Month: February 2020

Today’s Random Thoughts…..

Without a doubt, much of what we think we know is false. Even being as “smart” as we humans think we are we don’t even know everything about our own bodies. When we move out from there, into the world around us, and eventually into the Universe that surrounds us, our knowledge becomes exponentially less and less.

There are SO many theories on how the Universe started, where it’s headed and how it’s going to end. Some of them are theological in nature, and some are scientific. None of them are right, probably not even near right.

I shudder when I think about how little I know. I have to take most things I do every day on faith. I have faith when I plug in the coffee machine that it is going to make me a cup of coffee. If it didn’t, I don’t have the knowledge to tear it apart and remake it so that it would. If I put my key in the car, and turn the switch and it doesn’t start, most of the time I wouldn’t know what to do. When I had my heart attack, I couldn’t fix my arteries. Of course there are people who DO know how to fix these things, and it’s a good thing too. Otherwise, most of use would be in a heap of trouble.

But, even those people who are “technologically” smart, don’t have all the answers. Every few years or so, a new theory comes out about how the Universe began. Of course, all religions would acknowledge that it was ‘created’ if you will, by God. A thinking consciousness started the ball rolling and made use what we are today. Makes sense to us as humans, because WE are conscious thinking creatures. That’s what separates us from the rest of the creatures….at least so we “think” ( I am not so sure sometimes, when my little dog plays me for a sucker that she is not “thinking” about what she is doing) I guess there is all different levels of thinking, and I am SURE that we are not in ANY way close to the “thinking” if that is what it is, of a consciousness so powerful it could create the Universe.

Now secularists have a harder time trying to explain how something like the Universe started on it’s on. I read somewhere a few weeks back that they think all the matter that it took to get the Universe started, could be compressed down into a ball the size of a basketball, but that it would weigh some astronomically heavy weight. Some basketball! When this thing decided to explode and start the Universe, it continually spread from a central point and made us what we are today. The scientists can look at light coming in from outside our Galaxy that took billions of years to get here. That’s cool. When we look up in the sky at night, and see the stars, we are not really seeing what is happening at the moment we are looking, but what happened years and sometimes hundreds or thousands of years ago and is just now reaching us. For all we know, some of those stars could be, and probably are, gone. Mind boggling ain’t it?

Well, I just don’t believe that either group has ALL the right answers. I personally believe the Universe was created, and didn’t just happen, but I don’t even PRETEND to understand the type of intellect it would take to do it.

I know that we have had books and bibles, and documents from the beginning of the time that man learned how to write, with all the theories about how things happened. All of those came from the minds of man, and have been shaped by the mind of man down through the centuries. None of them are accurate. I don’t think that we even know how to define accurate.

Now, don’t go all funny on me, and think I am being sacrilegious. I’m not. I don’t go around telling people what to believe, OR that what they believe isn’t right. I don’t have the right to do that, and neither does anyone else. There are, however, Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, etc. who would disagree with me. All of those religions consider that they have been given the innate approval, by the being that created the Universe to tell everyone that there way of thinking is the only one that is correct. I happen to disagree with them. There may be some correctness in all of them. Being a Christian, I personally believe in that philosophy and some may think it is a conflict of teaching that I would state I don’t believe in telling OTHER people what to believe, but I don’t. Everyone has to decide for themselves, and I think on that particular point that the being that created us, God if you will, has been totally succinct. You choose for yourself whether to be good or bad, light or dark. This choice is yours no matter what your religion or philosophy.

I think we will all find out one day, of course. I think that God would be totally unfair to just leaving us hanging about the answer to things. Of course, I could be wrong about that too. We may go to Heaven, or we may lay unconscious of the passing of time until we come back around in the endless cycle of the Universes coming and going. We MAY know nothing, and that’s that. I highly doubt this to be the case, but….

Days….

My word how time passes by, the days moving with the speed of hummingbird wings,

As the babies who listen to our lullabies, leave the notes of the last song they sing.

