Journeys of the Heart
Some
of these stories involve
painful and difficult lessons. I share them, in hopes of helping
others who can relate to them. Some stories may be fun, and are
shared for the sake of the art.
Some of these experiences were a little extreme, and contain mystical
components that are automatically rejected by many –
I
understand and respect that. For my part, I have no choice but to
believe what I have experienced, and I assure you as best I can that
they are all real –
real joy, real pain, real life.
A JOURNEY BEGINS
Major spiritual awakenings seem most commonly associated with disasters. For some, time to think is a disaster.THE
GIFT
I
considered emotions a weakness, and I really didn’t see the point
in them. I was a techno-nerd that analyzed everything. I wasn’t
some intellectual wannabe trying to put on airs. I just didn’t
understand anything about emotions, and frankly, was afraid of them.
Some friends even called me stoic. Yes, I cared about people by this
time, but nobody needed to know it. Besides, I was carrying 17-1/2
units and had a part-time job. I had no time to get involved with
anything or anyone.
Susie,
thanks for the gift
The
busy young man worked as hard as a fool
Earning
money to live and a full load at school
He
met a young lady he’d known from the past
Sit
down and relax – don’t drive life so fast
She
would sing like an angel, was pretty and fun
Nice
talking with you but I really must run
Though
a drop of cold water had touched his parched soul
He
couldn’t let feelings detract from his goal
So
he buried himself in his work and his books
As
he tried to kill thoughts of her voice, form and looks
After
some time had passed she again stood before him
Talked
him into a date – she seemed to adore him
But
Susie, thanks for the beautiful gift
Another
date and the power of a passionate kiss
[abridged]
beg your pardon, what emotion is this?
Sadly
she faded – dated others he’d learned
And
in the young man now a jealousy burned
A
desert, invaded by showers and flowers
Of
love, care and passion and jealousy powers
Walled
in by a dam of fierce strength and denial
<Put
his heart and his soul to their very worst trial
Stop!
No! He can’t let this happen!
He
can’t afford time or the strength it is sapping
Deliberately,
carefully, as calm as he could
He
put feelings on paper, but it did him no good
So
then he delivered the note to the lass
Stood
there as she read it – this guy was so crass
As
she burst forth in tears of injustice and strife<
He
turned coldly around and walked out of her life<
As
he entered his room, a stark Spartan abode
He
knew that he still had something huge to unload
For
the first time in certainly ten or twelve years<
He
fell on his bed and exploded in tears
Susie,
dear Susie, thank you so much
for
this beautiful, beautiful gift.
FUNERAL
There
were only 86 kids in the entire high school my junior year. Percy was
the town bad boy. He was the only one who knew how to get marihuana,
and he died in a crash when he and Eli were outrunning the cops. Eli
survived almost unscathed, other than the fact he had been the driver
of the errant car that had killed his girlfriend a few months before.
Have
you ever felt obligated to go to a funeral of someone who was almost
impossible to eulogize? This is cold, but it’s honestly how I
felt.
Mumble good things*
about someone
the world
is glad is gone
He was all right
I guess so
but now
life must carry on
You pass through
the elements of
the
most expected form
You can go now
you’ve fulfilled
your
obligation to mourn
BITE
A SLEEPING BEAR ON THE EAR, AND THEN IMPROVISE
One
morning as I was getting ready to go to work, a friend burst into my
cottage and asked if I wanted to go to Guatemala next Tuesday. After
about a third of a second of careful contemplation, I said “Sure.”
A couple missionary families had four vehicles they were moving, and
needed drivers. Their church was to pay plane fare home.
Guatemala
was an interesting place, so upon returning to the States, I drove
back down there and began to help out and explore. I had almost no
money, and generally imposed upon people for a couch or a shed to
sleep in.
After
about four months, as the “almost” part of my finances continued
to thin, I found work teaching English. This lasted another two
months until I came down with Hepatitis. I then moved to the Capital
to recuperate, and to sell my car for bus fare home
HER
EYES STILL HAUNT ME
I
was living in a small village at a little over 9,000 feet. It was in
a sort of plateau, but the surrounding terrain was pretty extreme.
One of the local jokes was that people were frequently injured by
falling out of their cornfields.
