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If we all knew what the future held in store, then there would be no need in living out our lives. If everything were preordained, what would be the use in trying?

I believe we have the means and the ability to change the future….our future, we just need to venture ahead with the knowledge that nothing is written in stone. No outcomes are already decided.

Don’t underestimate the gift of the light with which we were created.
It can be bright enough to totally illuminate our lives, and the lives of others with whom we come in touch, if we allow it to shine.
It is the most powerful tool against the darkness which attempts to repress our happiness and balance. The darkness which is on display every day. The corrosiveness of false light.
Remember the truth, and the true light.
It is the one thing which connects not only humanity, but all life. It connects not only humanity to the world around us, but also the world around us to the Universe.
We are all star dust, combined intricately with the light, and I believe the light is love and not hate. I believe the light is the good of humanity and not the bad. Everyone knows the difference in their hearts, whether they admit it or not. The choice to be a representative of the light or a representative of the dark is each person’s choice to make.

Some things will never change, yet change is inevitable.

A paradox?

Perhaps not.

Time will keep on passing. Tomorrow night is proof of that as we see another new year ushered in with celebrations, parties, and merriment. That change, the one which the passage of time causes, is inevitable.

Yet still human beings continue to hate other human beings for a myriad of reasons. Wars are continually being fought, and innocent people continue to die.

The self righteous continue to congratulate themselves on always being right, and bristle with anger if challenged on their opinions.

Those things never change, and never will as long as humanity inhabits the earth.

A new year comes. It will be here soon, and there will be many, many changes before we see the earth circle the sun again.

In the meantime, let us at least try and mitigate and minimize those bad things which are going to stay the same. Those things which hurt and dehumanize all of us.