Echoing in the hallways and the bedrooms, as they pack their bags and wave so long. So long, see you soon. Maybe that might be.

So long, but oh so very short… that distance in between.

When we can call them our very own, and not someone else’s.

But it turns out that way, and it’s a natural thing.

Like a long cold old winter, that turns into spring.

Always moving forward as we catch a fleeting glimpse,

and turn it into memory, a color of love that age can’t eclipse.

By Larry Bowers.

I took up playing golf when I was fourteen years old. I had ruptured some ligaments in my knee while swinging too hard at one of Don Durham’s curve balls. I was looking for a fast ball, and had dug my spikes into the ground really deep at home plate. Don had a ferocious fast ball. However, I had always been able to make some contact with the bat against him, and usually ended up getting a hit. The slow curve ball totally fooled me, and as I over swung at it, my spikes hung up in the soft dirt, and I felt something pop in my knee. Pain shot through me from the top of my head to the bottom of my toes, and I grabbed my knee and fell to the ground writhing in agony. To beat it all, it was only strike one!

I ended up staying for three nights at the Trion Community Hospital, with my leg in traction. It wasn’t so bad, as the only thing I had to do was lay around and read comic books.

After about three weeks of recuperation, old Doc Clemens said I should start to get some exercise, and that walking would be good to build up my thigh muscles, and hopefully prevent that type of injury again. (It didn’t) My Dad had played golf when he was younger so he suggested we try that. He bought a used set of left-handed clubs for me, and we drove up to the Trion Golf Club.

It was early May, and as we rounded the big curve right before the entrance to the course I gazed out over the course with awe. The greens were a deep emerald color, with flag sticks that had bright red flags on top, flapping gently in the spring breeze. The Chattooga River flowed by the first hole, a deep sapphire color, not having been by the mill yet to pick up any contaminants.

The old log club house looked pristine, sitting dignified on a little rise overlooking the river. You could smell the sweet Bermuda grass as it was being cut, a pungent, lovely odor that lingered in the air like a kind of hypnotic perfume. Big tall pine trees whispered their spring symphony as the winds blew through their closely knit limbs. It was magnificent, and I fell in love with it at first glance. I still get the same feeling even now whenever I go to that familiar site. Goodbye Mickey, Roger, Yogi, and Whitey. Hello Arnold, Jack and Gary Player.

Some of the members of the club were teeing off when we pulled up, and I watched as they sailed those Titleist and Maxfli’s straight down the fairway toward the number one green. J.W. Greenwood was playing and saw us walking up, and referred back to the beginning of my little league career: “If you knock all your golf balls in the river HERE, you won’t be a hero.” He laughed. (referring to the time I had hit all the practice baseballs into the Chattooga river during my first little league practice)

“Looks pretty easy to me.” I exclaimed excitedly. I couldn’t wait to get up there and smack one of those little white balls straight down the fairway. It could not be any harder than hitting one of Camp’s fast balls.

We paid our green fees and my Dad teed up and went first. He took an easy swing, and sailed the ball about 200 yards down the middle. It was my turn now.

I teed up a new ball, took my stance, and did a little be-hind wiggle like I had seen the other guys do. I took a huge back swing, and uncoiled in an explosive and powerful movement which ended up with a beautiful follow through, looking down the fairway to see where my drive had gone.

“Nice swing,” coached my Dad. “You missed the ball, though.”

I looked down at the tee, and that little white, dimpled devil was still sitting there undisturbed.

I slowed my next swing down slightly, and this time made contact, and sent the ball bouncing down the fairway about fifty yards.

“Topped that one.” Advised my Dad.

I took an eight on that first hole. A quadruple bogey.

