The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not 'Eureka!' (I found it!) but 'That's funny ...'
Isaac Asimov

Sometimes our lives become so weighted by perceived limitations, it is good to hear (or read) of interesting discoveries that just 'happened'. It is wild to imagine that Alexander Flemming discovered Penicillin by complete accident! A discovery that revolutionized the treatment of infections and illnesses, discovered by something as simple as a petri dish accidentally exposed to the air!

X-Rays; a complete accident while Wilhelm Conrad Röntgen researched cathode ray tubes.

Velcro came from an inspired George de Mestral after observing how cockleburrs would cover his pants and dog's coat.

Microwave ovens came into existence after Percy Spencer's candy bar was melted by World War II RADAR equipment.

Quinine, the cure for Malaria was discovered quite by accident when a severely ill South American native drank from a bitter tasting pool of water near a Cinchona tree. The bark from the Cinchona tree, previously though to be poisonous, became a tremendous life-saver.

Safety glass, the kind used in automobiles was discovered by complete accident in 1903 when someone accidentally knocked over a flask filled with plastic. The plastic partially evaporated and the person cleaning up the mess discovered that it all stuck together in a way that made the glass stronger.

Dr. Roy Plunkett, working with gases to keep things cold, discovered a mystery item in a device he was using. He had no idea how it got there, who made it or what it was. He and his lab assistants ran some tests on it, only to discover that it adhered wonderfully to metal, but to most other objects it was very slippery. Any guesses??? That was the birth of Teflon (a.k.a. Tetraflouroethylene)!

So, get out your spoons and knives and soldering irons and saws and a cup of serendipity. Leave all your preconceived notions and limits aside.

Anyone up for tabletop fusion???

Ugly just dies; Beauty lasts forever.
Ilish

Nature not only abhors a vacuum, but it also abhors 'ugly.' Can anyone admit to seeing a truly ugly flower or tree or bird? I don't mean something that is simply distasteful like the odd little flowers in the desert that smell like rotting meat, or trees that are gnarled and grotesquely twisted, or birds with no feathers on their heads that consume only carrion. I mean ugly as in the actions of people; the abuse and desecration and disregard for another human being.

Ugly as in rape.

Ugly as in genocide.

Ugly as in murder.

Ugly as in physical, verbal and emotional abuse.

I see photos of concentration camps, and the grass and trees are overtaking them. I see photos of great battlefields from years gone by, and the plants are healing the scarred earth. Nature will, in the end, replace all the ugliness in the world with beauty. There is no ugly powerful enough to survive nature's light yet eternally persistent push.

Through my distant memories I inhale the softly moist air of the wild woods and hold it in my mortal lungs for as long as I can. If, perhaps, only through proxy, it heals the wounds and helps make me whole again.

The way of nature is healing. The way of nature is nurturing. We are made from the dust of stars and to the dust of stars we shall return.

We are the expression of nature and this should not be wasted. We should embrace it with every heartbeat. We only have a finite number of them. They are ours for the taking or the wasting. It is up to us to choose the former or latter. I choose the former but it is not easy. For some, for me at times, the fight against lethargy of the heart is a regular battle. One that I am determined to win.

There is beauty in all of us, and it is eternal.

Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up.
Anne Lamott

Hope: Such a small word with such huge meaning.

There is eternal hope, false hope, childish hope, forlorn hope, and further divisions and subdivisions as to be nearly innumerable. But they are all 'hope,' a purely human function.

According to WordNet, hope: “the general feeling that some desire will be fulfilled”; and “expect with desire”. And there you have it. Hope is based on feelings. Feelings are personal; therefore there is no shared hope without shared feelings.

Hope is ephemeral and fleeting like that of a light spring breeze but yet as solid as a mountain. Hope is not something that disappears with a whim. It is built through hardship or sincere desire. Once built, it can only be willingly deconstructed by the same person who built it. If not deconstructed, it is simply ignored; pushed aside by the builder, perhaps to be rediscovered later. Or if not acted upon, to die with its creator.

If you have hope; if you have dreams. Do not deconstruct or destroy them. Ignore them if you must. Push them aside if you must. But never, ever, destroy a single one, for they are precious and they are truly you.