AN OLD FASHIONED CHRISTMAS- 2013

As I have said before, we spent a half of a school year in 1960 at my Grandparent’s house in Blue Ridge because Mom was sick. I was enrolled in school there for almost half the year, which including the Christmas vacation for that year.
My Grandparent’s residence was a desolate place back then. It was the very last occupied house on Snake nation road at that time. A rough, ragged, rocky, muddy when it rained, and creek crossed road which took about 30 minutes to traverse from the turn off at the cemetery, to their modest gray wooded little two story house. Grandpa’s eight to ten bee hives stood like the sentinels of Stonehenge out in front of their house on top of huge flat rocks Grandpa had dragged up there on a wood sledge. I can imagine that their construction probably resembled in miniature that wonder of the English countryside, because the hill leading from the road to Grandpa’s house was extremely steep. A lot of times when it was wet and muddy my Dad had to get a strong running start from Snake nation road before he turned into Grandpa’s driveway and then as soon as he turned left, he had to gun the gas as hard as possible to try and make the curve up the hill to the tiny parking space in front of the house. Sometimes we just didn’t make it. The tires might have been a little too worn, or the mud a little too thick. We would end up having to park down below the beehives out in the high grass and grab our suitcases and trek up the hill, trying our best not to slip and fall flat on our faces.
But, this year my Mom, my brother and I were already there, and it was for Daddy alone we waited on the day before Christmas Eve. I heard his car first and went and stood out front, next to the porch. He came around the curve which was just in eyesight across the road from “Uncle Lark’s driveway. Lark Davenport’s was my Grandpa’s Uncle…his Mother’s brother and his farm sat across Long Branch creek from Grandpa’s house. The only way to get over there in a hurry was to walk the narrow little half log bridges that the two men had laid down across the fast running little creek in order to access each other’s house if the need arose. It rarely ever arose, but the logs were there just in case.
Daddy drove up the driveway and into Grandpa’s little parking space without any problems that day since it was dry…cold, but dry. It seemed like it was always cold in Blue Ridge that time of the year not matter what was happening elsewhere. We were in the “mountains” of Georgia…..the foothills of the Smokey Mountains which lay not too many miles away across the border into North Carolina.
I hugged my Dad, and my brother ran up to him and Daddy picked him up. Mom didn’t have much to say…things still very unsettled between them.
Grandma and I had been the ones to get the little Christmas tree a few days earlier. We had gone out into the woods and hiked around for quite a while, and found just a little old pine tree that looked nice. Grandma cut it down with the hatchet she had brought with her, and we took it back and Mike and I helped her decorate it. It was about the size of Charlie Brown’s little tree and Grandma had put it up on a table so that the lights could be seen…that one string of lights that she owned. There were maybe a dozen ornaments on it. It looked wonderful to me…as beautiful as any Christmas tree before or since. Grandma also hung our stocking from their mantle, on the far ends away from where the vent from the stove was. There were candy canes hanging around also, giving the old house a festive and fabulous look.
We always slept upstairs in the old house. Since the only source of heat in the house was a potbellied wood stove in the “living room” downstairs. During the cold Christmas weather we slept under 5 or six quilts upstairs. It was one of those situations where when you got warm, you didn’t move out of your “spot” If you moved over a foot, you would have to warm up that spot all over again. Most of the time you could see the fog from your breath, if you had your head out from under the covers. This was how we bedded down on Christmas Eve that year.
I never slept well on Christmas Eve. I always listened for Santa, but never quite heard him. Grandpa would always go “ho, ho ho” a couple of times, but I always knew it was him. He wasn’t fooling me. I heard the trunk of a car slam shut after we had been in bed an hour or so….then drifted off into a light sleep.
I heard Grandpa stoking up the potbelly stove about 5 am, and I waited the required 30 minutes or so until I knew the downstairs would be warm before I woke my brother up and we went running downstairs. All the grownups were already up and having coffee. Grandma already had biscuits in the oven, and we know that a delicious breakfast would soon be coming. Under the tree there were presents! In our stockings there was a plethora of oranges, apples, nuts, peppermint and other great hard candies. We could have our stockings but had to wait until after breakfast to tear into our presents.
We had three presents a piece from Santa, and one from Grandma and Grandpa. Four presents. In this day and age that would seem skimpy, but back then it seemed like more than enough. We place so much emphasis now on the number of gifts given, instead of the number of gifts given in love. There’s a big difference. I despise the TV commercial they have on nowadays with a woman called the “Gifter” whose only goal is to out give everyone else. That tells you where our society has gone.
This was the year I got a telescope, and Mike and I both got a “friction” stagecoach which shot sparks out the back when you revved it up. I also got a plastic “pinball machine” where you shot the balls up into the machine and see whether you get them to land in the highest number “slots”. I think I played that thing pretty much all day long that day. Grandma and Grandpa gave us some clothes of some kind, and I got a couple of new comic books. It was good…no, it was great.
Later on that day, the Uncles and Aunts, and numerous cousins came for dinner. Grandma’s little house was crowded to the gills. A lot of us ate dinner sitting out in the living room or even on the front porch. My cousins and I would find something to play or do after dinner. The food was nothing grand. I don’t remember if we had Turkey or roast beef. It really didn’t matter because Grandma could make anything taste good. I think later on that winter, we got iced and snowed in for over a week or so out there at the end of that old road. Grandpa had to shoot Robins for us to eat. They were delicious. When you’re hungry, I guess anything tastes good!
The air seemed to be filled with good will, good feelings and love that year. Later on, early in the spring we moved back home to Trion. Mom had gotten better, and our lives went back to normal…as normal as it could be in our family anyway. We continued to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s house pretty much every Christmas after that. Even after my wife and I married in 1969, we continued to make an annual Christmas trek to “the mountains” Certainly, even now when Christmas rolls around, I think of those days. The camaraderie, the food, the love that we all had for one another. Those were great Christmases, as are the ones we have now with all of our children and grandchildren. The common factor is family…and love, and remembering what Christmas is all about, not the presents, not the food or the games. It’s all about the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Merry Christmas everyone.