“This is not as easy as it looks.” I muttered

On hole number 2, which was a short par three, I took a seven iron out of the bag as my weapon of choice. As I stood over the ball, I looked out at the two creeks, and one swamp that the ball would have to cross before getting to the green, and bowed my head and prayed silently to God to please let me at least not lose all of my golf balls on this one hole. I exhaled, kept my eye on the ball, and took a smooth swing. The ball sailed over both creeks, and the swamp, bounced in front of the green once, and rolled gently onto the putting surface about six feet away from the hole.

“Nice shot, son.” I could barely hear my Dad say, over the pounding of my heart.

There was enough adrenaline flowing after that shot for me to have picked up an automobile.

Although I played another year of Pony league baseball, my High School athletic career goals had just changed. Goodbye Mick. Hello Arnie.

Anyone who has never played golf, can’t understand what motivates people to chase a little white ball around a large field, whacking it with a club. All it takes, however, to remain motivated is one great shot every once in a while. About the time you’ve topped three in a row, and are ready to throw your clubs in the creek, the good Lord, who I believe approves of the game, looks down and commands the next shot to be a humdinger.

“How ‘bout that shot I made on number four,” you reminisce as you write down your third bogey in a row on hole number eight. “Almost a hole in one!”

Steve Hammond and I were passing acquaintances before we both took up golfing. We went to the same church, and Steve’s brother Tommy was the same age as I was, and we were often in the same classes at school. Steve and I never got to be close friends until my freshman year in High School when I went out for the golf team.

J.W Greenwood was the golf coach, and when he saw me come walking up to the clubhouse on the day we were to play a round as a tryout he again ribbed me good naturedly:

“There comes ‘ol scatterarm.” He grinned. “This ain’t the baseball field Bowers,” he continued “It’s the golf course.”

“That’s O.K.,” I said “I’m here to try out for the golf team.”

I don’t think J.W. thought I was serious, but he got the idea when I teed off of number one, and put one straight down the middle.

“Dang boy, you must have been practicing.” Said J.

I had. Every day it didn’t rain since I had picked up my clubs. Many days me and my neighbor Mike Brown had taken our clubs and walked all the way from Eighth Street. I made the team, and so did Steve. We became practice partners, competitors, and teammates. We were golfing maniacs.

Every time we had a spare minute, it was up to the golf course. We practiced drives, putts, irons; you name it, and we did it. Swinging a golf club became such second nature we could do it in our sleep. We read Arnold Palmer’s book and studied Jack Nicklaus’ grip. Our record as a golf team reflected our practice. We won the region title in 1967 at Hogansville, which was Steve’s senior year. I had a chance to win as low medalist that year, but fate wouldn’t allow it.

I was in the lead by one stroke coming to the last hole. It was a dinky little par three, with no hazards whatsoever. Just a straight shot up a little hill. All I needed was bogey to win. I was confident, I was pumped up! I was stupid. I went with too strong an iron, and it sailed over the green by about twenty yards. I heard a loud ringing sound:

“Dong!!!”

I didn’t have a clue where my ball went, because I’d never seen it land.

As I approached the green, J.W. was standing there shaking his head slowly from side to side in disgust. My ball had landed smack dab in the middle of the big thirty gallon barrel that was being used for a trash can. The rules for the tournament were very strict. You had to hit it from where it lay, no matter what. If you couldn’t do so, it was a stroke penalty for a drop. Not being able to crawl into the trash can for my shot, I had to drop the ball, and take a stroke penalty.

I could still win, all I had to do was to get up and down in two strokes. However, the combination of the trash can shot, and the crowd which surrounded the green, had also shot my nerves. I chipped the ball up and over the front of the green, eventually struggling to a six, for a triple bogey and third place. J.W. Greenwood never let me live down that shot in the subsequent 45 years I knew him. Every once in a while, he would still poke me about it:

“You remember that shot you made at Hogansville that year that went into the trash can?” He would ask.

Yes I remember, but luckily time has made it much less painful than it was on that day.

J.W. passed away not long ago, and he is a man I surely miss. Always willing to help children and budding athletes. Always giving his time to other people. He was a great man.