I
was walking back towards the village one morning when I met a drunk
Indian stumbling along, he was literally roaring as he went. It was
early, so he had obviously been at it all night.
A
small tired girl was trotting along behind him – she could not have
been more than about four. She was thoroughly terrified. Her only
hope of survival was to keep up with her father-turned-beast, who had
no idea she was even there. Adult Indians usually carried walking
sticks in this area, to ward off the starving dogs. She would likely
be killed if they encountered the wrong pack.
Her
look of terror, fatigue, loneliness and bewilderment still breaks my
heart to this day.
Long
before a journey of a thousand miles began with a plane ticket, it
began with a single step. For many, the journey to a virtual hell for
themselves and those who depend upon them begins with a single drink.
The child of my memory was only a little more desperate than children
in America who sit at home fearing the return of an abusive parent
who is out squandering the family income on destructive substances.
THE
BROTHER I’D NEVER MET
Those
Indians were incredible. They had been carrying heavy burdens on
their backs since they were small children, and as adults, many of
the men would walk dozens of miles with burdens of two hundred pounds
and more.
On
a stroll through the market place I spied an Indian who had carried a
huge load of dried shrimp from the coast, along a road that crossed
seventy miles of jungle, and then up to his home high in the
mountains. He had come down to this 9,200 ft town that morning to
market his burden.
The
instant our eyes met we began saying “Praise the Lord” in
Spanish. Such was this instant recognition that it was as if I had
known him all my life. We knew the same Jesus. Here was this
long-legged gringo 3,000 miles from home (about 6’2”), and this
four-foot something Indian for whom Spanish was likewise a second
language. We stared at each other, commented briefly on life and
spiritual gifts, smiled, nodded, blessed each other, and departed.
As
brief and simple as that encounter was, it taught me many important
things.
CULTURE
SHOCK
While
recuperating in the Capital, I had just gotten dressed after a shower
when the house shook with a muffled explosion, followed immediately
by the sound of shattered glass. My initial thought was that the
water heater had exploded, but it was in fact a terrorist bomb a
quarter of a mile away. The kitchen window had been blown in, and the
blast was followed by a rattle that turned out to be machine gun
fire. The remainder of the night contained intermittent gun battles,
accompanied by the sounds of racing cars.
Guatemala
had actually been a communist country for a brief period in the early
fifties, and those who remembered it wanted nothing to do with it.
Many of the younger generation however had bought into the grandiose
rhetoric. Some who were students during the week ran around with the
communists in the hills on the weekends.
As
we poured out into the street I met a family across the street with
two lovely daughters; their hospitality was touching. I had a little
change left, and when I took one of them to a movie, the mother and
sister came along too. The surprise was that the sister hurried past
me and paid for all four of us – they knew I had very little. I
fell in love with all three of them.
I
appreciated the protection of the families there. They know what men
are like, and unlike in the U. S., they care more about their
children than they do about other people’s opinions. Then too, when
we accidentally had a couple minutes alone, I discovered that there
was a reason for the Latin reputation for... uh..we'll call it emotion.
KILLING
During
the Viet Nam era I was about as ignorant as anyone, but as awareness
of what was really going on begin to sink in, I happened to be on the
wrong side of the ocean. About all I could say was “Thank you
American tax payers, I couldn’t be doing all this without you.”
During
my two years of active duty (which started about three months after
the events in the movie “We Were Soldiers”) I had three different
ships and two Far East cruises. I rode destroyers, and operated
continually.
On
my first trip, I remember my last night in the Philippines. The next
day we were to set out across the last 700 miles of water to Viet
Nam, and I was considering deserting.
Somehow,
it had not occurred to me until this very evening that they had gone
to all this expense and training so that they could deliver me across
the ocean to kill people. I had a decision to make, but before I made
the actual decision I decided I was going to be one extreme or the
other.
Interestingly,
I had read three books on world history while on the voyage across
the Pacific, and then had then read a massive tome on the history of
warfare. The chilling awareness I had gained from all this is that
the history of humanity IS the history of warfare.
No
one has a right to be proud or ashamed of where they came from,
because none of us had anything to do with it. I realized that I
should have voted and acted more responsibly before getting to this
point.
