die. Following closely are the already weakened survivors who are battling exposure, at least some radiation poisoning and starvation. And those are the “lucky” ones who weren’t close enough to be killed instantly. There will be no survivors, not really. Even if a person lasted through that would they still be human in any way except shape?

When you consider the end does it really matter who fired first, or who was “right?” Probably not. But, those in charge still assume they have the right to make that decision. I'm not so sure. So, I am starting a movement, #MakeAmericaDeadAgain. Join me, together we can make a difference. You don't have to be a Grateful Dead fan to join, but it would give us something pleasant to talk about when the apocalypse gets too heavy.

Our quote for today comes from Mohamed ElBaradei

"I think one country with nuclear weapons is one country too many."

Extremes and Humanity, It Never Changes.

"Not one of them has the least thing to blame himself for. Not one has any guilt. One might believe that everything was for the best, even though a few million men lie under the ground. ...and the end and aim of it all is to have the war over again, the next war that draws nearer and nearer, and it will be a good deal more horrible than the last. All that is perfectly clear and simple. Any one could comprehend it and reach the same conclusion after a moment's reflection. But nobody wants to. Nobody wants to avoid the next war, nobody wants to spare himself and his children the next holocaust if this be the cost. To reflect for one moment, to examine himself for a while and ask what share he has in the world's confusion and wickedness—look you, nobody wants to do that. And so there's no stopping it, and the next war is being pushed on with enthusiasm by thousands upon thousands day by day."

From ; Steppenwolf, by Herman Hesse

It Gets Worse

The quote above was from a passage where Harry Haller was explaining to the lovely and mysterious Hermine why he was so universally despised. Since the novel was published in 1927 it is safe to assume he was making a reference to World War I and World War II. And he was certainly accurate. It was much worse, for everybody.

Hesse was an intellectual with a keen grasp of human frailty, and the undeniable thirst for the absolute. And certainly, being a European he understood the way wars could grow beyond any relation to the origin.

It Always Gets Worse

Take, for example, the Thirty Year War. Brought to you by competing faiths. Catholics and Protestants who were intent on destroying each other, or at least claiming victory and thereby proving
that God, did, indeed like them best.  But, when it was done churning over the nation of Germany at least 20 percent of the population had perished. Civilian casualties would not be matched until World War II. Unspeakable atrocities had been common. It was an awful chapter in the history of man.

But, it was a long time ago, we have learned so much.

What happens if we change the labels. Let's start with a classic, something older, less fashionable, but still relevant, Capitalist and Socialist. If you are in the mood for something more current and in vogue you can choose Christian and Muslim. Patterns expose themselves, nothing ever changes. We pretend that it is new, and important, but it is only the same movie with new actors. To quote Bob Dylan, "The game is the same, it's just on a different level."

Imagine what Harry Haller would say about this. Maybe his words are just as good today.

And A Quote To End

Today we are going to close with something from Albert Einstein.
“I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”

#MakeAmericaDeadAgain.

A look back and a look forward, they look so similar.

A Look Back;

In keeping with the politically free theme, and our #MakeAmericaDeadAgain movement we have decided to study human needs, mostly the need for power. The need for power beyond 

And, if you want to talk about power a great place to start is the ancient Assyrians. They had some power, and were uninhibited as all hell about its use and potential. 

According to historian Will Durant;

"If we should admit the imperial principle – that it is good, for the sake of spreading law, security, commerce and peace, that many states should be brought, by persuasion or force, under the authority of one government – then we should have to concede to Assyria the distinction of having established in western Asia a larger measure and area of order and prosperity than that region of the earth had ever, to our knowledge, enjoyed before."

Of course, that kind of peace and security come with a price. In the case of Babylon the cost was absolute destruction. According to Sennacherib, King of Assyria 705 to 681 bce. Here is how security was achieved in Babylon;

 “I levelled the city and its houses from the foundations to the top, I destroyed them, and I consumed them with fire. I tore down and removed the outer and inner walls, the temples and ziggurats built of brick, and dumped the rubble in the Arahtu canal. And after I destroyed Babylon, smashed its gods and massacred its population, I tore up its soil and threw it into the Euphrates so that it was carried by the river down to the sea.”

A Look At Today;

 It isn’t much different than what is happening in Syria today, I guess. It was much more difficult and required a lot more labor, but the results are more or less the same.  But, what happened to Babylon took place a long time ago, and the crisis in Syria is so far away. And I was never very good at history, or geography.

