Another Non-Solution

YET ANOTHER NON-SOLUTION TO HOMELESSNESS BY

 

MY RESPONSE TO YET ANOTHER NON-SOLUTION TO HOMELESSNESS

That's a cost of $200,000.00 per person. Only an unhinged government bureaucrat would be proud of that kind of financial performance. Unless every one of them is walking away with a bachelor's degree, a new car, and one hell of a down payment on their house... The Price is Wrong, Dow.

 Instead, what I see is about 70% of those funds going to social services cronies and their apparatchiks, and 420 homeless people right back where they are today 36 months from now.

 Let's face it. This homeless problem is not something new. If government could fix it they have had 30 years to do so, but it has only grown worse. Millions upon millions have been spent. Shelters built, funds, allocated, programs launched, and the results have been at best meager. There is a reason why your "visionary" plans have failed in the past, and it's precisely this very same reason why this "visionary" plan will invariably fail.

 Pay attention now…

1.  Homelessness has nothing to do with inadequate funding.

2. Homelessness has nothing to do with building support networks and shelters.

3. Homelessness has nothing to do with drug treatment, or mental health funding.

 These are all "Windmills" you have gone out to joust Dow Quixote because that is the mantra Liberals have maintained for 30 years. An endless choir of, "We need more money! We need more shelters! We need more drug treatment! We need more mental health funding!" We need. We need. We need.

 Still, you don't comprehend... It's not about you. It's not about what you need at all. It's about what they need, and that Dow Quixote is housing costs that are not increasing at up 10.6% to 14.2% per year every #@%$ing year.

 You see, Dow Quixote, while you have been doing your level best to ensure these kinds of astronomical property returns with your green spaces and habitats, tree plantings, and dense high tax yielding golden zones you have been creating the very condition that produces homelessness.

 Congratulations. You're a $100,000,000 failure!

 Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

 

Lee Paul Stark: That Damn Toilet

"As it was in the Beginning, so shall it be in the End."   - Matthew 24:37

It was all because of that damn toilet. None of this would have happened if not for that damn toilet backing up into the bathtub. The opening scene consisted of an old home, old plumbing, and well-seasoned motel manager muttering profanities under his breath every time he flushed. 

His name was Lee, and for weeks he woke up every morning hoping, praying, and finally cursing the problem to work itself out. Plumbing by profanity is a universally applied useful tool, which has a 100% failure rate, but maybe, just maybe, this time it would work. Predictably, it didn't. However, this particular persistent plumbing problem and the distinguished foul-mouthed gentleman name Lee constituted my miracle.

He was aggravated and impatient as he made his way across the parking lot to employ a more cooperative toilet for his morning constitutional. That's what Lee was looking for a more cooperative toilet. What Lee got instead was me. 

I'm somehow drawn, almost led to aggravated and impatient people. That's my superpower which directed me to Lee. 

"What's wrong, brother?" I asked.

"I've got a damn toilet that backs up into my bathtub every time I flush." Lee growled back.
"Well, I can fix it for you if you let me take a look."

Three hours later the problem was remedied, and five years later here I stand telling you about one of the most significant people in my life. One of the very few who not only helped me escape homelessness, but also facilitated me helping others still trapped behind. Like I said, "Lee constituted my miracle."

A toilet is a firm foundation on which to build a relationship, and so we built. It turned out that Lee and I had much in common: both of us raised in large cities, being instinctively argumentative, extraordinarily opinionated, and generally right about everything almost all the time, just to name a few. 

Then, there were the uniquely precious parts that were all Lee. He was a Jew from the Bronx raised in a kosher home. His lineage traced back to the Tribe of the Levites; Priests to the One True God.

His father was a hard-working man who wanted a better life for his boys. Lee's mother was a loving woman who loved her family more than anything else in this world. 

Lee had an old-school American childhood in the archaic days before cell phones. He told me how mothers in his neighborhood would communicate by shouting out the window, then relaying the message from building to building, down the block to its intended recipient. This old urban telephone network was called "Ma Yell". 

