The Weedpatch Gazette - samheath's Blog

The Weedpatch Gazette - samheath's Blog - Tehachapi News http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath en-us Where would Jesus begin cleansing the Temple today? http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/29624 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/29624 Even if the Ethiopian can’t change his skin as stated by Jeremiah, the question is would he want to? Barack Hussein Obama meets St. Peter at the Pearly Gates and tells him he was the first Negro President of the U. S. When St. Peter asks him when that happened Obama replies, “About twenty minutes ago.” You know you shouldn’t laugh at such a thing, and some wanting to dance on the grave of Jesse Helms believe the story about Obama meeting St. Peter would be characteristic of the late and not everywhere lamented senator. But over the years I have taken a lot of criticism as a Caucasian for expressing my opinion the seed of America’s destruction was sown in slavery, for expressing my opinion that I believed Benjamin Franklin who I think was every bit as prescient as Emerson foresaw this very danger to America when he attempted to have slavery abolished by our Constitution. I wonder if the same people consigning Helms to the outer reaches of perdition will have the same attitude to the Newsweek article Blackout? “Despite Italian Vogue's recent black issue, the international fashion world still prefers white skin. In a tidy piece of cultural synchronicity, last month saw both the arrival of the latest issue of Italian Vogue, which exclusively features black models, and the debut in earnest of Barack Obama's presidential campaign as the Democratic nominee. Race has been a singularly polarizing, and thus creatively compelling, issue for centuries, but Obama's emergence onto the national and international stage has brought the topic out from the shadows. Sadly, in the modeling industry, attitudes about race aren't nearly as progressive as they appear to be in the political world. Italian Vogue's initiative has prompted some industry dialogue about why black models remain marginalized, but the issue runs across the entire color spectrum, affecting more than just black people. In the fashion circuit of cities like New York, Paris and Milan, or extended to a more international network of major cities like Sao Paulo, Tokyo and Bombay, racism is alive and well. Despite vastly different cultural and geographic contexts, and the unique physical characteristics of each country's citizens, in most places, light is still right…”<o:p></o:p> Sigh. There is no getting around it. While Obama gets all the favorable press his wife will remain a major obstacle. It is true that politics is about perception but this is nothing compared to what people perceive as beauty, and the standard of beauty is as the article states “in most places, light is still right.” It is Fay Wray in King Kong and in every Hollywood production and even in other nations throughout the world, that beautiful light skinned women of whatever race is the standard of beauty when it comes to perception. Despite all the university spawned political correctness and racist hyphenation the perception of beauty remains light skinned.<o:p></o:p> Are the sons of Ham truly cursed to be hewers of wood and drawers of water, or are we what we are solely by accident of birth alone? Was it fated the nations of Western Civilization, light skinned, largely Christian and Bible oriented were to accomplish the greatest advances in science and the arts while the dark skinned continued in barbarism? Or are these things only a matter of the accidents of birth and geography? Whatever one’s thoughts, there can be no dismissing reputedly the wisest man of his time, Benjamin Franklin, while at the same time attempting to have slavery abolished by our Constitution continued to prevail on others of the Founding Fathers to look to God for guidance and encouraged prayer in all their decisions; though in my opinion they failed to find the proper guidance from on high in respect to slavery. Then again, I wonder if this issue ever entered into their prayers? I would guess not. Lincoln had the good sense to pronounce he did not know which side God was on during the attempt at national suicide, but he also expressed wonder that Negro leaders would refuse his offer of relocation choosing rather to remain in a country where they would never be considered the equal of Caucasians. But by this time it was too late, and in the relatively short time between “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights” and Harriet Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin with its aftermath that seed of slavery had become a harvest of evil disaster for America. A house divided cannot stand; but Lincoln’s War only exacerbated the house divided ignoring the fact that Jesus was referring to Satan who was not divided against himself. But the seed of the evils of slavery had been sown throughout America and neither a Civil War nor all the laws since have been able to get rid of the resulting weeds in our garden. And only the angels of God are going to be able to separate the good fruit from the tares the Evil One has sown in the night. Some were amazed and asked “Is Saul also among the prophets?” and when Jeremiah Wright pronounced “The chickens are coming home to roost” perhaps he also