Looking at the world today makes me wish I would have paid more attention to both, though. And it certainly makes me wish world leaders would have learned a little more from the past. Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, right? Only when they repeat it with today’s arms and abilities the whole world will end up like Babylon, or Jerusalem, or Carthage.

Oddly enough, (or maybe not odd at all) they always had a reason for every barbarous act of annihilation. Today, they are just interesting bits of information on Google. Nobody ever thinks, "man we haven’t changed," we still find a reason, and still pretend it makes sense.

#MakeAmericaDeadAgain

I think we will end with some more Grateful Dead today;

“If the game is lost then we're all the same
No one left to place or take the blame
We will leave this place an empty stone
Or that shining ball of blue we can call our home”

Looking for ghosts, Edit 1.

"In a crowd... a man descends several rungs in the ladder of civilization. Isolated, he may be a cultivated individual; in a crowd, he is a barbarian." This is how Gustave Le Bon felt the sanity of the individual may have succumbed to the madness of a mob during the French Revolution.

Going back, back thousands of years, through all of history, it is easy to see the mistakes. Civilization is very old. There are many ghosts, forgotten images, dancing just out of sight. Spirits who survived the worst, and those who didn't. Spirits who watch the cycle repeat in a loop of suicidal regularity.

Sometimes it is hard to know when you see the rare bright thing if it is a ghost. Showing you something, something important. Is there a ray of hope, some chance of survival? Or is it just a forgotten dream playing tricks on a tired mind? How do you reconcile the things you know with those you only feel? In the chasm between the two is probably the answer. We need to talk to our ghosts, listen to our ghosts. 

Watch the news, see the hate, watch the senseless slaughter. Think, this has been going on for centuries. Ask yourself "why?" Then ask yourself "Why isn't everybody asking themselves why?" In that instant you will begin to see the problem. 

We don't listen to the ghosts. Attempting to impose order on chaos only dissolves the structure further. There are realities that need to be faced, even when they are uncomfortable, and alien. The world turns at different speeds everywhere. 

There is a belief that if you devise and execute a plan you are making progress. If the plan is not working it is simply a matter of altering the measurement. Looking long enough there is always a way to find some scrap of evidence to support any choice.

Of course, the problem with this is the evidence, no matter how superficial, or stupid becomes the cause. And then, no matter how worthless the original supposition the proof says it is working. Ghosts don't care about metrics. They have seen it all.

Violence, a dynasty is born in blood. It grows through subjugation, and oppression. Finally it is brought down in a storm of anger and retribution, and the whole thing starts again. 

There are days when things just don't make any sense. Days when it is hard to leave the house. Foul news, evil on the rise, every day it just seems worse. Armies on the move, hatred written on the walls, vicious acts of intolerance. It can really start to wear on a soul. 

But, I suppose it is not too late, if we can listen to the ghosts. They have seen it all.

I have been writing this post for several months. I will write it for several more, and I will repost it every time. I am not sure why, but it seems important to me.

Do You Remember Where?

Places can haunt just as easily as people. In many ways even more. There are places from my past that weave in and out of focus, One minute it is clear, solid and then it fades. Lonely places, crowded places, places that mean nothing, but maybe they use to mean everything.

Why do they follow me around? Why do they keep popping up? There is nothing connected to most of them. Nothing at all. But there they are, in the dark,in the back, worming to the front. Why? Let me clue you 

Places have magic, places have power. Magnetic attraction. Pulling you, inexorably to the past. But what past? Sometimes I even know the town we were living in at the time. Names like Roswell, Pocatello, Scottsbluff, but after that it gets fuzzy, indistinct. Where in the town was this building, this alley, this bridge. Are any of the visions still there? Were they ever really there? A lot has happened, a lot has changed. If I could go visit would anything look at all like the things chasing me? 

My wife likes to visit new places. See new things. Will they end up haunting me. One place we have been to, twice, was the unfortunate victim of a terrible wildfire. Burned, gone, erased from the place, but not from my places. It will always be there, and I will never be able to return the favor.

I work in a very old building, in an ancient part of town. Sometimes the building will sigh, and you can almost hear it say "oh brother, I can tell you, I have seen some things." And you know it has. It has seen a lot of things. It sat, derelict, empty except for some homeless people, wildlife and memories. The memories are still there.We don't talk about those, though. They are just out of sight, you can feel them, but you can't see them.