Back in these days of real community, if Lee or another child were caught doing wrong, any parent within sight had the obligation to tan the kid's hide as a down payment, then send them home to their father where the principle and interest on the beating came due upon receipt. Lee covered the cost on a number of these, almost always with good cause.

Lee was my mentor, my friend, my surrogate father, and a reminder of my own father because they told the same jokes… repeatedly.

I can count the fights between Lee and I on three fingers. All of them middle ones. All of them laid to rest long ago because none of them really mattered. None of them ever do. Between us and God there is only Eternity. That is what matters. That is the distance each of us will cross. Everything else is meaningless in comparison. Everything else is but ashes and dust.

Lee was one of the good ones. One of the dwindling The Greatest Generation few. One that I was not ready to let go, but now we all must because Lee has crossed Eternity. There Lee remains with our God. Here we remain for just a while longer. 

So, good-bye for now my friend. Until we meet again... you'll have to fix your own damn toilet.

Amen.

Lee is a Star

Homeless Courts: Nothing but the Truth

There's nothing like a bad idea to ease our conscience...

As an advocate, I do not approve of homeless courts. Anything which creates divisions, classes, or separations in a civilization is to its own detriment. All courts should be "problem" solving courts. All institutions should be "problem" solving institutions. Otherwise, those institutions serve no good purpose, and should be abolished. Homelessness is a part OF the community. Homeless courts recasts homelessness as apart FROM the community. Like Drug Courts, Family Courts, and the myriad other "single issue" Courts that have evolved over the years, Homeless Courts are divisive and counter productive. The Homeless Court removes from the public eye an entire segment of the community which suffers injustices before the law. This compartmentalization of jurisprudence normalizes the violence we do to one another behind the veil of law. How can we as a nation guarantee equality before the law when we have created a new court for every subgroup of our community?  

This legal separation feeds our mental schism which dictates, “Homelessness is someone else's problem. It’s those people's problem, not ours.” It is this very schism which has not only allowed homelessness to grow to epidemic proportions, but also fed the very flames of this wholey curable and certainly preventable personal, social, societal disease. 

I ask you, did homeless people do this?

No, it was not homeless people who bid housing prices up to astronomical levels. We did this. We are responsible for the growth in housing costs by many multiples of inflation. But, we do not want to face this TRUTH. We wish to avoid our problem by conveniently blaming the victims. Even more conveniently by segregating them, for their own good of course, into their own Homeless Courts we might never have to face the victims of our crimes against them. Most conveniently, we may continue our reckless race off the cliff of affordability unperturbed by the haunting eyes of those who could not keep pace with our pack of suicidal lemures. A Homeless Court is just another crutch allowing us to buy, buy, buy this illusion, this hallucination, this finance, insurance, and real estate induced frenzy. 

We have yet to comprehend another TRUTH: When you create enough people with nothing to lose, you will lose much. While housing costs are headed towards the stratosphere, we as a civilization are careening towards this rock hard TRUTH.

In this election season, while candidates are handing out free everything from college loan forgiveness to reparations for injustices not suffered, try to remember that while freedom IS, in fact, free deficit spending and the mindless pursuit of ever appreciating property values ain't. 

Our children will pay the costs of our recklessness, and some day we will be called into account before the much HIGHER COURT of the GREAT LAWGIVER.

Silence is Consent Pt. - 2

Silence is Consent Pt. - 1

Another Choice

Those of us with a home have choices to make as well. Ours are more plentiful, more rewarding, more desirable, and perhaps more far reaching than we know. We live a Universe where effect follows a cause. This is causation, not correlation. Sometimes we lose sight of how our Causes lose sight of their effects. That which seems beneficial or even essential can lead us down destructive paths, and the final destination may have sweeping consequences for others. Choices.

We make them everyday.  What to eat. What to wear. Choices. Inconsequential.