There is a privacy about it which no other season gives you.... In spring, summer and fall people sort of have an open season on each other; only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer, quiet stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself.
Ruth Stout

Perhaps that is why winter is my favorite season. And perhaps this is the cause of my terminal distaste for Las Vegas; the incessant crowd and hell borne summers. I do manage to capture minute moments of blissful solitude by walking alone in the desert among the rocks and scorpions and scrub brush and snakes. But this is different than the solitude of walking quietly on a virginal white blanket of snow, covering a gently slumbering forest floor.

The stillness is almost a tangible patch-quilt of comfort and warmth. It envelops and embraces me and I gladly embrace it in return.

Originally raised on a farm, I moved to the Chicago area in 1988. This was the beginning of my slight yet increasing decline into a depressive urbanism. From there, an ever so brief respite in rural Iowa was quite refreshing. A following year in Minneapolis was acceptable but this move truly started the spiral.

From there to Las Vegas. After moving initially, I still recall wondering to myself 'why?' There was just something not right. Something as tangible as “square peg – round hole” yet successfully concealed behind a concrete and glass facade of smiling faces and empty promises.

Many have written about successfully enjoying solitude while still sharing with other humans, the space I guard. I cannot and will not continue allowing myself the pain and aggravation of being more social than I wish. Than I wish.

I have friends that I regularly chat with. These friends share with me a commonality of circumstance. These are people I look forward to interacting with. Other than these rare, special few, I like the comfort of my patch-quilt and the quiet of the forest.

Men only think of their past right before their death, as if they were searching frantically for proof that they were alive.
Jet,a character from the anime Cowboy Bebop


For no specific reason; no obvious stimulus provided; no prompting or major depression I could determine, I thought of death today. Not in any morbid way was I thinking of my mortality, it was more of a productive introspection.

My first official job was walking soy bean fields in the Mississippi River bay area of western Illinois, pulling and cutting weeds and grasses. I worked for this wonderful gentleman everyone called 'Sparky.' He may have been old even in 1981 but his mind and body were as sharp and spry as someone half his age. He died an honorable death in 2000 at the age of 81. So the story goes, he was inside a large grain bin, inspecting and preparing it for that season's harvest. The top of these bins typically have catwalks that allow for typical maintenance. While doing his work, high on the catwalk, he suffered a massive heart attack and fell 40 some feet to a concrete floor. According to the coroner, he was dead before his feet left the catwalk. He felt nothing.

This is from his obituary:
“He was member or the Providence Baptist Church where he was active in the past as a deacon and usher. He was an active member of the Eliza Lions Club, Mercer County Farm Bureau and the Eliza American Legion. He was a World War II veteran, having served in the Army Air Corp in Hawaii. He loved people, his grandchildren and great-grandchildren and was a good neighbor. He farmed all his life, growing grain and raising cattle. “

I think of my father and grandfather. My father passed in 1983 when I was 17. My maternal grandfather passed in 1990, just a few months before my daughter was born. I wonder sometimes if I and my actions honor the memory of these two gentlemen. Have I been honorable?

They were both physical laborers; my grandfather a heavy equipment owner and operator, and my father a farmer, working land that had been in the family for more than 100 years.
I can let a lot of things go in my life; the stupid; the idiotic; the childish. I find it difficult letting go of a particular childish choice; a stupid teenage mistake. Before my father sold the farm, only a few months before he died, he asked me, a young 17 year old boy, if I wanted the farm.

I said 'No.'

Regardless of whether he or my family or the world forgave me for this childish transgression, for me, this is a hurdle. I pray that before my time is done, I will make things right... not with anyone but myself.

The future is something which everyone reaches at the rate of of sixty minutes an hour, whatever he does, whoever he is.
C. S. Lewis

The future comes, whether we are ready or not. Newton defined the first arrow of time, pointed it in one direction and let it fly straight and true. Einstein took the arrow and bent it in one direction and then the other. Then Hawking came along and tied knots in that once straight arrow of time.

In one way or another, regardless of the temporal frame of reference, the future does arrive. Your future. My future. Maybe it's the same future, maybe not. Or just maybe, is there a difference?