When I first read "Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad the line "and this also has been one of the dark places..." kept me from being able to finish the story. I tried, but the "dark places" kept insinuating itself into my thoughts. Not so much because I felt my memories were of dark places, but the notion places had the ability to be dark. Still, to this day, those words have more meaning than he probably intended. What of the places that come to me, without being called, without explanation?  Certainly they had at one point been a place of darkness. But it was long before I got there. Then they were just places, with a story to tell. Maybe a lot of stories, or maybe just one long story.

Maybe, since my family moved a lot when I was young, and I have always been a little awkward, shy, it was easier to meet places, things. Maybe places, things were easier to understand. Maybe they still are. I don't know, maybe nobody does. Maybe no place knows. but, maybe they do.

Fake news, about fake news. Oh, really?

"Fake news" is being discussed at length. More importantly, the ridiculous lies people are willing to believe. A man fired a shot in a pizza parlor because of a work of fiction dressed up as news. One can only hope the shooter, carrying a lethal looking rifle, was appropriately embarrassed. Of course, it only stands to reason that fake news did not force him to grab his frightening rifle, drive to the pizza place and shoot, he did that on his own.

Having grown up during the Vietnam War, and Watergate it is easy to view anything the government says with a healthy dose of skepticism. Having witnessed the rise of cable news networks and their pronounced lean it is increasingly easy to doubt the press.

President Elect Donald Trump tweeted his outrage over the cost of the new Air Force One  (of which, it seems there are at least two, another bit of government generated misinformation) and the press went into a frenzy. Though, his numbers seem apocryphal it has become a hurricane of reporting. Another reason to worry about the accuracy of the press.

It was not too long ago that President Bush stood on the deck of the Air Craft Carrier USS Abraham Lincoln and declared the mission in Iraq had been accomplished. Turns out the mission was only beginning and would soon bog down into meat grinder for thousands of brave American children. Technically, that was probably more wishful thinking than actual deceit. But, it was still untrue, even if it was unintentionally false. Never trust anyone.

Recently Life Explained Explores History had a post about Pearl Harbor. A respected, well liked member of the Life Explained staff questioned one of the points as being revisionist history. Possibly, (though it was checked several times from several sources) the more one looks the more it seems history is being written over and over again. However, the more one looks the news is likely less than accurate in most cases.

Newspapers, websites, magazines, television, radio, they are services. An old saying goes, "If it sounds too good to be true it probably is." Maybe it is time to update that. "if it sounds too good to be true, or too insane to be true, or too ridiculous to be true, no matter how much it supports beliefs you already have, it probably is." Though, it is being widely reported that reading Life Explained will make you much more popular and help you live longer. Why take a chance, right?

Life Explains Life, You Won't Like It. Or anybody else, probably

Recently one of the women who works for me, sort of* ran into the person who used to manage this department. She was telling me about it. "I didn't like him, I never liked him," she said.

I had no idea. It was a revelatory moment. It surprised many people, it seems she told a lot of people and everybody was amazed at what they didn't know (kind of like life). Of course, managing people should never be a beauty, or popularity contest. Around here, though, it is pretty easy to get along with people. It is kind of a hand out the work and get out of the way situation. The old manager seemed to excel at that.

It led me down a familiar path, though. How does this woman feel about me? She likes me enough to do her job, and that is probably good enough. We don't need to be friends.

What about the rest of the people here? How many people are nice to my face, but secretly dislike
me? Maybe everybody. Maybe I am universally despised, but so unobtrusive it is difficult to find a good reason to expel me. What about everybody else, maybe nobody likes anybody, and we are all just to polite to say anything.

Maybe that is enough, maybe civilization hinges on our ability to be polite while covering our complete distaste for someone loathsome. Maybe the world is filled with people who dislike each other, and are just too polite to say anything.  Maybe we are actually a very polite society filled with despicable sons of bitches.

Man, think of how much more sense reality makes if that is true. It explains so much.  All of the sudden the violent, bloody history of mankind snaps into sharp focus. I should go find that woman tomorrow at work, and hug her, even though she would hate it.


* I say "sort of" because where I am really a figurehead with no authority, I have grown comfortable with the situation, and in fact have learned to embrace it, as long as nothing goes too far askew my vocational life is a breeze. When things do go south it gets a little uncomfortable, but you play the cards dealt, or you don't play at all.