Who runs our government. Who sets our policies. Who controls our global financial system. Who delineates right from wrong. Choices. Monumental.

Often, we can't tell the difference between these two magnitudes of our choices. We are focused myopically on one aspect to the detriment of all others. Many times we are told one facet is the only one that matters. Sometimes this may be true. Many times the tunnel vision offered is less than full disclosure.

Our Causes lose sight of their effects. Still the desire to be part of something greater than one's self remains. A biological exploit to be harnessed for good or for evil. Each must choose. Each.

A Choice

When I was on the streets, not so long ago, I was broke, and no one in their right mind would hire a homeless man. I filled out applications by the dozens per day.  Every one of that was reviewed on the spot by a decision maker played out in the same way. I watched my prospects vanish when they read the third line of the application.

Date: 6/23/15
Name: Michael D. Unemployed
Address: Homeless

That third line answer meant they would never make it to the fourth line. Their expression would sour and turned their flesh to stone. There was no coming back from there, because there was no there there.

It didn't matter if it was the least demanding job requiring no qaulifications, I was under qualified by line three. Being homeless was a counter qualification, a negative skill set, the kiss of death. I could have been Henry Ford, the next Rockefeller, or Jeff Bezos, but my homelessness made me persona non grata. Interview interruptus.

I could have stopped right there. Got stuck right there. Rolled my sleeves down and put my hand out as so many of us do. The world isn't fair, so we'll just wait for someone to make it so. It's easy or at least less humiliating in the short run. The very short run. Then, ten years get behind you and you look back and realize it's been a decade of your disgrace. Your life was traded for an existence no one would choose, but you accepted by default. It's yours. Your life. Your fault. Others may have had their bit parts, but you're you full time.

I won't claim that I had some special quality or higher moral standard that differentiates you and I because that would be a lie. In a few words you'll see how preposterous such a claim would be. What I had was a crazy idea. It was crazy idea that started with a petty crime.

How many really bad stories start out with that common miscalculation? They usually end with someone dead on the floor and the perpetrator trying to explain the corpse away with intentions.

By the Grace of a Loving and Merciful God, and with me working against Him to my utmost, I went into a local drug store and shoplifted a pack of post-it notes. Then, I compounded my offense by nabbing a pen from a bank drive-thru. I wrote, "For odd jobs call Mike and put my Obama phone number at the bottom of the Post-it note. Repeating that process fifty-nine more times. I went out and affixed those sixty Post-it notes to an equal number of doors. That evening I got three calls. One was to cut a man's lawn for twenty-five dollars. Two days later I was helping to remodel his house.

When he paid me for cutting the lawn, I walked back into that drug store, slapped a five dollar bill on the counter in front of the clerk, said, "That belongs to you", and then exited quickly. He probably thought I was nuts.

My point is if no one will give you a job, you can make one. The world is full of people and people have needs. If you can fill one or more of those needs, then you can make a job.

You have a choice.

For my Son (On the Day)

What it Takes

What it takes to be the father (or mother) of a homeless community.

It takes a willingness to wake up at all hours of the night and answer the call because someone is hungry and needs to eat now. It takes the devotion to answer the door because someone has literally shit their pants and needs to get cleaned up and changed now. It takes the fortitude to treat the sick who are afflicted with a nauseating abscess. It takes Love.

It takes the patience to accept being lied to in a calculating manner by someone who is selfish and manipulative as hell, and still loving them. It takes far more patience than you will be afforded. It takes far more patience than you thought you had. You have it, just be patient and you'll see. It takes the courage to tell the truth especially when you’d rather not. It takes the humility to say, “I don’t know the answer.” It takes the dogged determination to find out. It takes the judgment to tell the difference between an important task and a fool’s errand. It takes Love.

