Sometimes I wonder how I became a pastor.

Yeah, I know the official story.

I went through CAMS. C-A-M-S. I studied. I worked. I went through the exhorter program. I did what they told me to do.

But then, right before I could take my final test, my son was diagnosed with bone cancer.

And suddenly, that test didn’t matter very much.

I wasn’t leaving my son to go take an exam.

So I waited a year.

The next year came, and because of a miscommunication, I missed it again.

Another year.

Another delay.

Another round of studying because things had changed.

At the time, it felt like life kept getting in the way of ministry.

Looking back, I realize something.

It was the ministry.

God wasn’t keeping me from my education.

He was giving me one.

Sometimes I wonder how I became a chaplain.

Then God starts reminding me.

Back in 2006, there was Grandma Logan.

Colon cancer. Hospice.

Mom and I were there taking care of her.

Then Dad got sick. COPD. His breathing became harder, his world became smaller, and Mom and I took care of him until he passed away.

I was a caregiver for Grandma.

I was a caregiver for Dad.

Then came my son.

Bone cancer.

The very reason I couldn’t take my ministerial exam became another classroom.

No desk. No textbook. No professor.

Just cancer.

Fear.

Prayer.

Hospitals.

Waiting rooms.

And learning how to stand beside somebody you love when you cannot fix what is hurting them.

Years later, I stood in my own church and married that same son to Kaylee.

There were probably 80 to 100 people in that sanctuary.

Love filled the room.

It was beautiful.

Then Kaylee began helping take care of him. As he grew older and matured, he learned to take care of himself.

And then there was Mom.

Mom had been my mother.

Then she became my co-parent, helping me raise my children.

But dementia is a thief.

Little by little, it took pieces of her away.

And somewhere along that road, the woman who had once tucked me into bed became my little girl.

I tucked her in.

I kissed her forehead.

And at night, I would have her repeat the Lord’s Prayer with me—

the same prayer she had taught my children,

the same prayer she had taught me when I was a child.

Life had turned the whole thing around.

The hands that once cared for me were now in my hands.

And I cared for her.

So sometimes I wonder how I became a chaplain.

How I became a pastor.

And then I look backward.

Grandma.

Dad.

My son.

Mom.

Hospice rooms.

Hospital rooms.

Bedrooms.

Deathbeds.

Wedding altars.

Church altars.

And suddenly I can see it.

God had been training me the whole time.

I thought I was being delayed.

God was developing me.

I thought life kept interrupting my ministry.

Life was becoming my ministry.

And now I’m a caretaker for a church.

Because pastors aren’t just preachers.

We’re caretakers.

We take care of bruised souls.

Hurting hearts.

Weak faith.

People who come through the doors carrying wounds nobody else can see.

And we stay with them.

We pray with them.

We preach Jesus to them.

We walk beside them until the bruises begin to fade, the weakness begins to strengthen, and the broken places begin to heal.

Not because the pastor has the power to heal them.

But because Jesus does.

He came to bind up the brokenhearted.

And maybe that’s how I became a pastor.

Maybe that’s how I became a chaplain.

Not because one day somebody handed me a certificate and said,

“Now you’re ready.”

Maybe God had been preparing me for decades.

One bedside at a time.

One broken heart at a time.

One goodbye at a time.

And I didn’t even know I was in school.

Choir sound is different

Over the last year, Keri and I have been working on a choir sound. We got some things, read some things, and went to town on experiments. We got in the garage. We got the closet. We even tried the shower. We just did a job for a cool song from Scotland by Andrew Anderson, coming soon. We feel good about the choir sound now. I wanted to talk concepts about making good choir in your songs.

Disclaimer:

First off, both Keri and I grew up in protestant church choir and that has a lot to do with our sound. We are not trained, we just showed up. My concept of choir might be slightly different than yours if you have never sung at vacation bible school, or a funeral, or a wedding.

If you were a dozen people, it would be really loud.