But
now, here I was on the breaking edge of what nations have done since
tribes have existed. The morality of the war had nothing to do with
it; I was part of a current. I had nothing personally against the men
I was to kill, and I had no resentment against those who would
attempt to kill me (I was extremely pissed on the other hand, at such
an attempt on this side of the ocean).
Unquestionably,
many will consider this a cop-out. I am uninterested in the opinions
of any who have not had to make a similar decision under such
circumstances.
I
LOVE YOU SAILOR
One
of several books I will never write would have chronicled the stories
I had experienced or heard in the various bars in the many ports
between Japan and the Philippines. The title would have been a line
from a lovely innocent-looking Asian girl who looked into my eyes and
said “I love you sailor – no shit.”
There’s
a picturesque way of describing a particularly base location to the
effect that “If I had to give the world an enema, I’d know where
to put the tube.” I’m of the opinion that that distinction
wanders around the globe a bit, and I also believe that I caught up
with it one Christmas Eve in Sasebo, Japan.
The
bar population of such ports varies widely, depending on how many and
which type of ships are in at any given time. Shore Patrol (Navy
cops) are assigned from the ships that happen to be in port at the
time – in proportion to the population of the ship.
When
the Shore patrol was assembled for that evening, I was assigned to
work with an old chief petty officer who claimed to never have stood
a shore patrol in which he didn’t have at least one drink. In
keeping with well-established maritime tradition, he was lying of
course.
When
the assignments were read, everybody laughed when the beat for the
Chief and I was announced. After a few seconds of whipping my head
around to a few people asking why everybody was laughing and just
getting smirks, the chief explained that we had been assigned to
“shit street”. They could laugh – they weren’t going.
Every
port had its “shit street,” where the most fights and general
chaos were likely to erupt. This was Christmas Eve; we were in for
it. It’s our turn to be the cops, and everybody’s going to hate
us.
The
chief was incredible. He carried a small string of sleigh bells, and
whenever we’d enter a bar he’d hold them up and ring them,
proclaiming “Merry Christmas”. Never mind the “SP” brassards
on our arms and the martial hardware we carried, this guy knew his
work. When somebody was out of order, rather than do a tough-guy
confrontation, he’d locate some of his friends who were willing to
take them back to their ship so he wouldn’t have to be written up
or incarcerated.
“Cinderella
liberty,” as in “get home before midnight”, was the general
rule of such ports, and as the bars emptied and the hour arrived,
true to his boast we entered a bar. The “hostess” was a bit older
than most. I would guess she was in her thirties, and if she was
typical, she had probably been selling it since she was about
thirteen. He gave her a crude greeting, and she promptly returned
with something a little grosser. Pretty soon young and tender here
was trying to figure out how to crawl under his coffee cup.
And
the bantering continued to descend. After about twenty minutes, he
had that old gal with her hands over her face giggling.
When
you see a middle-aged prostitute blush, you know you’re in a
strange place. I liked that old chief. I’m not saying he was my
best friend, but he was a darned good enema.
THE
NEWPORT NEWS
While
cruising in the Tonkin Gulf, we were aware of heavy gun emplacements
that protected water-born logistics on their way south from ships
like ours. One afternoon the cruiser Newport News showed up, which
was extremely rare. In fact, I had never heard of a cruiser being in
the Tonkin Gulf before or since. As it turned out, they had a
news reporter on board and they wanted to show off their big guns.
So
“big stripes” on the cruiser ordered “little stripes” on the
destroyer to go in close to shore so that the suspected gun
emplacements on shore would reveal their locations by shooting at us.
The game was that the cruiser would then blow them away with their
big guns.
Three
gun emplacements suddenly opened up on us simultaneously, and a solid
hit from any one of their shells would have sent us to the bottom. As
we ducked and dodged through it all, and as shrapnel clattered
against the superstructure of the ship, the cruiser began firing, and
couldn’t hit a thing. We managed to dump about twenty rounds from
our own much smaller guns on one of them, and apparently made it too
noisy for them to concentrate. An aircraft scrambled from a carrier
somewhere south of us silenced the other two.
About
a week later, a friend sent me a newspaper clipping showing my ship
fighting for its life with mammoth splashes of water all around it.