It takes the ability to put whatever you're doing aside because someone has hit rock bottom, even if you know they haven’t seen anything that solid. It takes the certitude that God does not create garbage even if they are dressed and smell the part. It takes the ability to ascertain someones physical, mental, spiritual, and chemical disposition at a glance. It takes the ability to care more about someone than they care about themselves. It takes Love.

It takes a lot of time.  It takes a lot longer than you planned. It takes a lot longer than that. Way longer still. This is not an hourly employees position. It's a vocation and it pays in the end. You'll see, just be patient. It takes responding at a moments notice. It takes the ability to make definite plans with someone who will not show up even though you will. It takes a firm hand with a gentle touch. It takes respect for the disrespectful, trust in the untrustworthy, and hope for the hopeless. It takes the serenity to watch the same mistakes being made over and over again and trying to get them to see those mistakes over and over again. Maybe they will. Probably not, but we don't give up because they are not hopeless if were the one hoping for them. It takes care without ulterior motives or an agenda. It takes the ability to connect with someone others wouldn’t dare approach. It takes an open heart and an open wallet because in the final accounting you’re on your own. It takes Love.

It takes a deep respect for humanity and an even deeper respect for the human being. It takes listening to a lot of very smart, very respectable, and very well off people telling you that you’re wasting your time, and then ignoring them because you still know they’re wrong. It takes the rare quality to see quality where others only count quantity. It takes a definitive knowledge of where your job ends and God’s job begins, and always respecting that line. It takes Love.

It takes a significant number of cigarettes numbering in the tens of thousands. It takes great risk to your emotional well being. It takes the perseverance to bury a child and then move on because the others need your care. It takes lots of Love.

It takes a certain (particular) and certain (assured) form of mental illness we call PARENTHOOD. It takes Love. That is what it takes to be the father (or mother) , of a homeless community, which is exactly the same skill set it takes to be a parent. The difference is one you choose and the other… chooses you, and the success ratio is a hell of a lot thinner.

The unqualified need not apply.

The one and only benefit you can count on is when you arrive at the gates of Heaven you need only say, "It's me" and they will open. They will open.

My Response to Their Response

The King County Executive, Mayor, community leaders announce unified homelessness response...

(If you enjoy yawning, watch the video. If you're interested in the truth skip to my response below.)

Stop treating homelessness as if it were a normal condition. As if,homelessness on an epidemic scale has always been a fact of life like death and taxes and there is nothing we can do about it except manage the symptoms. If worldwide homelessness were a disease it would be on scale with HIV, or malaria, or syphilis infections. In the United States alone, the self-proclaimed richest country on Earth, homelessness has spread to as many people as Hepatitis B worldwide. Here, in our very own King County, homelessness afflicts 20% more lives than those claimed by schistosomiasis globally each year. 

Full Stop! 

Here are the truly alarming statistics: 

Homelessness is nearly 100% Preventable and Curable. 
However, when treated as merely treatable, it spreads.

Here is the regrettable truth about our condition, Dow... 

We like to talk a lot about doing something about homelessness because we must appear socially conscious. We blather on about the corrosive effects of homelessness on children, women, veterans, and the mentally challenged. We collect and collate data. We attend symposiums. We design graphs and charts to illuminate the statistics. We write and publish papers in psychology, sociology, and social issues journals. We accumulate continuing education units in classes on how to identify and treat the symptoms of homelessness. Some even go so far as to post their new approaches to homelessness on social media. 

However, when it comes to actually doing something to eradicate homelessness rather than just treating the symptoms... *Insert the sounds of crickets chirping here* 

Why? 

Well, Dow, you and I know that the only way to really end homelessness is… homes. The title of our disease contains the cure. It’s not really hidden either. It’s the first four letters of the pathogens name. But home is a four letter word for people like you because the more you build, the more property values drop. The more property values drop the faster those voters with property will throw you out of office for destroying their huge over inflated real estate investment bubble they call HOME. That four letter word that stuffed with urban sprawl land restrictions, green spaces, habitat and forest protection, sustainability strategies, public spaces, and draconian zoning restrictions coupled with exclusionary property taxes to pay for it all! 

