Materialist Myth

We have accepted, unquestioningly, the dogma of materialism that myths and fairy tales are lies. In another time, a thoughtful man described them as lies breathed through silver. Yet, we all indulge in, fully engage with, and enjoy these lies. We create them, but they are not true. Our truth is four walls. On every side we are surrounded by the physical. The open sky bids us rise to explore the utmost height, yet there is a point when with outstretched arm it decrees us go no further. The floor below, our immediate contact with our limits, grounds us and pulls us downward– or upon finding the edge beside an unknown depth it strikes fear that we may be lost in the abyss of darkness. The hard material truth, if one may rightfully see his surroundings, is that all of us are in prison. There is nothing beyond the limits of the material, and we cannot go any further. There is no light on the other side, no hope for escape. The four walls, the roof, and the floor testify we are inside a great expansive prison. It is the greatest jail anyone has ever devised and no one has ever escaped, still yet, no one has ever come to visit. If a wall were suddenly to break down or the whole prison itself were destroyed by the decay of time, we would break down with it. So that just at the point where it were possible to leave, we would lose all life within us. No strength would remain to cross that great boundary. I0015827A

Myths and fairy tales are the result of man dreaming of a place beyond the prison. They are windows summoned by the magic of words that allow us a glimpse into the possibilities beyond our prison. The light truly shines through the window baptizing us into the new world, whilst in this one we appear still, as one dead, we are revived into another land. And while on our new journey, through the course of the story we find ourselves vanquished by our foe or traveled so far that we have come to the end, we are resurrected back into this world having become so much the better and grateful for the experience. And once awakened again to our surroundings, we see as with eyes afresh our own world colored with new light, the light from the window.  It is here that we regain the perpetual wonder we once held as a child. We are reborn. lightbeam

But, there are those of us who travel to and fro walking up and down the earth with the laws of nature in their mouths and jail keys in there hands who take upon themselves the duty to make us see the walls of our prison and remind us there are no windows to go through and no light to shine in. The stories are wrong. But, is it ever wrong for the prisoner to think of life outside of his prison? Who, indeed, is telling the lie?

The Angry Sea

Smoking is an exercise of men who expect to die. I find myself recognizing my mortality more often; and the thought sometimes happens in conjunction with that particular exercise. I often reflect that men have been cut off from life in the prime of their youth, yet I continue to persist. I feel it a privilege, and I am pleased by this happy circumstance. From the vantage point this thought gives me, I glimpse the work of infinity. Life has always begun with the same things: hours, days, years, births and deaths. These numbers follow one another in regular succession and are multiplied indefinitely. Infinity drives events onward multiplying itself upon them. Nation rises up against nation, brother against brother, and sword against sword. The word “sword” is peculiar and descriptive of men. Our “words” weren’t enough so we thrust them into the inwards parts of others by adding an “s” at the beginning. The life and flame of man found material expression and extinguished the life and flame of other men.

Over time, we have forgotten our thoughts and only remembered the sword. Thus, we blame the sword for its skillful work, for doing what it was made to do. Now, evil men wield it and we don’t understand them. We have created numerous peaceful communities and removed ourselves from evil. But, these times are only part of the regular succession of historical numbers. The same things will happen again, only we have forgotten who we are, forgotten our part in this succession of numbers. We have forgotten what caused us to add the “s” in the first place. We are evil.

We are like a man born on a ship at sea who through his adolescence has seen great waves push other men off the ship and drown them with tempestuous rage; but has also admired the tranquil beauty of the sea when it is still. He has learned to fear and love the sea. When he is older, he leaves the ship and makes his home on the land. The years are kind to him and give him a wife, children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. All his life he watches the sea and tells his children of his seafaring adventures. But, the older he gets the more his stories lose their dangerous elements and become songs of the sea’s beauty. He loves it at a distance until one day in his frailty he wades too far in the water and drowns. His great grandchildren are affected the most by his death because they too have loved this sea from a distance like their great grandfather. A change comes over them and they remember what their great grandfather had forgotten: to fear the sea.

The heart of man is the sea: a strange mixture of evil and good. In a moment, we make swords; and in the next moment, we beat them into plowshares. We are a fountain yielding sweet water and bitter. Recently in this land, the sea has reared its evil head and drowned children with tempestuous rage, drowned the most precious among us. It spared not our young, but cruelly and mercilessly dashed them against the rocks. The rolling waves run red with the blood of the innocent; it has become the red tide stained by the acts of evil men. We who live on the land must remember the sea’s anger and learn once more the fear we have too long forgotten. The Angry Sea Thomas Moran

The Age of Manipulation

This is the age of information, but more like the bombardment of information. From the internet to the millions of books, everyone who can write wants their voice to be heard and given as much consideration as the millions of others who want to be heard. The public processes information too fast and with so much volume, it is hardly surprising that people know very little about a whole lot of subjects. In previous times when words and information were scarce, people put time and labor into their reading. The public, then, knew very well the value of every word and the implications that could be drawn from each one. Now, the public is pushed on every side by words. For each modern word touts an agenda and a bias. Feeling a responsibility to give every writer equal audience, the public gorges itself on more and more information. And just when it is just about to vomit, it forces more down its collective throat. As a consequence, the public has become indistinguishable from a lazy man who, because he cannot manage to govern himself, is manipulated not by the man with the wisest words, but by the man who speaks the most often.

Ode to Being Normal

Ode to being Normal

Ah, thy perfectly adequate face,
Thy conventional clothing,
In the daylight, they strike one in an unexceptional way.
Thy verbification and vernacular,
The way thy lips maneuver as thou dost impart,
In a crowd, they seem commonplace in this faddish day.
The displacement of thy hips as you traverse,
Thine average gait,
All alone, they resemble everyone else.

The Downfall of Understanding


“If God would do something supernatural that I could see and that cannot be explained by nature, then I would believe in him.”

Proof is a fickle thing. What is counted as proof today can be dismissed once it is understood. The human heart is so defiant that every generation will find new ways to challenge the existence of God. Whatever proof is offered at any time in history, we will always demand something else. Remember, at one point in time, the world could not be explained. It’s existence was proof that God existed. Once we understand a thing, we lose the wonder we held for it.

I am sure that if God were to come down and send us a sign of his existence that the world would once again explain it away once they understood it.

Just Plain Coffee


No cream, no sugar please. A simple life is the envy of many people. The Amish seem to have it down to a science. However, no one wants to give it up. There is too much technology integrated into our lives. Even though we acknowledge there is life without it, we don’t want it. It would be interesting to see this current culture stripped of all its amenities, all it’s cream and sugar. Humanity has been around for ages, and they’ve all been able to live without the internet. If this generation was thrust into a life without amenities, they may find that our culture isn’t so important after all. No cream, no sugar. Just plain coffee.