Steve and I even liked to keep our swing in sync during the winter.

One gray, cloudy, bitterly cold December day, we put on three sweaters and a scarf, and went up to the golf course to play nine. The weather prediction was for snow, but we figured if it started in snowing too bad, we would just get in Steve’s car and come back home. As luck would have it, we were excellent, and I mean EXCELLENT that afternoon. We were both one under par when we reached number four, and the flakes started to descend.

“Let’s see if we can finish.” Steve suggested “We’re playing too darn good to quit.”

I agreed and we kept on going. By the time we got to number six, we were beginning to have our doubts. The snow was coming down faster and faster, and had already accumulated to about two inches on the flat fairways. As we teed off on number seven, the only way we knew where the ball was at, was because of the furrow it dug in the newly fallen snow.

“Uh…I believe we had better go.” I suggested

“No way!” Steve hollered back over the howling wind.

Despite the semi-blizzard, he was still one under par.

We played on to number eight, and when I chipped my ball up onto the green, it gathered snow as it rolled, and ended up as almost a baseball size snowball.

“How in the heck am I going to putt that?” I thought

Suddenly we heard the blast of a car horn from behind us, and turned to see Steve’s Dad sitting in his work truck, with an incredulous look on his face. We were supposed to have left if it started snowing, and Steve’s Dad had visions of us off in a ditch somewhere in the blinding snowstorm.

“Are you idiots’ crazy??” He yelled.

This display of emotion from a man who normally never, ever raised his voice was alarming to me. However, it did not seem to bother Steve.

“C’mon Dad,” Steve shot back. “We’ve only got one more hole to go, and I’m one under par!”

Amazingly enough, Mr. Hammond waited on us and followed us home in his truck after we finished the round. Steve lost his ball in the snow on number nine, and I made him take a stroke penalty! Thus his splendid one under par round in the blinding snow was snuffed out. It was the most fun I ever had playing a round of golf, before or since! Wish I coulda’ played yesterday….

Opening doors and closing them. Both physically and metaphorically it is all we do in life.

Before there was this medium in which to wax nostalgic, I was simply concerned only with what was going on with myself, my immediate family, and those I worked closely with. For many years, that’s all it was. That’s all it had to be. Oh, I knew there was a world full of other human beings out there, but I wasn’t mindful of what was going on with them. Their joys, their sorrows, their inner thoughts, their rantings, their wisdom… was just whispering in the wind. I cared not because I knew not.

Upon entering into this new means of communication, I first sought out family, then old school friends, with whom I had lost contact. It was fun catching up with them, finding out what had happened in the last forty years. Drawing close to them again through common experiences and causes…sometimes agreeing on things, sometimes not. Thus is the way of human beings. We all have things in common, we all have differences.

Strangely, I began to become friends with people who I never knew before, but who were friends with one of my friends. My relationship with people began to branch out beyond my little circle. I have become friends with people who have and hold some of the same beliefs and philosophies which I hold, and some who do not. I have met some people because of this medium and hold them in high regard and really, genuinely care about them, and through them, their loved ones.

My artist friend with his affinity for dogs and reclusiveness, my Alabama flea market buddy with his beautiful talented family, my new friend the lady lawyer from Alabama, the professor of my lawyer judge buddy, a Locklear cousin who thinks like me. A handful more.

Old friends who have reintroduced themselves back into my life…who I knew closely in my teenage years. People I loved.

Growing closer in friendship again with many old friends through empathy and sympathy with their familial situations.

Common likes…My old Buddy the wonderful biking, caving photographer and his sweet wife. My UGA fan buddies, my Vegan and vegetarian friends. I could go on.

I guess the most important thing is that for the most part, I have found I genuinely love people. I’ve found I don’t like everyone….or at least I don’t like some of the things they say. But, as human beings with souls and feelings I must love them all. I must, no matter how hard at times. I do not know everyone’s story anymore than they know mine, and there’s a story behind the way many people feel.