FOUR LETTER WORD, Dow. Four letter word. 

Anything else is more HOMEless.

Mostly Poor, Generally Miserable, and Statistically Short

Why you’re going to be mostly poor and generally miserable for the rest of your statistically short adult life...

Unaffordable housing isn't a "norm", nor should it be. Unaffordable housing is a red flag. Now that I think about it, unaffordable housing is not just one red flag. Unaffordable housing is more red flags than a Communist Party parade. All those red flags are signaling a problem, but rather than solve that problem we're all busy managing symptoms. Symptoms which we think, because we are told, are separate problems. They aren’t. They're just symptoms of the one real problem. Yup, there’s only one of those, but we’re not being told that. So, we don't hazard to think it. 

Hang on. I’m going to tell you about it right now. The problem which caused the housing shortage symptom and a bunch of other serious social "ills" (all symptoms of the one real problem) is a change in our social structure. The change which manifest so many serious symptoms that we've confused them with problems, in themselves. The one real problem we have is we recently abandoned the ancient human lifestyle of "Three Generations to a Home" starting about three generations ago.

Suddenly,

1. Housing is unaffordable by default

2. Elder care costs have become a new cumbersome budget item.

3. Our elderly parents are routinely placed at risk of being abused or ignored to death in nursing home 
institutions.

4. Child care becomes yet another massive personal budget item requiring government assistance.

5. Our children are taught values by strangers rather than family.

6. As a result of #5, XBox and gang-banging become lifestyle choices for our kids. 

7. Meanwhile, as a result of all the above SYMPTOMS, we get to spend years of our lives standing in line trying to get some government housing, child care, and/or elder care assistance which is guaranteed to keep us in chains for the rest of our days.

 8. If we are fortunate enough to buy a home, we’re going to have to work a lot more hours to cover all the bills. This means more child care costs and as a result, more X-Boxing/ Gang-Banging kids. Note to self: Figure Bail money into monthly budget… somehow.

All these SYMPTOMS are spawned of our abandoning the ancient human lifestyle of "Three Generations to a Home". The solution is not more or bigger government assistance checks. That, my human friends, is the road we took to arrive at this place of despair. What we need to do is solve the problem by living like humans again: Three Generations to a Home", because it works and always did. 

We used to know this. We forgot. It’s time to remember again. It’s time to remember how to live like humans. It’s time to remember how to live our humanity rather than enhancing our morbidity through bankruptcy.

The future is our past or we're all history.

It’s time to go home to humanity.

IGNORANCE

IGNORANCE comes in all colors, all shapes, all sizes, all religions, all sciences, all genders, and all worldviews.


IGNORANCE is an equal opportunity employer.


IGNORANCE can appear as progress, brilliance, forward thinking, and every other good thing.


IGNORANCE is a virulent pathogen which can infect the strong, weak, young, and old alike.


IGNORANCE will expose everything about everyone to hide the carnage in its heart.


IGNORANCE is a master at deception.


IGNORANCE is aware of everything and everyone.


IGNORANCE knows how to fix both.


IGNORANCE is a murderer with a just cause: Just (Be)Cause.


IGNORANCE is aware of everyone and everything... except itself.


Now, you are no longer ignorant of IGNORANCE.



Be aware and beware IGNORANCE, especially in yourself.

The Brand

They said it was necessary.
It wouldn't hurt much.
Over in a bit.
Then you will know happiness, and
finally gratitude.
It's a simple, clear-cut procedure with 
science to back it up.
Just a little snip between the hemispheres
a tiny little cut.
Now...
Now...
Everything is forever now.
No future to look forward on.
No past to look back through
Now...
Now...
I can't even remember you
Who said it was needed
I was an unacceptable mess
One cut away from being my best
Now...
Now...
Everything is now.
That moment of gray
When the colors left
Life became existence 
at my very best.