Some believe that the future is something that is destined to occur in a predefined fashion; fate. Some believe that the future is completely random, for the most part, and is defined by actions of individuals; Free Will.

Pierre-Simon Laplace, a French mathematician and astronomer in the late 1700's and early 1800's strongly believed in something called 'Causal Determination.' Casually stated, this is the theory that given the current state of the universe, as a function of the past, some all-knowing intellect could predict the future without error. In later years, this intellect was given the name, “Laplace's Demon.”

It is believed that this theory was crushed with the concept of entropy and the laws of thermodynamics. Extending Causal Determinism through Einstein's equivalence of matter and energy does give it some defense, however, the true death of Causal Determinism came with the advent of quantum mechanics. In this weird sub-atomic world, determinism is thrown out the door.

Here, nothing or everything is not only possible but actually occurs until something is observed. Once an object or result is viewed, its reality is snapped into place. Loose your quantum keys? They are everywhere until you find them. Your finding determines where they are. In this strange, whacked-out world, the future does affect the past!

As sentient human beings, optimally we learn from the past, evaluate the present and in some way attempt to direct our future. Within the scope of our lives, we are in charge of casting, titles, plot, setting and post production. If that isn't enough, we are also writer, director and actor.

None and all of this happens until it is observed. You get to choose; to observe.

Large responsibility; large reward. Join me. I'm all in.

Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
Kahlil Gibran

One must have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing star.
Friedrich Nietzsche

The best work is done with the heart breaking, or overflowing.
Mignon McLaughlin

Via ad Astra

Dreams... What are dreams? According to dictionary.com, dream: an aspiration or goal; a wild or vain fancy or hope; something of unreal beauty, charm or excellence; and to conceive of or imagine. These are fine definitions, if just a little dry.

Here are some quotes that, for me, help define the word 'dream':

Dream as if you will live forever,
live as if you'll die today.
James Dean

There are those who look at things the way they are, and ask why...
I dream of things that never were, and ask why not?
Robert Francis Kenney (RFK)

Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.
Harriet Tubman

A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight,
and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.
Oscar Wilde

If one is lucky, a solitary fantasy can totally transform one million realities.
Maya Angelou

A dream. I will admit my problem. I start dreaming and planning and all is going well. Then I see leaks; problems; uninvited incursions into the dream by interloping events and actions and situations.

And I break. I lie down. I let it go. Some times I will tie up my dream in bright orange or yellow or green ribbon and carefully place it away in a safe somewhere in my consciousness. Some of these I never look at again. Others I unwrap, only to promptly re-wrap and shove back in their proper locations. Some I rip apart out of frustration or even sorrow.

The spark of inspiration persists, burning my soul. The dreams' shadows haunt me in the not dark-not light of a misty dawn.

I cannot. I must not continue doing this.

I recently unwrapped a dream and let it breath a bit; my dream of flying. Now I have a plan; a path by which to follow, and that makes me happy.

Then there are the smaller dreams of being a published author, getting my motorcycle license and a bike and driving/riding coast-to-coast, and pursuing my ham radio hobby and maybe a few other things.

Then there is my sublime dream, “Via ad Astra.” It is not a small dream. It may require decades of work. The product of this dream may last centuries or even millenia. It may never be complete. This, I feel, is proof that fulfillment from a dream is not in its completion, but in its pursuit.

Men may rise on the steppingstones
Of their dead selves to higher things.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson


With personal power comes personal peril. It is far too easy for one to be in a time of growth and to loose their way. Like a Poplar tree sprinting towards the heavens, there is a danger of getting ones' branches tangled in the power lines.

Unbridled, unchecked, unsupervised growth is destined to result in ones' crown hitting the electrical lines once in a while. That is a danger when growing.

Many species of trees grow unchecked, gorging on the nourishment of nearby streams. Their wood is pithy and brittle and weak. The tree that grows while under some seasonal stress, away from constant comfort has wood that is strong with tight grain. They grow slowly and steadily toward the brilliant blue sky.