I learned by placing different mics in different rooms that the nicer mics get to do their thing in large spaces. I found this crucial for making convincing choir tracks. The room had to be bigger than my normal tracking space.

The mic I am currently using for these kinds of tracks is the Myrtle by Ear Trumpet labs. The Myrtle picks up from 3 feet away like nothing. So I put it in a large room, imagining the sound going out in front and not being able to bounce back to the mic. Huge space. Garage works. A hallway gives interesting and notable results. The small insulated room isn’t even usable here. I would have to change mics.

It has to move.

So I have my big space and I set my mic, it never moves through the whole process. But Keri and I move a ton. I have a taped out semi circle, 4 X’s, we’ll take turns. No choir we have done before sounds good up on a smaller mic, standing in the same spot. But the choir tracks have movement and realism if we stand in 4 or 5 different spots. For Andrew, we did 2 groups of 4 spots. Each.

This works for other instruments too. If you play strings, put the cello, bass, viola, and violin, in all different spots. I’d probably just go with a semicircle there too. But you can get a little crazy…

A fabulous way to learn your mics.

Maybe you have a big room with a little closet. Experiment with standing in the closet, facing the room, singing or playing. With the Myrtle, I get very usable sound this way. But I also get it with the SM58 too. Now turn the operation around. Stand in the room, face the closet, see what happens. I think this helps me with mic placement everywhere, just having done it at home. By doing this, I can echolocate places for microphones better. I have a hearing memory of their reaction to different size spaces. Muscle memory is talked about a lot in other jobs.. I use a lot of hearing memory.

Now do it with multiple distances away and to the side of that mic. You might not realize it, but you are building a choir!

Small set up, large space.

Choir tracks need space, an ensemble mic, an iPad, an interface. It is not necessary to try to force tracking at the house when you can borrow a church’s sanctuary to track vocals. We have. We’ve tracked whole live songs in churches too. Tiny donation, they open the doors. The nice mics love it. They can breathe.

Choir coming on The Kintners record out Christmas.

This time we wanted to try at the house since we are recording a double-album ourselves. Andrew got us off our butts about the choir. Glad he did. I think we have it worked out. One less thing to worry about for the record, choir.

Kelly Kintner

The Horses Mouth

The Kintners

Djembe Funk

I posted some time ago about how I was going to start prepping for a 5k running event. Now here I am, weeks later, at the other end of that prep. It went quite well. To be honest, surprisingly well.

Yesterday was the last day of intermittent fasting. This morning was my last run while wearing the weighted vest. I've never done anything like this in my entire life. I don't know if what I've been doing will result in a personal best on race day, but I have to say that I feel quite healthy and fit.

I've been at this point prior to other running events. Just days to go. It is an odd place to be every time. It is the point where no more gains can be made. I will be at the peak. Whatever the outcome of my efforts is meant to be; it will be that.

These prep routines for running events are kind of funny to me. I go into it all knowing that I could train harder, and be faster, if only running was the main focus of my life. I could be on a very strict 5k training plan that has been used, tried and tested, by professional athletes.

As it is though, running prep is not my main focus. I have to find ways to fit it into my life that revolves around doing a very physical, and at times stressful job for 40 hours a week. It consumes more of my waking hours than anything (getting ready, getting there, doing it). It is not easy... but what is, really?

I started to get into fitness just prior to the beginning of COVID restrictions. I told those stories elsewhere in this blog. I never would have started running if the gyms had not closed when they did. I have learned a lot about running over the years. Each year has been different. I kind of view it as a strange skill that I have developed over the last few years. Also a strange knowledge I now have about what my body is physically capable of.

This year I was doing interval runs, and stairmaster, while wearing a 12 pound weighted vest. I had never done this before. I expected it to be hard, and it was. Very hard. I expected weight loss, my legs to become stronger, and my resting heart rate to become lower. Those things happened. Some things happened that were a surprise: Number one would be how my balance has become noticeably better. My upper body strength has increased. It forced me into engaging core muscles, and also forced me into better running form. I can feel that I have increased lung capacity. These things were a surprise, but after thinking about it, they make sense.

