A THIRD DIMENSION

Diamond shaped   sun spots gleefully dance off

the leaves of tiny red maple trees hidden amongst an incongruous

 grove of evergreens and spindly apple trunks.

What is the source of  the shining  in this

dark, ancient forested glade?

 Is anyone watching?

The light is intense yet calming: an unusual mixture of yellow and peach:

Streaming singularly onto the red maples.

A targeted light…. In the midst of a canopy covered park.

Rational explanations are fleeting, nonsensical,.

The mind gropes for reason in this place which is neither explainable or touchable.

The light produces no shadows.

 Hmm.

You’ve seen this before… imaginary time travels in the recent past.

Only here, in this place.

No where else.. A light transforming a nondescript crop of trees.

In real time.. Who else has been here? 

Transforming it into what? When were you here? Why?

Herded on the margins of an industrial park with semis hurdling by.

The remnants of the Illinois – Michigan canal leaking at the margins.

Six pack cartons and rumpled newspapers mingle along wire mesh  fencing.

This package of green sprouts from no where.. A mixture of the expected

growth of the great plains and the plants from somewhere else.

In another time.. another dimension.. another zone. 

Dare I wander further ?  What light will suddenly  challenge the senses?

Soundless

Directionless

Lost yet no fear ..  the bouncing light produces a god like calming ..or does it?

Touch the light – there is an absence of shadows:  only a radiance.

Want to be transported to another place ? Another time? Another medium?

Does the voice in our mind come from the light? Or is it our imagination.

We have been here before.  Life is repeating itself – or is our mind taking a risk?

There must be  a source of the light… Why is it only focused on this small strand

of trees? 

Knees knocking: pulse accelerating: pants wet with urine: we grind our teeth.

We are captivated, scared, intrigued.  Is there another dimension beyond time

and space as we know it?  Heaven is unexplainable  until death.  Is there

a mystical universe for the living?  Do we really want to know? 

Should we take the risk of freeing ourselves? Who is talking to us through this

focused light source – God or the Devil? OR a third entity?

A beam of light captures our imagination

The Ocean – Our Connection with the Past and Future

Change supposedly occurs at an ever increasing rate:

Name most any aspect of society, peer around the corner

Take a deep breath, and realize that what you see, read,

and experience today is invariably a transitional event.

Almost;\:

Greeks, Romans, Brits,  Americans : there is a common thread.

Peruse paintings, sculpture, music, the legends of mythology,

The tales of folklore and vacation guides. 

Inclusively all have a fascination with the observation of, and

attempt at some mental level to understand the oceans and seas.

Today, in our so called “fast paced society”, where our limited attention

spans are derided and mocked,  a ropeline with the past remains.

The god given mysteries of the oceans remain.

What is it?

The constant roar of incoming surf?

                The reflections and inflections of sun,  clouds?

                The inexorable movement of water as it comes ashore?

                The peering for wildlife and fish as they fleet before us?

Sound simplistic? Yes.

However, there is a fascination with bodies of water which

Spans centuries of time.

Is it our fascination with a connection to our ancestors

Knowing they too have pondered the same mysteries?

In these times of pausing while astride a beach chair do we

Discover something new about who we are and where we originate?

It is nature’s way of encouraging even the most hardened among us

To pause and consider how powerless we can be when compared

With the giants of creation?

Yes, the grey haired octogenarians sip margaritas while staring

Over the horizon to horizon expanse of the Atlantic Ocean .

They have spent many days over the years in lawn chairs, with a

favorite book or newspaper in hand, oblivious to the rigors of the

outside world.

The ocean their protector and inspiration.  Their connection with

generations passed from the long ago land of their ancestors.

THE VALUE OF DOING NOTHING

Space, emptiness, a void,

The endless expanse of something or nothing

A universe which grows with each new interstellar discovery

Astronomers and the Hubble add new dimensions to our

Understanding of planets millions of light years distant.

Man’s historical search to understand the world of nothingness

Continues unabated.

 

There is a joyful  symmetry to be explored, relished and celebrated.

Precise measurement and quantification are discussed.

Philosophers, mathematicians, astronomers, seers of all cultures

Burn incense, meditate in solitude, develop Cray computers.

All searching for that nebulously defined Something.