I love good discussions where if everyone doesn’t agree, we at least can have our opinions and be civil with each other (though I have NO tolerance for those who cannot be civil, and resort to name calling or vulgarity) These types of discussions are, of course, becoming as rare as hen’s teeth.

I love seeing the love that others have for their family and friends, and the photos of them they post showing that love. Their expressions of love for their family, and their thoughtful and loving posts many times touching me deeply. This is the best of this “social” media.

I live vicariously through posts and photos that friends make of places I’ve never been, and may never go.

There are many who would use this medium to spread their lies and their hate. Let’s not allow them to take over what could be, and had been up until recently a positive thing. Don’t share one sided hate “memes” just to have something to post. Think before you do it “will this cause harmony or discord?” If you want to post a page at least put a little preamble of your own words on it to let others know your purpose in sharing.

If you have an opinion on something, use your own words. Don’t let others who are extremists use you as a tool. I’ve been guilty in the past, but I’m honestly trying to do better!

Love not hate. Empathy and sympathy not empty feelings. We can use all things for the good of others if we only pause to think, to consider, to put ourselves in the shoes of others for a few miles before we judge.

Peace to you all.

I got to thinking last night that I need to start tidying things up a bit. By that, I mean start getting rid of more of this stuff I don’t need or use anymore. A lot of this junk I have accumulated over the years that doesn’t mean anything to anyone else besides me.

I fully feel that I can start to whittle my junk down to a smaller pile , because I just don’t want anyone else to have to deal with it once I’m gone. I know it can be done because I’m surely not bringing in much stuff now. Not nearly what I used to bring home. I’ve actually went to Trade day four times in a row, and haven’t bought a dang thing. I believe that to be a record.

I’m going to start selling a lot more stuff in the near future. Keep an eye out cause it might be something you need. I’m also in the process of organizing all my photos, and archiving a lot of things I’ve written.

I mean, I’m not planning on checking out anytime soon, but it doesn’t hurt to get ahead of the game….and one never knows.

I once had a very vivid dream in which I was walking up one of those old dirt mountain roads, like the ones that I used to walk with my Grandma Stewart. For some reason, I was alone, using a cane, and I knew somehow that I was 92 years old. I also knew that once I topped the hill that I was walking towards, I would never, ever return. I was sad, but satisfied.

Hopefully, my old body will stay together a decade or so longer, and I can finish up on some of the aforementioned projects. It’s my intent to do so, and to also continue to love and help my kids and grandchildren as much as they’ll let me, and to enjoy the bright sunshine as it shines, the tomatoes as they ripen, the music as it plays, the books I need to read more of, and my wife’s company.

To each and every one of you, no matter what…I wish you peace and health on this Sunday night.

Everytime I hear the national anthem, I still get chill bumbs and tears still fill my eyes. When I see the flag of my country flying high from a flagpole, I am so proud to be an American. I hate to see it abused, I have reported municipalities and schools in the past for not taking down the flag and taking care of it. I also, cried like a baby when Johnny Cash sang “Ragged Old Flag” before the not so “Super Bowl” a few days back.

Most of my ancestors have been in this country since the earliest of early times. I have half a dozen who fought in the Revolutionary War, and a dozen who fought in the Civil War. I have Native American ancestors by the dozens also. My roots go very deeply in this beloved soil we call America…and I call my home.

My Daddy fought in World War II and Korea…and went into the fog soup of radiation on a Navy ship right after they tested the Atomic bomb at Enewetak atoll in 1946. I’m certain part of his health problems later in life were due to this, but he never got a dime. He never asked.

I grew up with many of you who are my Facebook friends. We were close in Trion. Most of our experiences were practically the same. We had the same teachers, the same “mill town” environment, where most of our Daddy’s and Momma’s worked their rears off in the cotton mill to raise us kids. To give use things they never were able to have during their depression years of growing up.