Overall I would say that I feel quite good. Race ready. I would also say though, as good as it feels, it is very unnecessary for living daily life. Not only unnecessary but is also, to me anyway, mentally unsustainable. I can be fit and healthy without being race ready.

https://write.as/thingsleftunsaid/event-prep

https://write.as/thingsleftunsaid/running

https://write.as/thingsleftunsaid/fitness

College Football Saturday

If I am home (circumstances may call me away, but let's hope not) and have the option, my first college football game of choice today finds the Western Kentucky Hilltoppers travelling to Bloomington, Indiana, to play the Indiana Hoosiers. The game is scheduled to start at 3:00 PM CDT and good radio pregame coverage should be available an hour earlier. GO HOOSIERS!

And the adventure continues.

At long last, I now have a physical film library again.

In a way.

Going the DVD route is simply not an option for me, as I don't have the space to store that shit. Plus, the constant moving over the past 12 years has put me in the state of mind of thinking twice before adding to my physical possessions (I still maintain a storage unit back in Houston filled with books, comics, zines, records, and I don't even remember what else).

So, with leaning on anything like DVDs or videotapes being out of the question, and being really sick of the subscription-based streaming service model, I opted to go the SSD route. One terabyte dedicated to film. It is presently loaded with 171 titles accounting for a little over 200 gigs. Room for much, much more. Now I just need to get another dedicated drive for TV shows, one for music, and one for books and comics (still prefer physical for those, but not everything I'd like to have in physical form is within reach, plus it'd be a bonus to have a digital copy of all physical books I acquire because I've lost most of my physical belongings at least 3 times in my life and it never hurts to have a backup just in case).

#journal

The Arrow, Painted

To the North And policy of neighbours This is the sight we knew Failed landings by the yardhouse And a hijack of esteem We were very aware, just- A friend And in the swill Of the colleagues we share Man will have a plan of time And to be shoring now A difficult way in And subservients of war And there will be no money Nor peace- even if we liked our reach But then reviled- The rightist fight It is only my country And it is a landgrab No benediction Beauty bereft And the tides of another- will do us in And to speak of the arousal The ancient high One can live with anxiety But this operand is here The living and paid little The worst work in the world- which is to live under the United States Plain in sight There are plaintiffs And there is will And to the first of mind We were errant to the South But Denmark sold us As mercury would And seven times the Dutch In a river of years

And mercy howled For honest endeavour And we were chains on a cross The living avoidant And this river Would it stay the same

And the Earth ate the salt And there was no plan But the United States and money

Fresh as going alone There is errant ground And convolutions of wicca For the Sun has a plan,- so they thought But I was hoping- To be eating peace for dinner And now there is none.

20 Hours

Russia sees its reward In coming clean at first And time’s original thought Why verses Rome to court Apart as we are Symphonic distress To the notions that be A place in Quispamsis becover And Nuuk across the arc What difficulty Rome In quarts of lethal wonder To the sacristy we kept And Donald never came And stole our world And our share of thoughts to know Cavity to stream Pieces fired anew And Jehovah’s Witnesses came To speak across the road Inefficiency be And Nuuk would go to Rome Beatified at night Thus early cross Fit for dozen wonder Why excessive Kushner For all to fall forget And banking proud To Russia as they saw Greenland across the bay.