So apparently, the damage, injury, and risk of four-hundred lives,
was well worth it after all.
THE
LONE RANGER
Almost
immediately after I got out of the service I bought a small chopper.
It had begun as a 650 Triumph Bonneville, but had been bored and
cammed for a radical increase in performance (at about half the gas
mileage). The frame was pure custom with no fenders – or anything
else that was not absolutely necessary. It was nothing but muscle and
wheels -- brains are extra.
The
first weekend I put about 470 miles on it, the first of thousands of
solitary miles, most of them at night. Sometimes after work I would
travel 150 miles before heading back.
One
Saturday afternoon I was a little bored, so I took a trip to see a
friend who lived on a ranch in the extreme northeast corner of L.A.
County. He represented the Sheriff department in that area, although
I had never seen him in uniform.
As
I left the highway to follow the dirt road up to his property, there
were bikers all over the place. The Monks, the Saints, the Devil’s
Disciples, and the Free-Wheelers (out of Arizona I believe) were
having a joint outing (pun accidental, but it works). That was before
the helmet law, and Americans still had the freedom to look as cool
as they thought they could.
As
I drove through the middle of them and we were checking each other
out I recalled an interesting detail. I had no gang colors on my
jacket, so I was free game to any gang that wanted to beat the crap
out of me until I was willing to join their little club.
As
I exited the gauntlet and continued on up the road I encountered Bob.
He had one hand on his 357 magnum, the other pointing at me, and a
clear command to stop ringing from somewhere between. When I took off
my shades and spoke his name, he was shocked, but pleasantly
surprised.
He
had a must-do errand, so I was sworn in, left with his 357 magnum
(although I carried my own gun -- legal or not), and – believe this or don’t
– his sixteen year old daughter. This scene was straight out of a
cheezy novel: "Our young hero stands alone to defend a fair young maiden against
four viscious outlaw biker gangs." Bob returned about an hour and a half later with two CHP
units with two officers each.
As
I literally rode off into the sunset that afternoon, I was musing:
“Gee, I’ve never been an L. A., County deputy sheriff before.”
A
RITE OF PASSAGE
A solitary
misfit on a motorcycle has left the LA Basin through the San Gabriel
Mountains, and is just starting across the Mojave Desert towards the
lower end of the High Sierras. He would often make such trips within
about a 150-mile radius after work or on a weekend, but there is
another consideration these days: He has known for three weeks that
he was going to have an accident, but has not modified his driving
patterns.
Angeles Crest Highway is almost behind
Homeless
When
the Berlin wall fell in the early 90's the Cold War was over. Major
government contracts for no-longer-needed hardware were canceled and
huge aerospace companies began slashing their staff. In Orange County
CA, any company stupid enough to advertise an job opening had 300 to
500 resumes to deal with within two days, and $70,000 engineers were
living in their cars in a matter of months. As a casualty myself, I
was spending my days going door-to-door through industrial areas
looking for problems to solve. Eventually it became McDonald's?
Knott's Berry Farm? anyone? anything? -- nothing. When I wasn't
walking, I was writing, and trying to invent ways (legal) to earn
money. I picked up a couple short-term positions, but nothing for
long.
We
could no longer pay rent and began to use up friends and family as we
stayed in living rooms and closets with people who didn't want us
there. At one point I was living in a friend's driveway while my wife
and children were in three other places. Eventually a mutual friend
connected us with an extremist group in the foothills outside Visalia
(in the Central Valley) through some writing I had done. After about
six months we were kicked out of there because we were not
politically compatible.
Jobless
and homeless, we managed to find a temporary place in a homeless
shelter. Life is a mystical journey, and at this point it was clear
that I was to ask God for an opportunity to buy another home. To nip
a long story in the bud, a year and a half later I was reestablished
as an engineer and we were moving into a home of our own. A few years
later it was paid for free and clear. God fed us and clothed us when
we were destitute, and we are well aware that the rules haven't
changed since. The only difference is that now we can see how
He
is doing it.
Some
civic officials need lessons
So
I'm standing in the darkness, rain, and mud of a homeless camp
expecting to spend the night helping people pack their soggy, muddy
belongings. We would then move them to a yet unapproved place, and
set up a new camp so they can crawl into their miserable mud-soaked
belongings and get a little sleep the next day.