History, Myth, and Wonder, all on One Page, Thank you, Raven Corvus.

Normally I don't endorse things on this blog. I'm not sure why, it never really occurred to me. Though, there are things that are worthy of mention, things that deserve a some attention. I am going to start writing the Wednesday Witness, (maybe not every Wednesday).  A post about something that I enjoy.

This week it will be about a Facebook Page I follow. Raven Corvus. It is one of the first things I read every morning.

It is a little hard to explain this page. You need to check it out yourself. It is part Christian, part Wiccan, part history, part mythology, and completely fascinating.

Formatted mostly as a "today in history" list it would be easy to dismiss this as a small matter of trivia. But, it is far from that.

It is the tale of growth, adaptation, resilience. Reading the daily posts provides a glimpse into the ingenuity, and desperation of our ancestors. It is a lesson in interpretation. Our forebears were faced with trying, bleak times. And in the face of crushing odds they managed to explain and connect with events in ways that are fascinating.

Here is today's post;

"3rd of Feb is St Blaise's day. He is invoked to cure all illness and injuries to the throat. Make a Blaise's cross, by tieing two candles crosswise with ribbon and lighting them. The unlit ends are then touched to the sufferer's throat."

Imagine the uncertainty of illness when there were no doctors, no pharmacies, no WebMD. Only the
unkind fates, and your belief in the divine.

Everyday brings a jewel, everyday brings a part of our past and reminds us of our origins. Everyday is a wonderful trip to a frightening era, and a light on the endurance and ability of our race.



Raven Corvus is exceptional,entertaining and delightful. It has sent me to the internet search engines and the library more than I want to confess.

You should consider starting your day with the wonderful owners of Raven Corvus. You will never regret it.

A new meme app, complete with retribution,

Dawn is a special time, it carries the promise of a new day. I wake up early on the weekends, and enjoy the quiet, no television, no distractions. My mind is free to wander and explore. Coffee, me and a PC.

Without the straight jacket of daytime and conversation imagination is free, and it can be cathartic. Sometimes it can be a little dangerous, though. Sometimes a person can get bored and start looking around at new apps.

Maybe, you think about some slight, some little well meant passive aggressive advice from somebody.

Here is a new app to create custom memes, you think. It is time to thank all of those people who "helped" you through life.



















Maybe there was a special teacher you would like to thank personally. What better way than a custom meme using a picture of a long dead president. Everybody respects the words of whatever president this was.*

Wait, weren't there some bosses that were particularly helpful, offering fatherly advice, and helpful tips. Don't they deserve a note of gratitude as well?
















*I was not only a poor student in math, I stunk at history, too.
**This is mostly intuition, since I never really tried doing it right. But, man I was fast.

Life Explained, the Early Days

How do you measure success?  It is a private calculation, one that everybody needs to write for themselves. Money, fame, recognition for achievement are all metrics, but we, here at Life Explained Ohio Office, like to measure success in advertising dollars.

Unfortunately, we have fallen short of our goals, which were modest by today's standard, only $250.000.00, so far we have only cleared $000,000.00. Obviously we have some work to do.

With that in mind we have hired a new advertising agency. But, without any advertising revenue, we were a little limited in our choices, all of the really good organizations are a little pricey. Many of them wouldn't even return our emails, and the one who answered the phone actually laughed out loud when we started counting the change from the sofa cushions. A little rude, but it was worse when they hung up.

But, innovation r' us®*.  And we persevered. We actually started our own advertising agency. The Life Explained Advertising Agency. It was a great idea, we should have thought of this years ago.

We are lining up all sorts of events, and endorsements, and commercial opportunities. There are celebrities, and statesmen, and elected officials all in the cue for future events to help celebrate the story of the birth of Life Explained.

It is a great story, too. A dog scientist and a couple of human engineers, and graduate students striking out on their own. Nothing but a covered wagon, a used printer, a dream, and a couple of dollars, we started across the Rockies. But the snows came early and we were stuck in a pass, with nothing but some canned beans and a faulty microwave assembled hastily from the printer, things looked desperate.

But, we persevered, and using the planks from the bottom of the wagon we built a few rudimentary buildings, and stocked them as best we could. It was touch and go, we hunted for local game, and trapped, and fished, and panned for gold. Just as a side note, the red berries on evergreens make an awful wine, but we’ve had worse.