Put it To Rest

In today’s better and remain We sought what we all have A night into the aether And legions by the year Hurried to Afghanistan Apparently by rote And Rome And rote And war The efficacy men In letting grass remain And off accustom view Witnessing the trial Men ahead, Ascension Ligatures and light

And who was there for fortune cure Every Justice called to act A year for portmanteau In lucky shares to Telluride

Nothing for suggesting But the ruse I thought you knew Mentality is sinking On this ice and growling sheen Up and coming just this once To be better then and back As a difficult endeavour We sought and we elect

In time Europa kneeling We hug the best at dawn Raoul rather than rather The Earth shall keep us keen While the Taiga at its will For us to row and without flight The licensure in keep Too much vernal but we show And in this crisis might I should Ever after on this cay What good redemption, Peter In a better view and pie

Thought to body ransom Impure to fight to loss Renewing what is spoken To the court and country worth

Oxygen to wherewithal Standing fortress by the board In between our haught appeal Roads to roses, then and for

Isn’t limelight for the limited As a day in Holy curfew We ascended to the Trinity In this day alight to shore And the mercy we extended All our neighbours Sultan row No more laughter but in daylight No duress, my Doukhobor

Maybe set and in discretion Digitalis on the Moon My redemption has no Heaven But to you, my God above

And in this peace of Ferdinand We obsessed with what we have Inner order and of strength This to wherefore by the sea

Intonating every know-how Fresh to bloom in cotton air I can see my city running Golden lava, just to there.

While revising one of the essays on method, a question emerged that felt larger than the editing itself.

Which sentence is the defining sentence?

Literary criticism often looks for one. The sentence that unlocks the piece. The sentence from which everything else follows. The sentence that resolves the argument and allows the essay to close neatly upon itself.

There is elegance in that approach. But I find myself increasingly resistant to it.

It's a question of focus – here are a few words I scribbled in the margin: I think at this point I don't want the piece to have a clarity of focus – I want a vagueness to it – that encourages the reader to explore, perhaps to define for themselves – I don't want to close the circle in that way – I know that literary critics would see that as elegant, but a pedestrican crossing is more than stripes on the tarmac.

Yes the image that came to mind was a pedestrian crossing.

A critic might look at a pedestrian crossing and see a successful arrangement of white stripes on tarmac. They might admire the geometry, the symmetry, or the way each stripe contributes to the overall design.

Yet a pedestrian crossing is more than stripes on the road. It may even have lights. It is an invitation to cross. A convention shared by drivers and pedestrians. A piece of civic infrastructure. A relationship between risk and trust. The visible part is not one thing, and it's not the whole thing.

I am trying to construct my essays to work in a similar way. Readers rarely leave carrying away an entire argument. More often they carry fragments. A phrase. An image. A question. A way of looking; perhaps even an adjusted disposition.

One reader may remember: Dig where you stand. Another may remember: The contradiction remains interesting. Someone else may carry away: The argument can wait.

I am not convinced that any one of these must become the master key to the others. Readers bring themselves to the page. They are not all some idealized type.

The temptation to identify a single defining sentence is really a temptation to close the circle. To say: this is what the essay is about. Yet some essays are less concerned with bringing a reader to a destination than equipping them for a journey. Perhaps essays do not always need a centre. Perhaps they need landmarks.

A landmark is not the destination. Nor does it prescribe a route. It helps someone orient themselves within a larger landscape. That thought seems increasingly important to my own practice. I am less interested in delivering conclusions than in offering navigation tools.

A useful essay may not tell a reader where to go next. It may simply help them recognise where they are standing. And from there, they can decide the direction for themselves. David Marshall Flic en Flac, Mauritius

Publicat la 6 septembrie 2011

Pe vremea când încă mai primeam mașinuțe, eram cu părinții în vizită la o fostă profesoară universitară a mamei mele. Nu eram ca Dl. Goe, așa că ei nu-și făceau griji că aș putea face ceva rău (asta s-a întâmplat într-o altă vizită). Din locul în care mă jucam, am auzit-o pe doamna profesoară povestindu-le cu mândrie părinților mei un episod aproape de neconceput la acea vreme. Fiul ei, student la acea vreme, mirat că profesorul său îl tot apostrofa pe un alt student, a îndrăznit să i se adreseze astfel:

„Hey, teacher, leave the kid alone!”