I’ve walked over 5000 miles, probably closer to 6000, according to this “Fitbit “ I wear since I started this daily ritual over three and a half years ago. I don’t know if it’ll extend my years any though.

I can’t remember back far enough in my childhood to remember when my Grandpa Jervis was any active man of any sorts. I remember having to live with my Grandparents for half a year when I was 10 years old, and Grandpa mostly just sat around in his chair and listened to his radio, and sang songs out of his songbooks, and smoked his pipe. Occasionally during that long snowy winter, he would drag himself, bad knees and all, out of his chair and go down to the woodshed and haul a wheelbarrow of wood or two up in front of the porch and toss it piece by piece over the porch rail onto the porch right next to the door. Bad knees, but nothing wrong with those strong arms.

That was 1960, and Grandpa was born in 1893, so…that woulda made him…67. Just like I am today.

I don’t smoke a pipe, and the radio is long gone. I love music, but don’t have any song books except Grandpa’s old ones that I salvaged. I don’t sit around all day anymore though. I hope I never have to.

Seven years ago on this day, I didn’t know it fully quite yet, but I was entering into the hardest two weeks, and then the hardest year of my life. Four bypasses are a tough haul. It’s certainly something my Grandpa never had to go through, and he lived to be 98, albeit the last several years, he was not “himself”. I don’t expect my body will carry me that far, but I’m certainly going to keep on walking, and hope I can get there.

I’ve still got a lot I want to do, grandchildren to watch grow, and junk I’ve collected that will take at least 20 years to get rid of. I have love I want to give, and stars in the sky which I haven’t yet seen.

I want to better understand this Universe in which we live, so that perhaps when I leave this little speck on which I live, I can enter into whatever comes afterwards in joy and not sadness.

I would like to do as we used to do when I was young and unknowing. Go off into the woods and saw down an old cedar tree and bring it into the house and decorate it.

Most of the time we’d go to Mr. Kellet’s farm, where we bought milk, and he’d let us cut one. Back when I was very young, eight or nine. The smell of those trees haunts my memory now, just as the happiness and innocence also haunts me. I knew nothing then of the world beyond my doorstep. I didn’t realize the terrible things going on out of my little inner circle.

But, they were out there. Not as obtrusive and as evident as they are to me now in this 73 rd year. But there nonetheless.

I watched my three little ones in their innocence and happiness this morning, and I wondered how life will play out for them. I’ll only be here for a portion of that, but I’m concerned. I know the things I have seen since my time as a child in the fifties as compared to today. Such a vast change. Such a different world. A sandpaper world now compared to my smooth white paper one.

Of all the unknown quantities which lay ahead for them, I cannot even guess. All I can do is love them, hold them, and let them know they are cherished now. So loved. Perhaps if they are able to retain some of those memories in the future, it will give them strength.

Just as I went down in the woods today to a spot where a little cedar tree was growing and put my face close to it and breathed in deeply…and momentarily was comforted. All would be right, all would be alright. Just for a moment.

The silent heroes are the people out there who continue to persevere in a normal way during abnormal times.

I give my children and their spouses credit for day in and day out continuing to do their jobs, make their livings and raise their kids. There are also so many others of you out there who are also doing the same thing.

You are doing it under the pressure of a constant barrage from media outlets, 24 hour television and radio sources, and from social media members whose only reason for getting online every day is to publish and hash and then rehash political issues, and to do so from an “our team versus your team” mentality, in order to elicit comments of the most vulgar and divisive, hateful, racist, homophobic, and mysogonistic kind. They feel their duty is not done if they cannot get some good old fashioned dirty name calling going. They are the meme creators who search for those one liners to “zing and sting the other side”.

I have admiration for some of my friends who have involved themselves in political races in a positive, above board manner. J.L. Biddle and LaNelle Kenney Holland come to mind here. They put hours of real honest footwork into helping in political campaigns, and did not become caricatures of themselves through social media dallying. There were others also from many campaigns who comported themselves honorably, where many did not. Believe it or not, their are honorable people on both sides of the chess board. There are people who care about people.