Earthbound Angels

Always remember, with or without wings we all have the ability to become Earthbound Angels. 

Act accordingly and it will be so.

Andy, I'm sorry.

I never really liked the kid.
I suppose, I never took the time to like him.
He wasn't the kind of kid that was easy to like.
He had problems.
We all have problems, but Andy’s problems were different;
more extreme, less tolerable, more numerous, and less solvable.
So, he never put effort towards solving them. Life isn’t fair, so what’s the use?
Victim or victimizer… those were his choices.
Andy made a choice.


I never liked the kid or his choices.
He had a way of making his problems the problems of others.
If someone wronged Andy, he would complain bitterly to any who would
offer a shoulder to cry on.
A shoulder placed him within reach of his next victims throat.
That was Andy's indirect method of problem distribution.
His direct method was far more insidious and destructive to his victims.





Andy lacked empathy.
Empathy is the natural whisper within that urges us to,

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

Empathy allows us to feel another sentient being's pain, joy, loss, sorrow, and victory.
Without shimmering empathy, people like Andy are very hard to like.
We “speak” empathy on the spiritual, social network Nepesh.

(Go ahead and click it or you'll miss the whole point, just like Andy. Remember, it's an action, not a thing!)

Empathy was gibberish to Andy.
The whisper from deep within 
which restrains us from barbarism 
and all other valedictorian studies 
at the Serpent school fell silent. 
His sins became more egregious, 
more irritating, and without a doubt, 
less forgivable in the world of the Living. 
He was a corpse. 

Someone planted a feral seed 
in Andy the victim. 
That crooked sprout tormented the boy 
in which it took root. 
Given darkness and time, 
rage and age metastasizes like cancer. 
Changing victim into victimizer.
Before the Bitter harvest could reach maturity, 
some tried to intervene 
by battering, disciplining, or transforming 
the foul maturing fruit. 
Others tried to sweeten the nectar 
from within and through Nepesh, 
but Andy’s isolation fire-walled intimacy. 
Love finds no safe harbor, 
only embargo by a swift and strong unnatural Defense. 
Strength through Power projected, fabricated Strength.

Down, down the spiral, 
a victim steps into the skin of perpetrator 
to seize a crown by force.
Force through fabricated, overrated Strength.
Power; his lost crown.
Down, down into Darkness go.
Into battle go.
Pierce the flesh below.
Hunted is now the hunter.

A veteran blooded by his own… blood 

and of those who lingered near his cold, dark hollow.
A forlorn bunker home once made of flesh.
The space where he was armored 

and invulnerable to all those alien feelings. 

Feelings not his own.
His castle had been like ours, 

just more sullen, ever thinning, and dimming.
Isolation is a mindset, 

and his mind was set in twisted iron and jagged concrete long ago.

He was a castaway 

and sole survivor of a tragic shipwreck 

He began as crew and eventually took the helm.
But his vessel had taken on water, 

tattered sails, and an empty galley.
He was weighed down, dragged down. 

He couldn’t catch a following wind 
with his best attempts.
He was always hungry.
Starved ravenous to the point of madness.
Nothing could fill that breach.
Everything could not fill that chasm.


I never really knew the kid, 
and I never made the effort to know him.

If I had, would it have made a difference 
in the course he set?

I will never know, 
because he took his own life the other night.
That was the last choice he made 
and my first regret 
concerning Andy.

No one spoke his praise,
No one bore his tears,

and no one noticed that his cold, dark hollow
was empty. 

Andy, I'm sorry.

A Friend of God

In this Christmas season, I took the time to reflect on Christ. I know it sounds antiquated. The modern permutation of Christmas is just good old-fashioned consumerism and buying shit we don't need with money we don't have to impress people we don't even know. This is in deep contrast to the original Christmas concept celebrated by the Faithful of Rome in Fourth century (336 AD, if you must know). Christmas wasn’t the High and Buy, Buy, Buy Holiday it is today. Epiphany took top billing until the Ninth century.