Are we searching for other planets?

Or attempting to grasp the universal meaning of “nothingness”?

 

As cycle of nothingness and everything begins at the moment of conception

And meanders universally through the life cycle for everyone – everywhere.

Human nature’s seed of purpose germinates in us always.

Determined that we have a purpose, mission and goal : Defined and quantified.

Yet the simplest of human actions, the most easily recognizable action

May be the human need for nothingness. The need to watch the clouds

Emerge and disappear, to hear the unending roar of the surf: to emulate

The playful chatter of the birds in the swamps.

Nothingness ..

the speed of going forward from day to day at 0 g forces.

Enables  us to look around, enjoy nature’s wonderments: to create music, art,

to help the less fortunate.

 

This nothingness- inner peace is given to us and celebrated  when we pass on at the end

of life.

Do nothing – let our minds wander, expand, and contribute to the world in

– we only travel this road one time.

Mother’s Living Tribute – May it Last for the Ages.

In their 70’s they  flew  via United Airlines  from

Philadelphia to Chicago.  A long journey for novice travelers.

The windy city with its combo  of noise and rushing

business commuters brushed past the elderly,

bent back, nervous yet determined travelers  fighting their

way up the cramped and strange jet way tunnel.

Grandma smiled her best hello… this was indeed her  trip of

a lifetime.

A WWII veteran who saw worst of the worst  with death

around him as the  blood of comrades covered the flight deck in the

South Pacific, Bud protected  the love of his life, jaw set forward, the right

arm tattoo displaying USN on his formidable right forearm. A proud

member of the greatest generation, he was on a mission.

They had come to Wisconsin to catch a glimpse and share hugs

with their wanderlust son and family.  What indeed was this state

known for cheese and beer really like?  Would they be safe, and protected,

after the challenges of Warsaw and Eastern Europe.

The plains had given up a dairy farm for a modest housing development.

Large grass yards welcomed the strangers ..not common in the East.

Strikingly absent on the flat barren plains were trees to welcome guests

and protect one from the harsh winters they had read about .

“ A sugar maple, Bob”..   you need a sugar maple in the front yard .. What can

one say but “ Yes. Mom:

And so we sweated and groaned and dug a circular hole in the virgin sod.

Always in command, Bud’s brow spewed forth sweat from deep inside. His

arthritic, gnarled hands would not be denied.  Ruth stood close by,a silent

sentry observing the two men in her life working in union.

Always the perfectionist wanting the best for her family.

OK Ruth? Bud queried:

 Dirt splotched travel pants awash with perspiration  and pride.

Knowing he had done his very best, and that was indeed very good.

The roots of the sugar maple spread and dug deeper as years passed: 

the winters had no impact: 20’, then 30’tall., “Mothers Tree as it is known to

our family  is a tribute for the ages.  Pictures sent across the miles answered

her annual question – how is my tree doing?

The steel gray clouds of winter, dripping with snow and ice envelope this silent

sentry.   A reminder of the interlocking hands of human kind and nature.  As

she slides into darkness in her last days, the ever vigilant silver maple wards

off all who would do her harm. 

The chimes  strung out on the tree’s underbelly  resonate with tones which call

 out for peace and serenity.  The maple projects strength and silence  with an

inner perseverance given to   few among us.  A shelter to all who crossed her

threshold, mother is now the ward of this decades old tree: a gift of thanks

from our Maker.

Mother’s Tree —  my mom’s unknowing gift to remind us each and every day of

 who she was and where she is going.   

Hug your mom while you have the chance.

WHAT DO I LIVE FOR?

Consider this an invitation.

A request fo your attention.

A suggestion for pre winter searching.

Perhaps today is perfect to think the extraordinary.

A time to consider a concept worthy of both the

practical minded and the executive philosopher.

A question  not original in nature,

Responses are most likely unique to an individual, your

culture, values and  the circumstances of our current life.

This is a welcome to let your mind rest .

To expose in the privacy of your inner self

A concept which, quite frankly, we dismiss in the names

of the frenetics  of Black Friday and NFL Sunday.

All that is needed for this journey is time, patience and honesty.

Time .. to spend wisely and without regard for what comes next

on your daily agenda

Patience.. the decision to stop the on rushing train of decisions to

be made: to reconsider the 1^st responses: to believe in yourself

Honesty.. face in the mirror.. feedback of your voice, your utterances,

your beliefs.