I read a quote this week about how Finland decided after WWII to make their humans….their humans, the most important asset their country possesses. They are rated the top country in the world. Not their corporations…they didn’t imbue their corporations with the rights of a person like the US has done. Not their financial institutions…they don’t worship Wall Street. Not their military. Not their government. Their humans….are their most important asset.

We must all continue to remember that even in the midst of storms we must protect those we love from harm. We must preserve the sense of normalcy. We can strive for change with all our might, but we cannot lose sight of the fact that things must keep on running. That is not to say we cannot do all we can to change the things that need to be changed while we are living our lives. “Life is what happens while are making other plans”. Let’s continue to make plans. Let’s communicate with each other, even if our views differ. Can we not do this without hating each other? People used to be able to.

I do not write this as an admonition, but as a hopeful request. I write it as a prayer for change, because although I am no longer a “religious” man, I am a believer in the philosophy that the good in people will win out over the evil. If you believe in the teachings of Jesus, then follow them. If you believe in the philosophy of other religions, then follow them. There is a basic good in all of them. If you are not religious, then help others who are to achieve a balance of life that benefits all of humanity. If we are to survive, we must achieve that balance.

I believe it is good to keep the current events in our world in the peripheral balance of our daily vision of living. I also believe our main focus must on those things that need to be done to keep the wheels turning.

In the Fellowship of the Rings there was something which was said that I think is pertinent: When Frodo tells Gandalph he wishes the bad things befalling him had not happened “in his time” Gandalph tells him, “so do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide….all they must decide is what to do with the time which is given to them”. And so must we.

The Dalai Llama says: it is under the times of greatest adversity that there exists the greatest potential for doing good, both for oneself and for others.

Remember to give the “cup of cold water” to those who thirst in the midst of your daily travels and your work, and you will not lose your reward.

I could go on and on, as you realize…but now is the time to dream, perhaps of a world in balance, and in peace.

My dream was that a hole appeared in the center of my bed, and I fell through….no…rather I was sucked into the hole and went down, down and down. Ever decreasing in size as I free fell through layers of reality, and universes of knowledge.

During that time, I learned everything there was to know, and forgot it all. Over and over again.

I went “splat” as I finally hit the “bottom” after plunging at high speed for what seemed to be an eternity

“Am I at the end?” I asked

“Yes” answered a tiny, almost imperceptible voice

“…but you’re also at the beginning” it boomed deafeningly.

And I woke up.

As much as I enjoy my morning forays through the neighborhood, my preference would be to walk in the woods…or along a path like the one in Ringgold which winds through the woods and alongside South Chickamauga creek. Some of my most cherished memories from my childhood are of the long, solitary walks I took in the woods around my Grandparent’s house.

I would go up behind their house one day, and hike the old logging roads that were long abandoned. You could smell the sweet rot of the stumps left behind, and hear the deer walking through the hardwoods just barely rustling a few leaves as they crept by. The squirrels, angry at my intrusion, would bark their shrill call at me wanting nothing more than for me to leave them and their peaceful existence.

I could go across the creek the next day and go beside my great Uncle Larks house and climb one of the trails up the side of Johnny mountain as far as I dared to go. There were rugged rocks on that mountain and I never made it to the very top. I come back down and roll up my pants legs and put my bare feet in the creek that ran in front of Grandpa’s house. Those were good days, and I had a lot of them. I’d always lallygag along, looking for arrowheads, or other interesting rocks, stopping often to sit on a log and just listen to the sounds around me.

I wondered as I walked this morning, how much longer I’ll be able to do it. I wondered at my age, what things do I really want?