These
parolees can either do this or return to nice, warm dry prisons the
next day. The choice is unanimous – mud wins, and this night
delivers a record rainfall. Somebody's cell phone rings; we have a
brief reprieve – one more day. Sleep well my friends.
For
the last several months, local law enforcement – both city and
county – had been driving all the homeless they could find out of
other camps, and concentrating them in this one area. Then the media
declares “See how this camp is growing? People are moving here from
all over. We've got to do something.”
This
cruelty to homeless is now underway inf Visalia. For most, a 30-day
notice is legally required for eviction; for parolees however, they
have a bigger club.
The
head parole officer in the area told the press that they never parole
people to “the river.” “That's not how we do business.” city
officials were planning a major excursion into the homeless camp the
next day to inventory the residents, offer referrals to all available
shelters, and view the facts for themselves. So now the twenty-some
“non-existent” parolees that had been assigned to live at the
river by the parole officers needed to move by sunup so his lies
would not become so obvious to everyone. Fortunately, that very
evening the tour had suddenly been postponed for a day. I suspect
this may have been the work of a compassionate mayor (he was voted
against 4-to-1 on a proposal to provide sanitation for the homeless
camp).
Earlier
that evening the mayor got an education. A few homeless advocates
(and a couple of homeless leaders) had been invited to a small
meeting at which the mayor was to speak. The owner of the property
had welcomed the homeless, but the mayor quoted a statement by the
local sheriff that she had changed her mind. I couldn't help but
smile as I glanced over at the owner, who soon corrected the lie.
Numerous other lies quoted or misquoted by the media were addressed
that night.
The
next day the precaution was taken to keep the parolees out of the
camp while some of us returned with lists of things to pack up for
them. It may have been a good idea, because we were shadowed by a
sheriff vehicle on the levy road on one side. There was also an
unmarked 4-wheeler loitering directly across the river on the other
side, with binoculars pointing in all directions. This may have been
purely coincidental, but by now we were just a little paranoid.
The
result of this “cleanup” was that the homeless moved across the
river back into town. Crime increased, and more bushes and dumpster
enclosures were favored with human feces; Help keep Visalia green.
Soon
the city council responded with another edict: Homeless are not
allowed to sleep on either public or private property. They have not
evaporated, they are only spending more time in jail and looking for
more ways to hide. One friend was telling me how he was awakened and
moved three times in the same night by the same uniform. Once a
homeless person has found where to find food and made a few friends
he can semi-trust, it is suicide to migrate to another town where you
know nothing and no one.
(You
can find a little more on this subject in the section on emergency
shelters.)
THE
STRANGER
Of
the various injuries and heartaches I’ve experienced, the most
excruciating have been for my children.
He doesn't know quite how to show love
He's trying so hard to
be strong
He works hard to do for his family
and he doesn't
have time to be wrong
But he cries for the love of his
children
When he's some place where they cannot see
And his
heartache he covers with manhood
because that's what a father
should be
Now he has been some miles and knows some
things
He 's been there and come back alive
He's seen
people die in the pathways
and he knows what it takes to
survive
And he cries for the life of his children
God
protect them as they go along
Do they have to make the mistakes
he made
O Lord help them to know right from wrong
Dad
you don't understand that this world that I'm in
is so different
from that which you've known
I now have my own mind and it isn't
so kind
that you treat me like something you own
And
he cries for his children who hate him
Lord help them to please
understand
that he loves them and does his best for them
and
may they never step out of Your hand
And he cries for the
love of his children
and his love bears him down like a
mountain
Though his eyes can't shed tears from his prison of
fears
his soul pours them forth like a fountain
BREVITY
For
about a year I was working in the Silicon Valley area south of San
Francisco, and returning to my home about 200 miles away on the
weekends. I had arranged my schedule so I could begin my Friday
commute home an hour early, in order to miss the infamous Bay Area
rush hour.
Thursday
night I was having a vivid dream of traveling through an area of
green rolling hills, when I realized I was actually awake. I
consciously looked at the clock (3:45am), and then at the muted light
coming through the window. The “dream” continued, and was in fact
a vision – I was conscious, I was rational, I was being analytical,
and yet the scene continued.