According to James Fenimore Cooper, “Power always has the most to fear from from it's own illusions.” This is another great danger as one follows down the path of personal growth. When growing personal power instantiates false images, problems of greater impact can come about. Each step forward must be measured.

One must not pursue personal growth without consistent fearless evaluation.

All over the map.

My previous post today was, as I hope to believe, from a point of transition on the map and not a true indication of who I really am.

That's what a friend of mine told me about her particular situation; she's "All over the map." I think that's where I am too. I can't specifically define where I am or my direction or speed. I can only be sure of my existence. Maybe that's a good thing. At least I haven't lost myself yet but I feel close.

I can see the nothing beyond my self. My novice understanding of Taoism points me in the direction of believing that this is a good thing. Being a good little novice of this philosophy, I question that. I feel the cold and numbness radiate from it like so much burning heat from a wood stove in the middle of winter.

I must break out of this. It is not good for myself or my daughter. I must at least try... No. I must do it. This blackness cannot consume me. I will stand and challenge its void indeterminacy. It is a very Zen condition: no choice but to fight or run away. There is no choice but there is a choice.

"This life's dim windows of the soul
Distorts the heavens from pole to pole
And leads you to believe a lie
When you see with, not through, the eye."
William Blake

I promised myself that I would not engage in existential navel gazing here. I was wrong to think that. I am wrong. I am not a nice person. I apologize to everyone for them being involved with my life. This post is not full of hope, nor does it contain any sage bits of introspective wisdom. I am not a nice person.

I am told that I hold everything inside, waiting for my anger to blow. I am expressionless. I do not talk about my feelings. I am cold. I should say something when a particular thing upsets me. When I do, I am wrong. I am questioned. I am not a nice person.

I was told last night that I yelled about something I don't remember. I was told that I was an abuser. I was told that I victimized people. I was told that I am not understanding or empathetic. I am not a nice person.

I drove 60 miles last night, trying to find where someone lives, when they didn't now how to get home and I became internally upset. I waited for an hour, outside a casino for someone at 1AM in the morning and I became internally upset. I am not a nice person.

I was asked numerous times last night and once this morning why I try to make problems when all is calm and there are no problems. I don't know. I slept in a fetal position last night, in my clothes. I thought of these things. I am not a nice person.

I do not see with my eyes. I do not see through my eyes. There are no distortions. There are no lies. I am told that I am blind. I stitched my own eyes shut with rusty baling wire. I am not a nice person.

Whether I end up all alone by my own enjoyable accord, or because I really am these things I am told, it matters not today. What matters if route A or route B is taken to reach the same goal. If the goal is accomplished, who cares. I am not a nice person.

“Do not use – BROKEN”
-anon

This was posted on a time card machine at work today. For the most part, this sums up my current point of view.

For the greater or lesser, we are all broken. Some more and some less than others. Some accept their own deficiencies; with pride. Others accept them with remorse or resignation. Some, like me, cycle through these, and a multitude of other feelings regarding our deficiencies and overall brokenness.

“Do not use...” I am not referring to this in any abusive or unacceptably advantageous way. Do not use; do not utilize; stay away; I am broken and do not work correctly; I have a deficiency that does not allow for proper operation; And given proper and acceptable input, I may not operate in a predictable manner.

I am depressed. I am tired. My scars are raw and I am broken. Perhaps recognition of these conditions is a step towards healing. Perhaps recognition means nothing.

Perhaps acceptance is a step towards healing. Perhaps acceptance means nothing.

No. I really don't mean some of that. It is my currently depressive state of mind squeezing its way to the forefront of my consciousness. I am not making excuses; this is simply a reflection of my current state.

I highly value recognition and acceptance. Recognition points the way to healing; acceptance points the way to happiness. The respect, recognition and acceptance my friends freely give is invaluable. I only hope that I successfully reciprocate in kind.

“How vain is it to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live?”
“Write while the heat is in you.”
Henry David Thoreau.

Write, write, write... When you have nothing to write, write anyway. Just doodle with words. Describe something; your pen or your fingernail. Just WRITE! TYPE! EMOTE with words! It isn't necessary to make sense or to flow or be spelled correctly. Just WRITE!