Don’t press eject on me yet. This is not going to be a dry, scholarly piece because I simply don’t know how to write like a scholar. I won’t bore you with the etymology of the word "Christmas" which reads,

"Christmas" is a shortened form of "Christ's mass.” It is derived from the Middle English Cristemasse, which is from Old English Crīstesmæsse, a phrase first recorded in 1038 followed by the word Cristes-messe in 1131.  Crīst (genitive Crīstes) is from Greek Khrīstos (Χριστός), a translation of Hebrew Māšîaḥ (מָשִׁיחַ), "Messiah", meaning "anointed"; and mæsse is from Latin missa, the celebration of the Eucharist. The form Christenmas was also historically used, but is now considered archaic and dialectal."

If you wanted that crap, you could just as easily copy and paste it from Wikipedia, as I just did. Technically, I didn't bore you with that etymology, it was Wikipedia's responsibility following modern logic. While you consider your misdirected anger, I was reflecting on Christ, the demystified, "commonized" son of the Galilee He would have appeared at first glance.

What was He like during an "average day" for an off duty Messiah? Perhaps, sitting around a campfire and drinking from wine skins with the Disciples He knew more as friends than the revered apostles we are familiar with. What did He do in his downtime when there were no demons to drive out, Pharisees to school, or crowds in need of ministering? Did they sit under a shady palm near the Sea of Galilee and joke with one another? They must have.

Did Jesus have a dry wit, or was he more of a Soupy Sales kind of Savior? Did he ever annoy the Disciples with a “made you look” variety of inside joke? He would have been the best at this kind of humor.

Look Elijah! Made you look! 

Come forth Abraham! Made you look! 

Get behind me Satan! Made you look!

You can see my point.

All humor aside, what did Jesus see when He looked into His friend’s eyes? Did he see them in the present they shared or the road He was putting them on which would lead directly to their deaths? Probably both and everything else, as well. Try to get your head around that one. Relationships are hard enough for us, and we only have our own biased views of the past to contend with.

What games did they play together, or did they? What were the Disciples aspirations for the future? How did Jesus demonstrate love for His friends who, by outside appearance, were peers? Did Jesus cook? What were his hobbies? What of His silent childhood years ?

The Bible gives us no clues regarding the answers to my questions. The private friendships between the Disciples and the Master, like Jesus’ childhood years, will remain secret. It belongs to them alone, but I wish I could have shared in this  experience. Don't you?

As I contemplated these things, it occurred to me, in the way traffic accidents occur with screeching breaks and whiplash impact:

Christians are supposed to be in that very kind of friendship relationship with Christ and each other.

1. We are connected to one another by Christ.
2. He is our most trusted friend
3. We are His disciples and He is our Master
4. As we travel through life, we are to spread the Gospel.
5. We can even sit under a shady palm near the Sea of Galilee and talk to Him, providing you can cover the airfare. 

Yet, Christians do not share this relationship with one another. We quibble and fight over one minuscule point or another. We are ready to kill over the placement of a comma. Isn’t our God bigger than these things and everything else? Isn't true Faith trusting God to do the heavy lifting? It was called GOOD NEWS for a reason, wasn't it?

Instead, shouldn’t we be emulating our God by trying to become as forgiving as He is?
As loving as He?
As tender as He?
As trustworthy as He?
and everything else we consider Holy and Righteous?
Shouldn’t we?

Look at me, I am...
Made you look!

Have a very Merry Christmas to all and know that I Love you,

Michael

The Unmentionable

We have no word in any language for the sorrow which engulfs a man upon the loss of his partner. We do not give a name to that which we most dread. Although Zoe and I were divorced when she left us, I have spent many of my days in that terrible unnamed place where you are now. What Jean and all the rest of us need you to know right now is that you are not alone in this darkness and there is Light ahead.