I
was then traveling up a larger hill, and up a narrow valley once down
the other side. A huge snake, about five feet thick, was suddenly
stretched across path ahead. In fact, there was no path or features
in the valley beyond the snake. It all ended here.
Visions
have been extremely rare for me, in fact, I can remember no more than
two or three – but these proved very important. So I spent the day
intermittently praying about it, and quite puzzled.
On
my way home that afternoon as I left highway 101 to head east, I
began to notice that the countryside was much like that which I had
seen in my vision. After a final hill that was higher than the rest,
I began to travel the freeway up the valley, leading towards the
ascent of Pacheco Pass. Traffic, still fairly light, was at about
75-80 mph – typical of the area.
The
threatening clouds cut loose with a suddenness and fury I had never
experienced. I have witnessed many violent electrical storms in the
mountains of Colorado, but in this case there was a brilliant series
of flashes that came downward on one side of the road ahead, went
horizontally across the road, and into the earth on the other side.
The effect was like a broad ladder of about five rungs, spanning the
shoulders and both sides of the freeway ahead.
The
downpour and lightning came on so suddenly that we had barely begun
to slow down when a car came sliding sideways towards us down the
mud-slicked meridian. My instinct of course, was to slow down, but
something told me not to, and I obeyed.
As
I came abreast of the car, its wheels suddenly caught, and it shot
across the lane behind me. I saw the violent head-on collision in my
rear-view mirror. I immediately pulled over, and went sprinting back
to three smoking cars, and two corpses.
I
got home a little later than usual that evening, but my wife had not
yet become concerned. I had decided that there was no point in
frightening her with a description of what had happened. But then I
had to account for a patch of blood on my shirt obtained while
assisting a survivor.
I
had been shown the vision for a purpose, and thoroughly believe that
it was a vision of my own death. Somehow though, God had chosen to
intervene, at the cost of two other lives. I am left with the
questions of why I was spared, and of why others were killed in my
place. More importantly, I am left with an awareness that my life
does not belong to me. I am on borrowed time, extended by the one who
spared me from disaster. I am here to serve.
We
are all on borrowed time; neither life nor death are truly accidents.
PROVERBS
Values arise from living realities, rules arise from dead
logic.
* Life is a choice you make. Death is failure to
choose.
* We sing about history, but history is today
*
Something may not be bad for what it is, but for what it isn't
*
I can't hear a thing when you're yelling
* I seldom know a rule
exists....until I've broken it
* I discover ruts....when I want
to change direction, but can’t
* I know I've said the wrong
thing when....it's too late
* What God is doing is not as
important as the fact that He is doing it.
* Marriage comes as
a kit: the components are there, but some assembly is required.
*
When we refuse to make decisions, decisions are made for us.
*
If you don’t control the direction of your mind, something else
will.
* Good things are built.... Bad things just happen.
*
It is much easier to “don’t” ... than “ a little bit”.
*
Self pity is an “i can’t because”, The “because” here is
usually blame, but forgiveness sets you free
* Self pity is an
excuse to justify a weakness, a bad attitude, revenge, or some other
spiritual disorder.
* There will always be a voice telling you
what you want to hear.
* True strength is rarely obvious.
*
When words that have been trite become untrite, you are beginning to
understand them.
* The problem is not a lack of God’s
leading, but a lack of our following.
* God can only work with
what we are willing to give Him.
* Excess and perversion are
the results of life without focus.
* General failure in life
results from a lack of general direction.
* A multitude of
words is a poor substitute for the right ones.
* When you love
someone enough to allow them to hate you, you have loved.
*
Real men... have nothing to prove.
* Love is like money; you
can waste it on candy, or you can invest it in something
worthwhile
* If your focus is upon yourself, you’re not worth
the attention.
* A leader demonstrates direction; a herder
gives orders.
* Everything obvious and easy in our society, has
already been picked.
* An enterprise of value, must require
effort or discovery.
* Reality dictates the terms, not
preference.
* The walk with God prioritizes being over doing.
*
Doing is the result of being.
* Getting off the right track...
means going down the wrong one.