But, we persevered, and built a few more buildings using logs and sticks, and rocks. We fashioned a crude system of cables using twigs, and bark as rope to transfer goods and people to and from the mountain top. It was really ingenious, man we were so smart.

Pretty soon people were coming from everywhere to check out our new settlement. And that is how we founded Aspen, Colorado.**

Who wouldn’t want to be a part of that story?

Don't forget to tune in tomorrow when we talk about how we subdued the Boxer Rebellion, a touching story involving a corrupt referee and some hellacious left jabs, and right crosses. And the Eye of the Tiger, by the 80's rock band Survivor.

*Not really registered, yet, but we are going to work on it as soon as we save enough money, don’t forget the life explained garage, rummage and bake sale, coming to a neighborhood near you.

** Not really, this was written by the Life Explained Advertising Agency.  For a free quote email us at tweettweetjohn@yahoo.com

Today in History, a List

It is time to look at the day ahead. The best way to do that is to look back. So on this day in history;

Today was the first of the televised Kennedy vs. Nixon debates. Kennedy was declared the winner by technical knock out. Many people felt Kennedy was much more comfortable in front of the camera, and was willing to wear makeup, while Nixon was a little pasty, sweaty and a lot like most Americans would be in front of a national televised audience. Proving that we don't want somebody like a normal American to be in charge, substance is secondary to appearance, and there is no point in saying anything profound unless you do it attractively.*

Francis Drake returns to England after sailing around the world, officially "circumnavigating the globe." He was the first British navigator to sail the globe. He set off on December 13th, 1577 with five ships, officially he was going to raid Spanish holdings in the new world, but a series of storms made a mess of things, and he wound up in San Francisco Bay and claimed the territory property of the Queen. The Forty Niners, and the Giants were furious, fearing that they were going to have to learn soccer (football, to Drake). But, the games were allowed to continue, and everybody was happy, even the Queen.** 

The Bill of Rights was ratified by the First Congress, and sent to the states for approval which is important, too.

The Brady Bunch premiered on television which is not important.

The first American soldier was killed in Vietnam, in 1945, that really surprised me.

A lot of other things happened, too, but this is enough for one post. Besides, I need more coffee.

*Here, I should add the disclaimer, I am a liberal democrat, not because I trust democrats any more than I trust republicans, only because I like the sound of being liberal more than conservative. And image is everything.

**I should mention that sailing is often called the "worst way to travel that doesn't use an airplane." At least on this blog. 

Three Day Weekend, Four Day Workweek, Is This Heaven?

Today is Wednesday, always a good day. Halfway through the week, downhill and cruising. But, this Wednesday has almost enormous implications. We, here at Life Explained, have a 3 day weekend, that begins on Friday, so it is only a four day work week, and a three day weekend. We can barely control ourselves.

Saturday is the 4th of July, when America celebrates Independence from those tyrannical British*, and all of their delicious beer, and fish and chips, which are really just french fries. Britain and France have had a long history of conflict and refuse to give each other any credit, for anything. So, no french fries in England, no english muffins in France, it is kind of sad, really. They are separated only by the English Channel (the French Channel in France).** This is not really important, though, well it is important, don't take that the wrong way, we want our European friends to have good relations, we want everybody to get along, is that asking too much?!?!?

Anyway, we are gearing up to celebrate our independence. And, we are going to spend three days doing it. Which makes us feel very independent, indeed.

Here is the problem, so many people here, at Life Explained, are so excited about the coming three day weekend, that nothing is getting done. People have become "liberated" from their responsibilities.  Right now, several people are standing around the espresso machine comparing baked beans and coleslaw recipes. Technically, that is not part of their jobs, probably, the new self written job descriptions have were an awful idea. We may have to look carefully at eliminating those.

And the emails are starting to flourish and grow already, "I will be working from home today," "I am working off site today and tomorrow," or one of our favorites "I am here at work, if you don't see me, I am probably using the restroom, or down in the lab, or maybe getting a cup of that delicious, work coffee, but trust me I am there here, I mean."

Obviously, we take Independence Day very seriously. Of course we take Memorial Day, and Labor Day, and any three day weekend pretty seriously. We work hard, we play hard, and sometimes, like the days leading up to three day weekend we mix the two pretty vigorously.