TPH – our anagram for today.

The spelunking of the mind takes us into a cave filled with awe and wonder.

A place rarely visited.. yet cherished  if we choose to take the

opportunity and challenge to visit. 

There is a sense of welcome,  a beckoning to move aside the

Exterior layers of  façade which keep us focused on day to day events

But prevent us from pulling aside the stony walls which hide our inner selves..

There it is  a sign at the crossing of two streams deep in the cavern.

One points -> My usual response.

The second->  Take a risk inside of your self.

The second leads us to today’s  query ‘ WHAT DO I LIVE FOR”.

  Hint – This is not about “motivation”, or “drive”,

Deep down , on an intensely personal and profound level.

WHAT DO I LIVE FOR?

Money,  clothing, trips to the Bahamas ?  –really?

Is materialism the deepest level of who you are – of why you are here?

To make the world a better place?

To create a safer place than our parents knew?

To make my spouse happy?

 To discover the meaning of life?

Whatever response you choose – it should evoke visceral feedback.

Your inner voice should be yelling – YES! That is why I am here.

Ever share this with some one who matters to you?

Not that you know – what can you do with this profound insight

That YOU gave yourself permission to discover and now cherish?

We know that some of you share these writings with your spouses and friends.

This is a terrific topic – WHY ARE WE HERE?

Rest and consider " What do I live for"?

CARING FOR OUR FLOCK

A faint bell ringing in the distance. Faint and repetitive.

One scans the rocky, sparse, rolling knolls of Jordan

Keepers of hundreds of years of history

Dedicated to the  throne of the Hashemites for generations.

What is this sound in the midst of the fog and aloneness

of suburban Amman?

The hillside reveals  a lone shepherd, his dog, and a herd of sheep.

Second generation walking stick, shoulders bowed, proud gait in his step.

Walking to distant pastures for grazing. Skillfully avoiding scattered stones and

craggy hillsides.

The well bred brown and white colored dog running and yelping, a canine with

 a purpose.

As is the herdsman… a man on a mission.

No iphone, or SUV, or modern technical contrivances.

A shepherd for all seasons?  A man, dog and herd with obvious personal

relationships.

The  aura of their chemistry is visible to the most casual observer.

Miles away along the Jordan1an  hillsides are the camps of thousands

of political refugees..some living there for generations.

Where a bare existence is eeked out.. bare essentials .

Where  are the shepherds?

There is yesterday’s picture in the NY Times of a group

of  Non Occupy homeless – huddled, cold, some mentally ill.

A parking area in Illinois ..behind a restaurant ..

the repulsive sight of two  families

living in their cars. Homes for employees.

Not illegals.. not lazy people.  Luck has dealt them

A lousy hand.

 Winter is coming.

Who/where  are the shepherds?

Then there is the movement to move Black Friday to…

as the priest put it –Christmas shopping begins July 4^th.

A rush to buy “essentials” – ya gotta be kiddin.

Who are the moral shepherds?

Have you thought about the depth of your personal

relationship with your herd?  The time you spend?

Quality time without quantity is a myth of rationalization.

The Jordanian shepherd has minimal personal belongings: His

life is one of subsistence.  Yet he gives his flock  the one gift we all have.

TIME.

Shepherds, caretakers, parents, we all hear about work/life balance.

Time is not a commodity.. it is a gift. 

A gift which we control.  Not our employers, or spouses or society.

Others can attempt to take time away from us for their own purposes

We can choose to waste time for our personal career advancement or

enjoyment, or physical growth. 

Time management is about choices.  If your employer has time demands

that impinge on your life’s value system – you have choices to make.

If a spouse demands that you spend your time doing.. whatever.. you have

choices to make.

If you choose not to be a shepherd to your flock (translated those in need)

This is a decision you make.

When we choose to clothe, feed, and welcome the least among us – we are

making a choice to use our time wisely.

Do we care for our flock with the same attentiveness and time commitment as

the Jordanian herdsman?

 The faint bell that reverberates as  ever so gently when we choose to help

others is the voice of angels giving thanks.