* Dealing with lies and false
accusations, were part of the development of Joseph’s character.
*
A command from God, comes with the miracles required to perform
it.
* The last place you can afford to compromise is in what
you require of yourself. The first place is in what you require of
others.
* God’s purpose and direction are available to us
from any position, and from any point in time we are willing to
serve Him.
* Procrastination makes you grow older..... without
accomplishing a thing.
*. Don’t complain about what you can’t
do, be grateful for what you CAN do.
* The right perspective
can be the difference between walls and wings.
* Strength is
not standing up for your rights; it is standing up without them.
*
The worst thing that can happen in life... is nothing at all.
*
There is no such thing as steady-state Christianity; You are either
growing or you are dying.
* Life is a state of change.
* I
keep looking for some grand plan, but the grand plan is to listen
and obey one day at a time.
* God is not kidding. What He has
spoken, He will do.
* The political condition of a country
reflects its’ morality.
* A political reform is not possible
without a moral one, because a nation of lawbreakers can only be
ruled by force.
* The hunger of greed can no more be satisfied
than the hunger of fire.
* A man who does no more than look out
for himself…. is a wasted man.
* Philosophy: Proof that life
without God has no meaning.
* If logic does not have the power
to either prove or disprove God, then it does not have the power to
BE God.
* Like a printed 3-D picture, you can only see a
vision when you look beyond it.
* As you become pure, you
receive power, not as a reward, but as a tool.
* Responsibility
increases with purity and demonstrated obedience
* There are
times in life when survival is not the highest priority.
* Use
your mind to deal with things...but use your heart to deal with
people
THE REST OF THESE ARE UNSORTED, AND CONSIST MAINLY OF SOCIAL AND POLITICAL OBSERVATIONS.
WHERE
ARE WE BEING LED?
Ever step outside and
listen
Outside the protection of your friends' opinions
Ever
dare to listen for yourself
Still the voices of your TV
stereotypes
Lift your eyes like a newborn babe
to the
sound you used to hear
Look through the eyes of one
outside
who's not been trained to fear
Truth is
simple, truth is plain
Truth is clear like falling rain
But
truth is cleansing and can cause pain
as it shines its' light on
a life that's vain
But quiet now, and listen
to a
sound that's been there long
When that old man was a hippie
He
used to sing that song
Where have all the flowers gone
and
why do I still care
What have all our efforts done
the
system's still unfair
I see a strange thing passing in
this country
but then it's never really gone away
I see the
protests of the sixties still here with us
and the children from
back then have more to say
What are you doing to this
country you with power
Can't you hear what we've been saying all
this time
You make us more dependent every hour
You make
self reliance sound like it's a crime
If I trusted you
completely I could do this
But I watch you screw-up almost every
day
Who's purpose are you serving with our power
Does it
matter what the people have to pay
Was it that we said it
wrong
or did you just not hear
The rich man's greed and
puppet strings
are still the things we fear
The
freedom spark that started then
it somehow still survives
And
it wants to pry your greedy hands
from off our throats and
lives
The media appeared to be
the movement's friend
indeed
But they were sold to the big man's gold
and
shackled by their greed
We bought it and we taught it
as
the way that it should be
But we found we couldn't tell what's
wrong
without morality
We need to unlearn what they
taught us
and to relearn how to stand
or we can be
compliant putty
and learn to lick our captor's hand
The
media, the nations,
the congress and them all
are all
owned by the same people
and await their every call
I
found an ancient volume
on a shelf where it then lay
And
opened to the back to see
the things it had to say
It
said we'd all be owned by one
Who'd someday rule us all
And
if we didn't bow our knees
our head's would surely fall
It
said we'd be identified
by numbers on our head and hide
The
ones who did could buy their food
the ones who didn't starved
and died
I shuddered as it came to me
Son of Social
Security
-----
Strum
a heart
Strike a chord
Stir a spirit
Speak a
word
Awake a feeling
Open eyes
Draw out some
people
Harmonize
We're in this world together
friends
What happens now you see depends
On how we choose
the lives we lead
do we hoard our stuff or meet a need