I’d like to see another Winter’s snow, and be able to frolic around in it with my grandkids. I’d like to see another warm March day with the daffodils peeking their yellow heads out of the ground. I’d love to have another tomato sandwich from a vine that I grew, with Mayo and crispy bacon. Another Fall day, with golden and yellow leaves covering the mountainside. I’d like to see as many of those as I can. I’d really love to know that my grandchildren and their children will have a chance to enjoy the same things at some point in the future after I’m just a memory.

I wish that people would realize very soon that this Mother Earth we live on is not an inexhaustible resource. She is a very finite entity which is quickly being used up by the billions of humans who inhabit her. Used up and abused by those who value money over any other thing. By people who are not willing to forego a little convenience in order to give our descendants a chance at a life in the natural world. People who’s idea of nature is drinking some “Natural spring water”

I really hope humanity can produce some real heroes in the near future. I hope they can produce some leaders who care more about people, than about lining their pockets with “dirty money”. Maybe that’s a pipe dream. Maybe it’s never going to happen, knowing human nature. Maybe, just maybe it will though.

I’m going back out in the morning if I can, and every time I can…to chronicle what we have now. Photos may be all the future residents of this world may have one day to remember what “used to be”.

Of all the qualities which set human beings apart from the rest of humanity, there is our voice. It was this means of communication which allowed us to move beyond other species and become social animals.

Our voice allowed our ancestors to pass on instructions on how to do critical things to survive. We began to live less off of instinct and more off of experiences passed down from generation to generation. Language came long, long before the ability to write and so most knowledge was passed down by oral tradition. Since early man tended to live in familial situations, with tight family ties, language probably varied a lot, and then as families stretched out and became tribes the group adopted the most useable language form available to communicate within the entire group.

But, the anthropological aspect is not where I want to concentrate. It’s the spiritual and mystical aspect of the voice to which I wish to “speak”

I’ve had so many wonderful and unique voices which have inhabited the echoes of my mind. My Dad’s laugh…I can never get it far from my immediate memory. He laughed a lot and at a lot of things. He gave me a lot of advice with that voice. I took some of it, and some I wish I had taken. His voice was stilled in 2010.

My Grandfather Jervis’s voice. My voice is a mixture of his voice and my Dad’s, leaning more heavily towards his. He could sing from bass to tenor and I inherited a bit of that. I used to sit around in his living room and listen to him sing his “scales” “Do..do..do……do, ray, mi, fa, so, la, ti, do..do..do..” I got up in front of the congregation where my Grandpa was song leader when I was four years old and waved my hands around like I was conducting the choir. Nobody laughed or made fun of me. I was really proud of myself and I remember it so well. My Grandfather’s voice was stilled in 1991.

My Mom and my Grandmother had similar voices…and they were both worriers. I asked my Grandmother on her 100th birthday what she would have done different if she could go back and go it all over again. She simply said “I’d worry about things less, because all the worrying I did never changed nothing” Her voice was stilled in late 1999. I still dream of her quite often, most of the time in the kitchen. She’s always telling me: “I wouldn’t worry about that, Honey” she’ll say. I still worry…I guess I can’t help it, I get it from her and Mom. My dear Momma….she would always say “I love you” and too many times, “I’m sorry” for things which really were not her fault, not anybody’s fault, just fate and fate alone. Mom’s voice was also stilled in 2010.

In late 1999, I was really scared. The specialist had found a lump on my vocal cords and he was pretty sure it was cancer. I went into surgery wondering if I would come out with a voice…..would I come out with a hole in my throat and no voice. Turned out it was a big lump of scar tissue. I came out with my vocal cords, but it took a year a rehabilitation to even get back to regular talking, much less singing. I have had to be very careful since then. Some days are good, some days not so good. At least I still have that mechanism of communication to use with my family, my friends…(although sometimes I bet they wish I would shut up!)

My voice will be stilled one day, as have been the voices of all human beings who ever lived. I hope I have used it correctly…will use it better, and maybe there will be some memorable phrase “hanging in the air” for someone to remember me by.