Ați recunoscut, probabil, unul dintre faimoasele versuri ale nu mai puțin faimoasei piese Another Brick in the Wall, de pe excepționalul album The Wall, al formației rock Pink Floyd.

Era primul meu contact cu Pink Floyd.

Și încă nu venise Revoluția!

Doamna profesoară locuia la Timișoara. Aveau să treacă ani buni până la libertatea de exprimare. Iar în decembrie ’89, tocmai de acolo avea să înceapă prăbușirea zidului care ne înconjura viețile.

Dar acel prim contact a fost atât de puternic — sunt tentat să fac o analogie tehnică, dar mă abțin — încât, de fiecare dată când ascult Pink Floyd, mă trec fiorii sau mi se face pielea de găină…

Coincidență sau nu, primul album Pink Floyd pe care l-am avut a fost The Wall, înregistrat pe o casetă BASF de 90 de minute!

Între timp, l-am oferit unui vecin adolescent, cu gusturi muzicale în formare…

Mai poate fi o coincidență faptul că avatarul meu preferat este o secvență din Comfortably Numb, cu Bob Geldof într-un fotoliu?

Cred că nu!

De fapt, avatarul acesta avea să-mi fie de folos mult mai târziu, după desființarea comunității ascultătorilor Virgin Radio. Împrăștiați care-ncotro, ne-am regăsit, totuși, câțiva dintre noi.

La un moment dat, cineva mi-a spus că mi-a recunoscut avatarul și că și-a dat seama că eram chiar eu, nu altcineva.

Și nici nu era de mirare.

Fotografia fusese făcută în 2007, la Budapesta, la concertul lui Roger Waters, The Dark Side of the Moon — spectacol care avea să includă și episoade din The Wall.

Așa că, dacă primul meu contact cu Pink Floyd a fost o voce auzită cu mult timp înainte de Revoluție, iar primul album a fost The Wall, poate că avatarul acela nu era chiar o simplă coincidență.

Poate că era doar o altă cărămidă din zid.

I went to the store to buy a bag and a card for my friend‘s birthday, I know that something that kind of hurt me earlier was thinking about how I will likely put in more effort than I will receive for things like my birthday or Christmas because to me, I understand how much they matter and how much I wished for them and so I would like to be able to do that for others that I care about. But a part of me would always kind of hurt a little bit feeling about how I would do this thing that I would so desperately want in return, but maybe it’s just the endorphins after a good leg day, but I’m strong enough and proud enough that I can do this with no expectation of return. I am doing this because of the love that I am filled with, and this is not conditional, this is not at all tied to anything I will get back in return, I do these things because that is the love I would like to put into the world. This is the same logic in the same reasoning that makes me proud to smile at people even when they explicitly frown in response, and I’m assuming it’s mostly just because they’re caught off guard, but I will regard this continue to smile and be kind to people and polite, even if I am not treated the same way back. And I am so incredibly happy and proud of myself every time I face rejection like that because that is a sign that I’m alone with my desire of who I want to be, even without the benefits, I continue to be positive and a friendly face. And I am so proud of that fact. I believe that I can do the same thing with presence and giftgiving, it’s a little bit more difficult because of my history and my need for it to some extent, but I can recognize that and still continue to give from the bottom of my heart. And when I think about it like this, I feel warm, because I am not worried about some other expectation about receiving anything in response, I rather just get to enjoy doing something nice. And I think this is the kind of person that I am incredibly proud to reflect on. I made another friend at the gym today, and I talked to a couple new people, and I fell in love with certain songs again to the point where I was singing along on the drive home at the top of my lungs. I caught myself with the drummer mouth while I was trying to pick up the drum line for some of the songs, and then that made me happy because I thought about how the more I imitate, the less I imitate. And today is just one of those days where I don’t need to fight to be grateful and happy for being alive, it just simply is.

Rebellion against a false premis

There is no single route into the work. Style must be capable of meeting readers in different terrains without sacrificing coherence.