We've
been taught to build up
some very high walls
The men they
wear dresses
The women wear balls
This world it is
coming
apart at the seams
Where is the structure
Where
are the teams
Why can't I love you
and say that I care
Are
you going to sue me
if I should so dare
Why are things
shattered
in pieces like this
Why aren’t things
simple
and who outlawed bliss
The answer is simple
so
simple it's odd
Our culture is wasted
because we've ignored
God
AMBITION
I'll
ride the wind, I'll watch the sky
I'll not let
time just pass me by
I'll ride the crest of history's
flood
I'll not be sedi-mentary mud
I'll
be the cause not the result
a fire brand a
catapult
Life has beginning Life has end
But
a book with meaning shapes a trend
NOW
Life
can only be lived
a moment at a time
It
can be adjusted
in response to the past
but
the past
cannot be changed
Life can build
for the future
but the future
is not
guaranteed
nor is it yet
life
Life is now
Our opportunity to live for God
is
now
Our opportunity to fulfill our purpose
is
now
Our opportunity for peace and joy
is
now
We will never
have this moment
again
-----
You
can't tell a kid a thing
to try and do so just brings pain
Don't
try to stop them let them be
their stupid selves like you and
me
-----
I
have filled the day with people
and with things that must get
done
I have filled my life with projects
I'm a slave to
what's begun
Does a tree live in such tyranny
Does a flower
live this way
Do other living things decide
how much they
have to do this day
EXCUSES
This
one isn’t really about sports.
Coach if I could do it
again
I know that I would surely win
Butcha see it wasn't
me
It' not the way it should be
I wish I could do it over
again
-- but the time is gone
I wasn't quite ready
that time
or the other guy committed some crime
But now I
know
and I'm ready to go
Coach wontcha let me try it
again
-- but the time is gone
Now isn't that the
thing we always say
when things just didn't go our way
We
paint the past with excuses
for our mistakes and abuses
We
should be giving all we have today
-- before the time is
gone
-----
Let's
depart a little from the norm
and share some things
Dare to
risk a little love
and see what real life brings
-----
People
are afraid to say "I've found it"
Even though they
know it's surely true
People aren’t supposed to know such
riddles
But opinions aren’t the master of a few
-----
Knowing
and doing
are two different things
One is for watchers
The
other builds kings
-----
I'd
rather be God
said the angel on high
That seat has been
taken
you'll lead those who die
And thus began
conflict
between light and death
And so it continues
till
our specie's last breath
I'd rather be God
said the
king on the throne
King Neb-u-chad-nezz-ar
then fell like a
stone
He spent seven years
eating grass in the field
Until
God once again
Gave him power to wield
I'd rather be
God
said the kid on the block
Until one that was
bigger
felled him with one sock
His ego was hurt
and
he wanted to stand
So he bought a big weapon
to hold in his
hand
I'd rather be God
said the babe in the chair
As
he smeared half his supper
on his face and his hair
He saw
no good reason
for carrots and peas
Grownups are his
servants
He'll do as he'll please
The dream of world
conquest
has not gone away
It's just become subtle
so
low it must lay
But humans are weak
and some are so
sour
It's scary to think
what some now do for
power
-----
It's
time to leave It's time to fly
It's time to prove the things
you've learned
It's time to live It's time to die
It's time
to see what can be burned
-----
You
may never know how life will go
Until you have freedom to
fall
Are you a saint or only paint
Will you survive or lose
it all
-----
In
the early seventies oil producing nations conspired to
raise
oil prices. Gasoline shortages ensued, and heating
bills
skyrocketed. The year had also brought us the
Watergate scandal
and a major Indian protest in South
Dakota. By early January,
the headlines that had seemed
so important at the time were of
no current value, and
almost forgotten -- until I began
rereading them in reverse
order as I burned the accumulation of
papers to warm the
house.
I sit here burning papers
to reduce the heating bill
I read of crimes of yesterday
and the pages they did fill
Each useless page has been
upstaged
by something new and bad
and now I’m down to
burning it all
cause the heating bill we had
I read of
holidays and mental sick
of Halloween and a sadistic trick
You
wonder what makes people tick
then there’s someone’s ode to
tricky Dick
You wish the world would let him be
now up in
smoke goes Wounded Knee
I could go on but why repeat
I
think I’ll just enjoy the heat