To be honest, the above are not necessarily my own sentiments. Honestly it is a drastically bastardized paraphrase of something I think I read several years ago. And, well... My memory is certainly not perfect.

For the sake of honesty, it was indeed a sentiment of instruction given to budding writers from a classic science fiction writer. Sorry, but I simply do not remember to whom it should be attributed to. That failure of attribution not withstanding, I do strongly agree. One who wishes to be a writer, should write.

While I cannot be classified as a prolific author, and honestly I haven't had a single piece published in the last 10 years or so, I still write. Not only do I still write, I write a LOT more. Some of it makes sense. Some is utter and complete garbage; just literary doodling on my computer screen. They consist of character sketches, plot and story ideas, article ideas and research, setting descriptions, and even, just free association of words and thoughts.

What ever it is, I stand up to live and I sit down to write.

My philosophy of dating is to just fart right away.
Jenny McCarthy

A few days ago, my soon-to-be-ex wife & I were discussing the possibilities of dating other people. She is interested in getting out there & meeting people, and that's OK. She told me of what she was looking for and again, that's OK. My mind started working... What would I look for, should I ever date? Let's see...

• A slim, sleek body.
• All of her parts must be in wonderful condition, but original parts not necessary.
• A tight fit.
• Age doesn't matter.
• Fast, but not dangerously so.
• Tattoos are good.
• Responsive to my slightest touch.
• Body modifications are fine, if not overdone.
• Not be jealous or upset if I hop in with another.

My potential date must be able to...

• Handle the bumps well.
• Pull me back into the seat when things start to go fast.
• Go her own with no input from me.
• Take two if necessary.
• Go non-stop for hours.
• Let me touch-up her slight blemishes.
• Let me give her a complete overhaul.
• Catch us both when we start falling.

I will never...

• Take her in the rain unless necessary.
• Fail to care for her.
• Give her an inexpensive meal.
• Just let her sit all night after a long, hard day.

... Yes ... I want a plane ... baby ...

Do not loose your temper, except intentionally.
-Dwight Eisenhower
Humans are a species of tool makers and tool users. This sets us apart from most other species. Of course, many other primates and even a few remarkable aviary specimens are capable of making and using tools, but we are the ultimate; the sublime toolmakers. We are capable of engineering and building tools the size of large molecules through sky scrapers and huge aircraft and space vehicles.

We make and use tools. That is us.

I am missing a tool. I don't know where it is. I don't know what it looks like. I don't know how to acquire or build a new one. What I DO know is that I miss it and I need it.

This is not a tangible tool, although its product is presented as tangible action. It is anger; or more appropriately the ability to understand, utilize and relate to other people who are trying to grapple with their own uneasy feelings generated by this emotion.

Anger is difficult for me to understand. I empathize with those who are having a difficult time with this emotion, but I cannot truly relate. All I can do is hug them if they need it, speak reassuring words and say “I understand”. I feel so impotent in this respect.

Coming to grips with the fact that I cannot help everyone was a harsh realization. A good realization. I CANNOT help everyone and that is OK. I will help those I can. That has been fairly settled in my mind.

But, what of that group of people in the joined area defined by those asking for help and myself wanting to give it? There is a third area: My ability to give it. If I knew someone who needed $100 and I wanted to give it to them, but didn't have it to give, it is a simple matter of reality. I don't have it; I can't give it.

Someone asks me for understanding and clarity on the subject of their anger. I want so badly to give them what I have, but I have almost no understanding. My tool is gone; missing; hiding; thrown away. I can barely prove to myself that this tool is gone, or ever existed in the first place. How do I prove it to the person asking for help?

Do I need to? Becoming caught in the complex maze of self-justification is a never ending, reiterative, infinitely recursive process. I want those asking for my help, implicitly or explicitly to understand that I have no tool. It is gone; moved without a forwarding address. I want to tell those that I can empathize but not completely understand.

I can hold the, I can comfort them, I can tell them it will be 'ok'. It is difficult for me to verbalize. I feel a special closeness with certain friends. I pray they understand.

What other dungeon is so dark as one's own heart! What jailer so inexorable as one's self!
Nathaniel Hawthorne

The heart. What a dark and disturbing place in human existence. Black... Void... Desolate...