Giving Time to His Flock

The Illinois and Michigan Canal

Mile after unspoiled mile: trails once plied by

mules and tow men parallel the watery

ditches  where canal boats once labored.

The tow path of the long defunct I and M canal

Winds into the distance:

Hand dug from Illinois to Michigan this short lived

means of transporting goods beckons the walker, jogger

and bicycle rider.

Remnants of locks silently stand sentinel.

Towns such as Utica, and Ottawa, Marseilles cling to the towpath berms

Battling time and technology to remain in existence.

 

There is an abundance of  expected sights along  miles of trails in the midst of

flyover country: ducks, deer, water happy reeds and prairie grasses.

Fallen trees, limbs strewn across parts of the walk way.

No surprises here.

 

So what is not here?

What is missing?

Why walk mile after mile huffing and puffing between arches of trees,

sensing the heroics of tug boat pullers and their companion mules.

In the midst of nowhere on a beautiful November day?

 

 News anchors are today describing  the end of the Occupation of Wall Street:

Pictures of sanitation trucks (garbage trucks where I come from): front end

loaders ferrying piles of trash and human waste from pristine city park lands.

Squatters with hands out, voices raised, not a clue about social responsibility.

 

What is missing on the I & M trails?

Didn’t see 1 not 1 trash can: Didn’t see 1 not 1 graffiti painted wall:

Saw only 1, just 1 walker who put a Wendy’s cup by the walk side:

Blaring boom boxes – zero:  Pounding drums – zero.

Government lackeys leaning on their shovels and occasionally picking up

trash – zero.

 

Over one hundred years of sleepy existence.  The trails are nurtured and cared

for by those anonymous friends who  make a difference. A dramatic  example

of people taking personal responsibility for their land and legacy. 

 

Perhaps a coincidence – perhaps not:  Driving north from Ottawa to Harvard

 Il, a land flat and fertile: prized farmland generation to generation: one is

 struck by the numbers  of Old Glories lying proudly from flag poles and posts

of all sorts. 

Perhaps a coincidence – perhaps not.

 

The sentinal remains of the canal

 

OBSERVING THE PAST – PREPARING FOR THE FUTURE

Touchable? Not quite.. Reachable with an hour or two of pedal to the medal

driving … oh yes.

Well, that was an overly optimistic guess…  hours later and the snowy peaks

beckon in the distance.

The future of God’s grandeur appears within reach  — appearances can be

deceiving.  

Early morning arrives in what is known to the locals as “God’s Country”.  

Long abandoned  washed out logging paths; tangled tree lines designed  by  

snow and sleet storms and a decades passed tornado.

Safe haven for  wild turkey, white tailed deer, and ever present beaver clans.

 

On the ridge line peering into the valley below, the visitor’s binoculars amplify

hillside  details near and distant.

Magnifying  the wonderment of creation… sparking curiosity as to what is

beyond the ocular reach. Marveling at what we have observed  oh these many

years: entranced by what is unknown, unseen.

 

Scandinavian fisherman type beard – glistening in the sun:  salted hair blowing

this way and that: the family patriarch stands alone on the ridge line in Perry

County. Pondering, remembering,anticipating.

Leaning southward against a munificent  evergreen In a stand where he shot his

 1^st buck  as a peach fuzzed teenager.. a return to roots not visited for 50 years.

Memories of glorious snow falls, numbing cold hands and feet, and learning to

 drink beer and play poker as part of the Pennsylvania German tribal  initiation

into manhood  run through the memory tape.

Yesterday, yes it seems like yesterday.

Is today yesterday?

 

Reversing the binoculars, the forest seems more distant.  The need to focus is

more pronounced

Hillsides and passing game remain..  documenting detail is more of a challenge.

Past memories are more difficult to visualize with clarity. 

The sounds and smells of the woodland memories are sealed in our DNA. 

Early morning fog rising from the valley floor:  Urine spots in the snow:

Deer rubs on the trees.

The past is sacred. Nature has her own language and traditions.

 

The sun descends behind the skyline  as winter dusk approaches. 

Austrian wood knobbed walking stick in hand, the trail leads to the rushing

brook  and nighttime deer beds below.

A wonderful journey completed:

A  future calling, beckoning,  undiscovered.  Nature is silent – only if we choose

 not to listen.