All my Love,
Michael

Metanoia

Here, we are born on this misshapen sphere of water, rock, and molten iron careening through a mindbogglingly vast chasm containing little more than a faint microwave echo of a colossal explosion 12.75 billion years ago. Here, we are given a myopic sliver of history and cultural customs tightly bound within sacred rules and rituals painstakingly preserved on fragments of decaying vegetable fiber and told, “This is who we are, what we do, how we do it, and why. This is what we kill and die for, cheat, swindle, and lie for. This is us.”

I tell you there is something far more in store for you, and you, and you too, if you but Love. Love fiercely. Love invincibly, unabashedly, unstoppably, furiously, eternally. Love without measure, without remorse, without fear of loss. Love and never count the cost. Love.

Here and now, this is who we are. This is what we do. This is how we do it and why. Because on this tiny fragment of minerals filled with vegetables and animals speeding through the frigid bled we rose to our feet and shouted to the Heavens, “We can never Love too much and I Love all of you. Every last one of us. We are them. They are us. I am you. You are me too. We Love all of you!”

This is who we are. This is what we do. This is who... I AM... LOVE. So are you.

A Silence for a Seven

I haven't posted anything for seven months because I have had no need or desire to do so. While the Spirit has remained, the words that burn from the inside which can only be extinguished by the flow of ink on paper have been silent... until today.


The loss of Art hit me much deeper than I would have expected had I considered the prospect of his passing eight months ago. Aside from the reality vs. concept aspect of his death, it was the shock, the guilt, and the anger that tore into me. Art was eighty and that is about the life expectancy for an American man on the actuarial tables, but no matter how statistically foreseeable and mathematically probable his loss may be, I was still deeply shaken. 

Perhaps, I realized that Art and I shared the same "Immortality Project"(1), volunteering at our local food bank. So, if Art's Immortality Project failed, which it obviously did at his time of death so would mine in time. 

Maybe, it was that Art was a big part of my motivation to jump out of bed on Monday morning. 

Maybe, I just loved the old coot. 

Seven months later, I remain undecided, but I have found the Faith that God knows and this is sufficient.

Over then course of these past months, I've been afforded the opportunity to explore these feelings of guilt and anger. Understanding such feelings when they are understandable is not only a journey within oneself, but an exploration of those "deep waters" in which we all swim. When we return from our journey, we are better equipped to help others navigate their own deep waters. Here is what I found many fathoms down...

• THE GUILT was pervasive because I should have been more aware of his persistent cough. I could have asked him about his heart a week earlier. I know that a persistent cough often precedes a heart attack. I could have done or said something. I failed. 

That's me applying for the part of God, and feeling guilty for not getting the job.

• THE ANGER, that's so common I shouldn't have to explain. It makes me angry just considering how damn angry I was, and it's not soothing in the least that I have to confront it rationally right here, right now. 

That's me being mortal and at the core of my mortality lay my rage for not being more than an ordinary man. 

My good relationships, like the one I shared with Art, should last forever because that's exactly how I plan them. Don't you? 

So, when we hit a terminus that shouldn't be there, we get angry. It wasn't in our plan. That's the plan we're following. Aren't you?

But...It's God's Plan and we are just a mortal men and women. Here is the place where we must find the Faith to trust in a God who knows what He is doing and this is sufficient.

A Perfect God has a Perfect Plan. We don't have a competitive product, but that's not how we behave. As the Apostle Paul wrote many failed plans ago...

What remains is Faith, Hope, and Love. 

That's the raw materials that we have to work with. Prescience, flawless planning, and deft execution are not among them.

Faith, Hope, and Love. That's all we have and that is sufficient. 

Faith that God has His Hand in our every breath. Which He does. 

Hope that we will see the Resurrection of the living ad the dead.

Love for our God and one another. We should plan and perform a lot more of that because we'll be spending eternity together.

Art is one mighty step closer to the Almighty and that, my friends, is the purpose of His Plan and our Path. 


Now, We move on.




(1) Thanks to Ernest Becker for the concept