I am admittedly insufficient for the function and form. Farming and computers and electronics and reading and writing are my domain. Logic. Knowledge. Facts. Formulae. This is the domain of my comfort zone.

My comfort lies in solitude and quiet and music. In short, I am not a people person. It's not that I dislike people, I just don't know how to have interpersonal relationships. It is bewildering to me. How do two people have a relationship?

Acquaintances?

Friends?

Lovers?

Acquaintances is a fine and comfortable concept. I work with them every day for eight or nine hours and the time is done. The occasional lunch. The occasional Christmas party. The rare after hours get together. These are fine. I understand them and operate perfectly fine within their constraints. I don't call with questions or concerns. I don't comment on any of their non-work related abilities. The relationship is simple. Not complex at all.

Speaking on the phone with someone from work; about work is simple. Topic; context; discussion; resolution. It's that simple. The only extraneous, non-work related conversation is typically filler, fluff, small-talk to fill in the empty space while waiting for something.

'Friends' is a more complex topic. Talking on the phone to someone can feel awkward, regardless of gender. I will just be chatting and then... the pause. The singular thought, 'what do I say,' courses through neurons and synapses. That pause; so awkward.

Friends. I have honestly never really had many friends; the type to go out with; go bowling or play pool or drink or call on the phone to chat. Never really had them until recently. I always preferred the company of books or computers or my own self-imposed misery and loathing. Generally I still prefer books and a computer to people. Now there are exceptions. I do talk with a few people and they understand, or I hope they do, that I am a phone-friend neophyte.

Self-imposed misery and loathing? I recognize them; I fight against them; I will win; I will not allow them to accompany me down my path.

'Lovers'... This is a word that I ponder from time to time. It is deep; intimate; and in some contexts, meaningless; void; empty. My evaluation of this word and its implications and ties and concepts tells no lies and is direct. I have a lot of healing and learning to do before this subject is truly evaluated.

Maybe this word will be nothing more that a conversation piece; shiny and polished and never leaving the fireplace mantle. Will I ever take this word off the mantle? Will it ever experience real life once I put it up there? Maybe yes, I will take it down. Maybe no, I will keep it on the mantle, polished and dusted and rarely touched.

Clarity of mind means clarity of passion, too; this is why a great and clear mind loves ardently and sees distinctly what it loves.
Blaise Pascal

“You are my soul-mate;” “I will always love you;” “My love for you is unconditional;” “You complete me;” “I will give you the moon and the stars;” “True Love Forever;” “True Love Always;” “You are my life;” “We are joined together forever in love;” “Our souls are now one;” “I will never love another;” “You are my shining star in the swirling tempest of life;” “I cannot live without you;” “Your love defines me;” “I am nothing without you;” “You are my everything;” “Together Forever”; “I will be your knight in shining armor”

These are all euphemisms and phrases that more than likely, everyone has used from time to time. Young lovers, carving their initials with TLF or TLA in the park bench. Love notes passed in class, terminated with one of these brief statements of over-infatuation. Older, more experienced humans should know better.

Being the mutterer of many of these phrases, whether in the throes of passion or in the grip of some unseen force, I feel the right to state this: These phrases and those like them are pure and utter bull shit. They are phrases that either intend to initiate sexual conduct or just outright pronounce one's co-dependence.

Ayn Rand once wrote, “To say "I love you" one must first be able to say the "I."” This brings the emotion of love to a more objective level. Saying “I” and knowing what it means; it's complexity; its desires and needs; its path. Saying, and understanding the “I” is no small task. Saying the “I” requires an insight into one's self; one's being; one's soul, so to speak. It is a lifetime journey to understand “I”.

To extrapolate on this, one must also know how to say “you.” This is also no minor matter. Knowing “you” is such a complex matter that few actually view the summit of knowing “you.” Knowing this word; this other person; requires a lifetime for an attempt to even be made.
How, then, given Ms Rand's statement, can love ever be achieved? It is a trick of light and varying shadow. Perfection of loving another and admitting that love and reciprocating that love lies somewhere in the shadow of light and dark. Both must be comfortable with the lighting scheme and understand that shadows change with the movement of the participants and seasons. There will be days of clouds and rain and sun and snow. Given her statement, love can be given and reciprocated only within the context of two agreeable partners, individually and collectively. It is not black and white but an agreeable shade of gray.