I graduated with many of you, I have worked with some of you over the years. I went to college with some of you. Some of you I have never met, except through Facebook.

I have been a religious man over the years. I was baptized when I was 8 years old, in a Southern Baptist Church. I spent 52 years as a member, including 12 years as a deacon. I became disillusioned about 6 years ago and now keep my own peace…but I respect the beliefs of everyone, as long as their beliefs are peaceful.

I have hunted, with bow and with gun. I have fished the rivers and the lakes…the streams and the creeks of this wonderful country.

I don’t care how many guns you own, as long as you are careful with what you got…and you know you are responsible for how they are used.

I don’t personally believe in abortion. I would counsel any family member or friend who comes to me against it. However, I do not believe it is my responsibility to tell other people what they should or should not do. (see three paragraphs back)

I’m an opinionated man. Anybody who knows me well, knows that. My opinions are not shared by a lot of people. I know that. For many years, it has been much easier to keep my own counsel concerning things I believe and don’t believe, and how I believe. With the coming of “social media” it has become harder and harder to actual have opinions, and have them ON “social media” without it causing hatred, hard feelings, name calling, and other myriad of bad things. Things which cause emotional and physical reactions, which a man with my problems doesn’t need. It’s hard for me to not make comments and share my opinions. It’s almost impossible for me really. I think it goes back to the old “blank page” syndrome for me….in which if I open Facebook and start reading stuff I just have a compulsion to open my mouth and say something….or write something on my timeline….my own “blank page”

Some of it may be the chance to finally have somebody “like” what you write….but unfortunately also have many “hate” what you write…as it pertains to politics, and perhaps also as it pertains to religion. I’ve tried keeping it mostly to photograhy which I love..but which I’m not that great at, and also some “homey” writing…which I also like to do, but which is mediocre for the most part.

I have said all of this, and have come this far with this post just to say that in my condition as a human being it’s in my best interest to stay disconnected for a while, think things over, and see what happens from there. There are a lot of things I am not happy with that are going on, and one of them is me. My attitude, my feelings, my need to gain more empathy and understanding for others.

There are many who are so unreachable in the security of their opinions and beliefs, as to never be able to be persuaded by either reason or love…by compromise or negotiation, by anger or pathos, that we humans, we Americans, have so much more in common than we have different. We cannot see past our bias and our ignorance to realize that once…we liked each other, perhaps once we even loved each other, but we let it slip away and we let it go just because we HAD to be the one who was right.

I don’t have to be right all the time. Neither do any of you people. If we just realize that, then perhaps we could see a little more peace in this lifetime.

Paula and I are sitting around listening to sixties and early seventies music today instead of watcing TV, and it’s quite enlightening. I cannot understand how it is that I can’t remember which drawer I put my socks in, but can remember every word of practically every song this station is playing.

I think the difference is that for most of these songs, I have a very vivid memory attached. “Saturday in the Park” …and I am remembering singing this song in August of 1972, when a certain baby girl was born. Joyous memory…Kirsten Brown

Then there are some which have brought tears to my eyes. We used to have performances at school at Trion, and when I listen to “Puff the Magic Dragon” by Peter, Paul and Mary, I remember a little High School group who performed this song on stage, composed of two brothers…the Myer’s boys, and a young lady named Susan Cavin. It is bittersweet because two of the three of these wonderful people are now gone…

There are many of these oldies which take me back…it’s wonderful and sad at the same time. How can that be?? Then…they throw in a Taylor Swift song called “Never Grow Up” and that one makes me cry to because of another certain little girl I love so much, and it being her “theme song” Auttie Bowers Saw a photo of her in a red prom dress today for Senior prom and…..well…..I gotta quit writing now.

I hope you understand……

When you walk to the river, you see the ground beneath you teeming with life. The air you breathe is free to you, and you may gulp it in at your leisure.