 Optimism that the best of the past has persevered and handed onto the next

generation.Optimistic that the conversation with God continues for numerous

real and allegorical mountain hikes  in the future.

Hope is always just over the horizon

FALL COMES TO DOOR COUNTY

There are dimensions of time and space which are so apparent

We sometimes take nature’s messages for granted.

The beauty is, after all in the details.

Let’s silently pause to consider the reflection of the shimmering sun on the lake

The splattered spheres heighten our curiosity.. where did they come from?

Why aren’t the sun spots geometric clones?

The  white spheres act as sentinel  guideposts to our study of the

Newly fallen leaves in their queenly attire float in unison over Door County

Rocks

What have these carriers of nature’s palate seen this summer/fall?

Secrets of the woods: of humanity, of God’s gifts to us.

An incredible combination of dazzling color, primal texture, and resilience.

They have decorated the hillsides for months –and now this craggy shoreline.

Endurance and stealth amid the hardwood forests.

Appreciated by all yet ignored by most when they lay dormant in the tide

pools.

Resting after an extended summer.

Knowing generations to follow are poised o spring forth when the seasons turn.

Secure in the knowledge that they Have fulfilled their duty

to beautify the hillsides and valleys of this secluded peninsula.

Confident, bold, and courageous the lineage of the hardwoods continues.

Such a simplistic picture: a lakeside landscape enjoyed countless times.

Or, did you really see? Just glance and move on>

Have you considered the parallel between the Kodak moment and yourself?

Will generations who come later take for granted that you have been a

conscientious steward

Who ensures the continuation of the glorification of Mother Earth?

Do you accept your responsibility to continue the centuries long tradition of

Leaves dressed for us to enjoy

earthly care taker?

 

Photo courtesy of Jim Templin

THE GLORY OF AUTUMN

Autumn

by Christopher Brennan

“Autumn: the year breathes dully towards its death,

beside its dying sacrificial fire;

the dim world’s middle-age of vain desire

is strangely troubled, waiting for the breath

that speaks the winter’s welcome malison

to fix it in the unremembering sleep:

the silent woods brood o’er an anxious deep,

and in the faded sorrow of the sun,

I see my dreams’ dead colours, one by one,

forth-conjur’d from their smouldering palaces,

fade slowly with the sigh of the passing year.

They wander not nor wring their hands nor weep,

discrown’d belated dreams! but in the drear

and lingering world we sit among the trees

and bow our heads as they, with frozen mouth,

looking, in ashen reverie, towards the clear

sad splendour of the winter of the far south.”

 

 

Damp hands, cold feet, closed bedroom windows.

The changing of the colors on the maple trees.

Intent, short limbed children scurrying to catch the waiting bus

While avoiding the glare of the schedule stressed driver.

Football frenzy, the end days of wine on the deck

Dew on the windshield; time to cover the roses.

Testing the snow blower – yes the northern winds beckon.

 

As so eloquently written by Christopher Brennan

“Autumn: the year breathes dully towards its death”

One wonders if this is a metaphor for life..the inevitable

eeath which comes to us all.

Brennan discusses the oncoming splendor of winter –

is there also the death which comes with autumn and the

resurrection in the form of spring time?

 

Choices, we all have choices.  Life can be a flat lined late autumn

where we anticipate the inevitability of  breathing towards our

death.  Sleep walking in a prolonged haze as the calendar turns over

month after month. Existing despite our selves. We bemoan our

health, the economy, the success of others, the

foibles in our family. Life is just a pain in the butt. 

 

Choices, we all have choices. Anticipatory types  prosper by sharing

their talents with others.  Life is one of  reveling in the morning

dawn. Of  helping human kind prepare for and endure the winters of

travail.  Their mirror of life reflects the goodness found in

others.  Autumn seekers who look outward to help with the

common good.

 

Faith, Hope and Charity. 

 

Choices, we all have choices.  Autumn in our lives is an opportunity

for change.  Whether 40 degrees in Milwaukee or 80 in West Palm

Autumn Awaits Our Choices

Beach, now is the time to reflect:

• Am I breathing dully my last breathe toward my physical, psychological, and    ociological death – or is this a season of personal rejuvenation? 

 

Will the tree of life you sit under live again in the spring – or stay

dormant when the seasons change?