I don't think I've ever been in this sort of situation in life. I used to have a lot less to do, and a lot more stress. These days I have just about endless projects but I'm never really all that worried or stressed out about any of it. Sure there are times I'm worn down, tired, and a little irritated but it isn't the same. The things to do I enjoy and if some of it never gets done things will be okay.

We've had quite the summer on the homestead this year. Many things went wrong but we have learned a lot through it all. Right now we are nurturing a heifer that has a swollen knee and another bull got very lethargic and bloated. The bull is on the up and up recovering. The heifer is slowly getting to the barn, she'll be in there tomorrow. We splinted her leg and put a comfery compress on it to help the recovery. We'll give her a long rest in the barn so we can keep an eye on her and give further aid. Our garden was fairly unproductive this year but we still have a harvest. It's been a great year. And we still have a lot to do. But why worry about it all?

The main things we are laboring on now is firewood, garden, fencing (I like to pretend this is sword play, but it's more boring than that), sheep and turkey barn, and bull winter shelter. I think we can finish this all before winter. The only mandatory thing in my view is the firewood. The rest is gravy, and it's likely most or all of that gravy will be pouring in by the time winter hits.

It's been a great year. Love you all, hope your year has been great as well. There likely is not much need to stress about the things coming, gone, or never quite done around the home.

Do you ever stop and think about all the things you have done in life and all the skills you have learned? It's not something I really think about. Not often, anyway. I have a girlfriend who sends me these little memes that list any number of things that someone is supposed to have done, because she knows I enjoy that sort of thing. She tells me her score and persons she works with who also take it, and I am always quite surprised. I have usually done most of the things on the list, if not all of them. Often at a much younger age than the group she is telling me about ,who has done almost none of them.

I used to think that was a generational thing, or a location thing. Maybe a socioeconomic thing. It's probably all of the above, and a little bit more. It is strange how so much becomes lost so quickly. There are things I just take for granted as common sense knowledge that most people I know have no idea how to perform. I would say that in the last decade or so, my perspective of people has changed quite a bit.

We place so much emphasis on diplomas that often teach book skills, but can forget the importance of hands-on training. We also forget that a person does not need to attend a university or college to educate themselves on a subject in today's world. We forget to analyze, question, discuss, and think in a broad direction. We are also not taught to listen. Listen. Listen. We judge persons for their vocabulary, and we weaponize language and dialect. Yet we never know where a good idea will come from or what might spark our imagination.

I think that I am very fortunate to be part of Gen-X. At my earliest years, I was being taught by people who were alive in the 1800s. I was shown skills from people who participated in both World War I and World War II. Not to mention everything that came afterwards. I was taught how to grow my own food. How to track an animal. How to navigate through the woods. How to find clean water. How to gather seeds. How to work traps. How to shoot a rifle. The aspects of working on a car. How to do all sorts of things both inside and outside of the house, before I ever attended school. Obviously, just the basics at that time. But I was a sponge soaking up everything around me, and everything around me was teaching me how to survive without modern help necessarily.

I listened to the stories being told by both men and women. I do not even remember the names of some of the older generation, but I adored them at the time. I learned how to ride a horse. I attended many a rodeo. I learned how to do things that I probably don't even realize that I learned how to do, just by listening and watching. I was curious. That curiosity was encouraged. I quickly learned how to read and devoured books. All kinds of books. Including encyclopedias. Encyclopedias were magical at that time. I deeply enjoyed reading them from cover to cover because I never knew what I was going to discover. But there was always the chance to inspire further exploration.

I ran all over town both on two legs and on a bicycle. Adult totally knew where I was going if I actually told the truth about where I was going. I did eventually get to wherever I said I was going, so that I wasn't lying, but I wandered a lot. I learned to climb high, to take risks, and to be thoughtful in doing so. I learned how high I could go and jump before it started to hurt. I also learned landing the wrong way from a very short height at the right trajectory could break a bone. I aspired to be both a monkey and a dolphin. I wanted to be an eagle. It is fortunate that I could not get supplies to attempt to make myself “proper” wings without being caught.