And the crows up in the clouds, a hundred at the least, circle around you cawing either their indignation or admiration. Perhaps their acceptance, because they recognize that you are a creature of nature also….

And not it’s master.

Good life, bad life.

I thought about it a lot this past weekend. What determines how we judge whether our lives have been positive or negative?

I finally decided that it all comes down to attitude. Your attitude is what makes the difference in whether you are having a good life, or a bad life. Attitude is either your best friend, or your worst enemy. It’s your greatest asset or your worst liability.

It’s easy to say that we are going to change our attitudes. I have said it many times before, and then after a while, I find myself slowly slipping back into my old habits, and again becoming negative. That old pessimism that has been prevalent in my life starts to creep up on me like a swamp gator sneaking in for the kill. And when it gets close enough…BOOM…it springs.

It’s not easy changing your attitude.

Of course, nobody can stay positive all the time. At least I don’t think that’s possible. I have known some pretty positive people, and even they get down on life every now and then. I think the magic trick is picking yourself up quickly after you do get down. It’s not an easy trick to learn. It’s not built into some people’s genetic makeup, which makes it even harder. One thing which I think helps is to try and surround yourself with people who have positive attitudes.

Or, in my own case, I often find more solace and ability to rebound by doing just the opposite. I get outside and take long walks, a lot of time by myself. On a recent walk I took down by the river, I prowled along the shore like a hermit crab…picking things up and looking at them….simply breathing in the air, and reflecting and rebuilding the neurons in my brain. I could have probably spent the entire day doing it. Weird old guy. It’s not for everybody, but it works for me in the here and now.

As we get older, we have an ever growing bank of memories on which to reflect and remember. I think now looking back down the pipeline of my life that even the bad days were good. I have had some pretty dang bad days. I think we need them. If we have no very bad days we don’t have anything to which to compare the very good days. There has to be contrast, there has to be dark and light, evil and good.

However, I believe I have learned something from all of my days. I hope all of us have.

One thing I really appreciate is having good kids, and I am grateful for the people they have chosen to live their lives with. That’s one of the things I really didn’t think about back when Paula and I were trying to raise our children. I didn’t realize that instead of 3 kids we were going to end up with 6 one of these days. (and some super grandchildren to boot!) It’s a funny thing about how your children and grandchildren can become great friends in the process of living you life, if you will let them.

Back to good life, bad life. Attitude. Is there anyway that anyone knows of to stay more on the track of being on the positive side? I think sometimes I go up and down more than a roller coaster. It would be better to stay up at the top of the hill but I am sure that there are no easy solutions for doing it. It takes work, and it takes consistency. I hope everyone is having success.

One thing that helps me though, is to put my thoughts down on paper…even if it is virtual paper. At least I can kind of keep up with that way. I think that’s probably the biggest thing I like about this “social media” experience. There’s a bunch of things which have developed which I don’t care for, but as a friend was telling me the other day, he thinks the good outweighs the bad. I guess time will tell on that account.

In all the Universe there are probably no other beings like we humans. I know that science has found there are many Earth like planets out there, but Earth like is not Earth.

When you think about the fact that we alone may be the only intelligent life in the cosmos it is a daunting thought. I realize that many people don’t believe we are “alone” in the Universe, but so far there is no proof to the contrary…Star Wars and Star Trek notwithstanding.

It leads me to think that humanity has a huge responsibility. We have an obligation to find a way forward to peace. We have almost a sacred trust to preserve our species.

There is either meaning to life, or not. We can believe that this tiny sand grain sanctuary of living things in the huge beach which is the Universe, is just an accident comprised of some chemicals and some warm water and sunshine, or we can believe there is meaning.

I believe there is meaning, perhaps the ultimate meaning in our existence.

Until I see some alien spaceship come flying in, or see a spiritual manifestation telling me differently, I am going to assume our meaning and our purpose is to settle our earthly differences and then “go boldly where no man (or woman) has gone before”.

Go boldly and discover the truth.