Far too often I hear or read phrases like, “I will give you the moon and stars,” “I would give my life for you,” “I will give you everything you ever wanted,” and “I will write your name in the stars.” Please! How can one reasonably give or do something that is not only improbable, but impossible? And how can a being reasonably accept these statements? Oh, it sounds SO romantic, though, doesn't it?

Imagine, two young lovers lying together on a quiet beach. Waves in the distance, crashing against the soft sandy shore. Only two hearts rapidly beating. All alone, with the dark starry sky above as their blanket, he turns to her and whispers in her ear, “Stay with me forever and I will write your name in the stars; the sky and the ocean will be yours.” Perhaps this works well for romance novels and movies but in real life, this is for the most part, emotionally expressive fluff.

The promise to give something that cannot be given is simply baffling. Why would one say this? Why would one promise to give or do something for someone that is impossible? Further, why do people, thinking people, accept these false promises? I have done both and still wonder why.

What can anyone give and what should anyone expect to receive? One can easily answer this question with “Love” or “Respect” or even “Honor.” But there is an even more encompassing, empowering, albeit more subjective and individual answer. That answer is “me”. That is what I have to offer, “me.” And all I expect is “you.” This encompasses everything good, bad and in between: love; respect; honor; procrastination; emotional baggage; distaste for disco and rap music; etc...

Take it or leave it, and that is fine... I can only promise me.

Do not judge, lest ye be judged.
Bible – Matthew, 7th chapter

I have been thinking a lot about this topic recently. Within the context of an individual's life, who is the judge of that person's actions or thoughts? I have arrived at the conclusion that the judge is whomever we allow it to be. Do I let my boss judge my actions? Do I let my wife or friends? Circumstance? God?

There are many times when I simply want to be told what to do. “Do you want A or B?” “Do you want to call or should I?” “Should I do this project like Y or Z or maybe W” I feel that is a weakness I must overcome.

In life we have far more choices than we realize. Our subconscious does it's job by filtering most of these. Walking down the sidewalk, one rarely thinks, “Gee, what if I skipped, or hopped, or jumped from side to side every 21 steps.” Far too often I hear from others, “I just couldn't do that,” or “I've never done it that way before.” What bothers me is not the fact that I hear others saying these sorts of things; it's that I say these sorts of things as well.

And so what if I decide to skip from my car, through the parking lot, into the office? I will not be written up or fired for it. I will probably not hurt myself. I would probably cause a few people to point and laugh and have some of their suspicions proven, that I can be an odd fellow from time to time. Oh, then, there may be that pesky drug test! But all the same, nothing bad will happen – so why don't more people do these odd little things?

As I crawl out of my little co-dependent shell, I realize that there are some things about myself that I really don't like. These are traits and behaviors within my being that previously I could simply explain away. Things that I could really believe were the fault of circumstance. Now I see they are not, and I must change for myself.

Introspection really can be a bitch at times. I am judgmental. Not at the big things and not with many things; just a few. I like to be at work on time and feel it is a vital responsibility not to miss days when unnecessary. When my daughter complains of a sore throat or sore feet or an ache or pain and subsequently does not go to school, it, well, makes me a little angry. I am judging her pain based on what I would do; go to work. Within that judging, I discount her feelings and that simply is not right.

Where, then, does being a good parent fall into this equation? I want her to be a tough kid and a tough adult, but I need to be empathetic as well. She is an intelligent individual with an IQ in the upper 130 range but her grades simply do not reflect it. So should I push her to 'suck-it-up' and 'get busy' or should I be more empathetic and let her stay home when she isn't feeling one-hundred percent?

My empathy seems to be waning. Many people have suggested, and perhaps rightfully so, that my empathy has been beaten and bruised and is lying dormant somewhere. I hope I can find it; without it, I am not me.

On one hand, I want to stop being judgmental and be more empathetic. On the other hand, I want people to not judge my actions. I hope the two hands can shake and be friends soon!