Above is round two of the new logo search, please say nice things, lie if you have must.

* Just kidding, we like British people, we have a lot of British rock and roll on our iPhone.

**I just made that up, they get along fairly well, as far as I know.  Hey, I like you both.

Summer Solstice, an important day, through the ages.

According to the television weather person this morning it is the first full day of summer. Summer is filled with happy memories, and we, here at Life Explained, love it. Of course, it was kicked off by Father's Day... wait, that isn't right, it was kicked off by the Summer Solstice.

During the June Solstice (Summer in the Northern Hemisphere, and Winter in the Southern) the sun is at it's furthest distance from the Equator.  The Earth's north pole is tilted directly towards the sun, at about 23.5 degrees. Which explains why all of the stuff kept sliding off the table yesterday, and the stairs seemed a little more difficult to climb.

Throughout the ages the Solstice has been a magical, mystical time.  People have celebrated by giving expensive, wonderful gifts to their Father... wait, hold on that isn't right. In Europe, people used to celebrate the Solstice by lighting fires to keep away the evil spirits. 

The ancient Egyptians felt the Summer Solstice was particularly important because it ushered in Sirius the brightest star in the night sky.  Shortly after the appearance of Sirius the Nile would overflow and flood the lands, which nourished the soil, and provided much of the food the Egyptians needed to survive. Obviously, the Egyptians were very good to their Father, giving him many wonderful gifts to celebrate...  wait, that wasn't what happened, at all.  As soon as the the Egyptian priests saw Sirius they declared the new year had begun.

China, Mesopotamia, Europe, the Americas, all had unique, spiritual celebrations for the the Solstice, in fact many people believe Stonehenge was built as a gift for the Druids daddio... wait, that isn't what anybody thinks.  Many people still believe that Stonehenge was built to predict the arrival of the Solstice.  Nobody had an Apple watch in those days, which would make an excellent gift, you know.

That concludes today's lesson on The Summer Solstice.  Tune in tomorrow when we discuss the do's and dont's of Fourth of July gift giving, or Don't forget Dad a true American Hero.

Something a little different.

I have decided to start another blog, something with a little more gravity.

You can check it out here.

The more things change.

This is the third month of "the new tim" regimen.  In many ways it is going so much better than I had hoped, in others not so brightly.

Physically, I am thrilled with my progress, and effort.  This is the start of my third month of exercise.  And each week I push myself a little harder, and I feel so much better.  Part of it is, probably, the healthier diet, vegetables and fruit with almost every meal, and the addition of a multi-vitamin as part of my evening pill popping adventure, which has now reached 4, and sometimes 5, if I take Ibuprofen (only sometimes).

I need that discipline in other areas of my life, I am still not dedicated enough to writing, and researching.  Research is almost lackadaisical, ad-hoc, inconsistent, built around the things I want to study.  To expedite this, and build good habits, I have started a new blog, located here,

It will be a jumping off point for all of my research into the past to support a novel I have decided to write, about a scientist, time travel, ancient, and future armies, the potential destruction of a treasured national landmark, and several small towns in Nebraska, Illinois, Iowa, and South Dakota.

My cousin Mike has a Facebook page about a book he is writing, and I may try that, I don't know.  I have enough trouble with focus, and one more thing to update would probably be too distracting.

Sitting here, thinking about this, the question that keeps hammering away, pounding, and burning "why?"  Who knows, maybe it is the new Urban Armor case for the Surface Pro 3 (a wonderful computer, and a fantastic cover) it makes sense, trying to justify that purchase, almost $70.00 ($69.99).  Maybe it is the new iPhone app, TextExtractor, which is fantastic, and free, it can scan text and save it as text, which seems like it should be easy, apparently it is not, though.

Maybe it is a midlife crisis, I love my wife, my car and my kids, so I need to do something to prove I am not old.

Maybe it is a natural phenomenon, a longing for recognition, seeking a small amount of immortality, some dream of not being forgotten.  Maybe this is not unique, at all, maybe everybody wants these things. Well, they can start their own blog, this one is mine.

Or better yet, they can write guest posts for my new blog, located here.  It is now accepting guest posts about historic battles, armies or conquests.  If you have a post you would like to add, email me at tc.add3@gmail.com.  It should be accurate, and focus mostly on tactics, strategy, weaponry, and leadership.  The human costs were terrible, and the suffering was immense, but I would rather not cover that part.