It is also probably fortunate that I did not live anywhere near cliffs. I would like to think I was bright enough not to do something stupid, but I would not have bet money on that. I was always pushing myself and doing things considered crazy by today's standards. At the time, it was just explorative play and mini adventures. That is all still just my childhood. And it continued to grow as I got into my teens. Then came the adult years. I look at what I have done and the knowledge I have acquired between those years, and I admit that I might be a little impressed with myself. Or rather I should say, that if someone else told me what I know I have learned, I would be impressed with them. It's a little different since it is just me. To me, it's no big deal because it's been acquired naturally.

I am often told that I shouldn't disparage myself. Usually the person who says it doesn't realize I'm not disparaging myself. I'm confident in my skills. I'm also aware of how much I don't know, and I'm not afraid to admit it. There is so much that I don't know, but damn will it be fun trying to acquire more and more knowledge with the years that I have remaining in this particular body.

In recent years, I was conversing with someone and they asked if I saw myself as a renaissance woman. I contemplated it for a moment, and thought how wonderful would that be. I think I said something along the lines of, “Maybe. Or a polymath. I'm just a perpetual student with infinite curiosity.” They then explained how being a renaissance man is a negative thing in today's society. I listened to their reasoning, and was a bit humored. Give me a renaissance man! They are very under-appreciated.

Today, I look around at everything around us. Our entire society uses mechanisms that we cannot recreate ourselves. We cannot make computer chips or many other things by ourselves. The majority of the world does not even have the understanding of how to do it. Much less the multi-million dollar machines required to do it. Hell, most people no longer know how to change a tire by themselves. They're driving this car day after day, and cannot make a simple repair. They can't change their spark plugs. They can't change their oil filter. They can't change the oil. Many people can't follow instructions. Simple instructions.

I think about that. There is fortune in being able to do something with your own hands. Yes, sometimes it is not necessary. Yes, time is priceless. But so is knowledge, understanding, and capability. A vast lack of knowledge and willingness to learn and continue learning is a big part of what is wrong in our world. Not to mention arrogance, hard-headedness, ego, laziness, and selfishness. With a dash of being blind to the big picture, time, and just how essential ecosystems are. Nobody likes vultures, cockroaches, or sanitation workers. Yet without them, we would be royally fucked. Completely and royally fucked.

I wonder where we are going. The powers that be want us to believe it is outer space. That is such an impossibility on so many levels at this time that it is mind-boggling how many people don't comprehend the vast hurdles that have to be jumped in order to make that happen. (Hello, run on.) We simply don't have the data nor the ability to do so much of what is required to make that a reality. We are nowhere near it. We are so far away from it, that we don't even know everything that we need to be looking for.

I suppose that is how it has always been with us, isn't it? Instead of relishing and nurturing what is under our own feet, we look out to the stars and want to be planted anywhere but where we actually grew from. I have no room to talk. I wanted to get away from as young as I can remember. Yet no matter what I've learned, or where I've gone, deep inside I am still that young child who just wants to dig her toes into the soil, and listen to the Earth sing.

Perhaps that is something else we have forgotten—the healing beauty of song and dance. As well as the wondrous orchestra of Mother Nature.

How about you? What have you learned? What do you not know, but hope to one day learn? What experiences have you acquired that are good to pass on?

We tell stories. We make judgments. We stand firm in our ideals. But do we remember the importance and gift that it is to be self-aware, to be capable of sharing, and if one's belief system says it to be true, do we know how to be good stewards? Or do we just flaunt a title with little to no responsibility or accountability for our actions or lack there of? Sometimes, I think that perhaps we are not as self-aware as we like to aggrandize ourselves to be.

I think of all I've learned and all I've done...It is a lot. But it's but a fraction of a fraction of a microscopic fraction of all that is waiting for me to soak in.

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