You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.
Jack London

The 'muse.' According to dictionary.com, “...the power regarded as inspiring a poet, artist, thinker, or the like.” Many have written about finding or waking one's muse. A fine science fiction author, who's name fails me at the moment, wrote that when his muse was sleeping, he would still write... write complete and utter nonsence and gibberish.

Heather Armstrong, in her keynote speech at South by SouthWest Festival in Austin this year, said “Keep writing. Keep doing it and doing it. Even in the moments when it's so hurtful to think about writing.”

I would like to add, that when it starts hurting, you have woken your muse. You have found that 'sweet spot'; that transit from soul to words and sentences and concepts.

Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards.
Robert Heinlein

Texas -
This is not one of my typical blog entries. This will be nothing but quotes about this fine state, Texas that I now exist within.

"I have said that Texas is a state of mind, but I think it is more than that. It is a mystique closely approximating a religion. And this is true to the extent that people either passionately love Texas or passionately hate it and, as in other religions, few people dare to inspect it for fear of losing their bearings in mystery or paradox. But I think there will be little quarrel with my feeling that Texas is one thing. For all its enormous range of space, climate, and physical appearance, and for all the internal squabbles, contentions, and strivings, Texas has a tight cohesiveness perhaps stronger than any other section of America. Rich, poor, Panhandle, Gulf, city, country, Texas is the obsession, the proper study and the passionate possession of all Texans." - John Steinbeck 1962

"Texas history is a varied, tempestuous, and vast as the state itself. Texas yesterday is unbelievable, but no more incredible than Texas today. Today's Texas is exhilarating, exasperating, violent, charming, horrible, delightful, alive."- Edna Ferber, author, 1955.

"If a man’s from Texas, he’ll tell you. If he’s not, why embarrass him by asking?"
-U.S. journalist John Gunther regarding legendary Texas pride in 1970's

"What you Northerners never appreciate..........is that Texas is so big that you can live your life within its limits and never give a damn about what anyone in Boston or San Francisco thinks. A writer can build a perfectly satisfactory reputation in Texas and he doesn't give a damn about what critics in Kalamazoo think. His universe is big enough to gratify any ambition. Same with business men. Same with newspapers. Same with everything." - 1985 James Michener's "Texas."

Nothing is beautiful except the abnormal; and nothing is abnormal until we have grasped the norm.
C.S. Lewis

This is such a powerful quote. It is almost recursive in nature. We must grasp the norm to know the beauty of abnormal; but we must know what is beautiful and abnormal before we know the norm. How do we know what is beautiful? It illuminates; it shines; we are moved at levels that cannot be explained. That's a start.

Normal – That was the subject of my ponderings today, and I had plenty of pondering time. I drove more than 600 miles from Socorro, New Mexico to Sherman, Texas and honestly was not paying attention to the time. Time doesn't matter in this journey, and I hope I learn from that.
The definition of 'normal' from websters.com is this: (1. conforming to the standard or the common type; usual; not abnormal; regular; natural. (2. serving to establish a standard.

In my opinion, that definition is pretty much useless and circular. 'Not abnormal.' What is that? The logical NOT of normal. The entire first definition is completely subjective! What if 'normal' was NOT conforming to the common standard? There are many people who live within this context and are considered 'normal' within their group but perhaps bohemian or even disgusting or unacceptable to others. Given that, 'normal' is a subjective term and must be.

The second definition is equally subjective. “serving to establish a standard” means what? Who's standard? Mine? Yours? Some unknown, faceless mob of people?

According to Aristotle (or Francois Rabelas – French monk, depending on what source you believe), “Nature abhors a vacuum.” Nature also abhors normalcy. Those subscribing to the Theory of Evolution should recognize that for any species to survive, it must evolve; change; NOT be normal. Those subscribing to creationism should recognize that the most important people in Christianity were not considered 'normal' by most. Joan of Arc was a woman commanding an army! What about Noah? The list of Catholic Saints is full of people who were not considered 'normal.'

'Normal' is a tool of the intellectually weak. 'Normal' is a crutch of those with closed minds. 'Normal' is not for me.