prophesied better than he knew. If one sows the wind, only a whirlwind can be the expected harvest. Our own Supreme Court has played the role of Devil’s Advocate in pronouncing equality by laws that can never be achieved in reality, but has rather resulted in the making of classes of professional victims throughout America. Earl Warren did not have to live with the chaos resulting from desegregation; he and the rest of the court would continue to live opulent lives of privilege protected and separated from the realities that it was only to be expected Negro children would find the Caucasian doll the prettiest. Children in the nations of Africa would have made the same choice as the Newsweek article Blackout emphasizes. The cited irreparable harm had already been done with the introduction of Negro slavery and what Brown v Board of Education did was prompt what became known as white flight and hasten the whirlwind. Today, the schools throughout the inner cities of America are filled with violence as I know from personal experience, the dropout rates are catastrophic and little in the way of educational goals is being met. In far too many cases there is no father in the homes of these children and the attitude toward and the treatment of them is that of their being human weeds. Open borders and globalization is all about slave labor. Those in our government and their corporate bosses refuse to secure our borders for the sake of slave labor from Mexico. And no matter who becomes our next president this situation is not going to change. When I ask myself who is behind all the violence and perversion being flaunted on TV and by Hollywood, what motivates legislators and judges to protect the monsters that prey on women and children the only satisfactory answer I can come up with is Satan. I credit the stories in the Bible to be drawn from facts in many instances. Among these is war in the heavens brought to earth, an enmity between the Evil One and his followers against the children of God and this accounting for the prevalence of evil throughout all of human history. America has been an aberration in many ways, a success story unparalleled in history. But believing as I do that our nation is the Babylon of Revelation I conclude the seed of our destruction bringing us to this tragic and prophetic end was sown in slavery. Being of sound mind I cannot but hope I am wrong; but being of sound mind I cannot dismiss the signs of the times, and in my opinion these do not bode well for America. Perhaps this is because I cannot help but see the irony in those words at the beginning of our Declaration of Independence knowing such fine words crediting the historical caveats chose to ignore the realities of which I believe Benjamin Franklin was aware, and it would be interesting for me to know where Jesus would begin cleansing the Temple today?   Orbs and Butterflies http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/29394 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/29394 There is a reason for stars, planets, baseballs and marbles being spheres, but when Emerson wrote his fascinating essay Circles he didn’t know about plasma life forms though Mel Gibson may have been aware of them. However, I’ve always credited Emerson with his towering intellect having a degree of prescience about many things and he was certainly aware of crystal balls which may have had their origin in the plasma life forms as spheres being studied by physicists while those involved with metaphysics know them as paranormal orbs. And perhaps what existed as the seed of the universe was an orb. Plasma Life Forms - Spheres, Blobs, Orbs and Subtle Bodies by <a href="http://ezinearticles.com/?expert=Jay_Alfred">Jay Alfred</a>, Life-Like Qualities of Plasma will leave some people numb trying to absorb the possibilities, since any study of such things is not only steeped in physics but metaphysics as well. Mention of transparent and translucent orbs is to be found in ancient texts as well as more contemporary literature often described as behaving like intelligent entities and have a history of appearing in photographs. I recall someone sending me copy of a photo in which three small orbs appeared looking like soap bubbles that she said were not seen when she snapped the picture. Since she was a professional photographer I had no reason to doubt her story, especially since such occurrences are so commonplace. And no, not all are the result of indulging in magic mushrooms. Now I do have my Val Saint Lambert crystal frog, but it just doesn’t seem to have the essential characteristics needed for scrying. It just sits there with nary even a ribbit out of the critter, and despite the reputation of crystal skulls I believe nothing can take the place of a crystal ball. I’ve checked out the various purveyors of crystal balls online and haven’t quite made up my mind yet whether to purchase one, my frog having failed to deliver. Wonderful SciFi classic; The Blob, and I still enjoy it for the classic it is. But the actual physics and metaphysics would have orbs being more likely than some gooey substance; however an orb would not have fit the plot so well. Yet the science being brought to bear on the idea that life began on earth as energized orbs is absolutely fascinating, as is an electrical charge used for in vitro fertilization: “During in vitro fertilization the human embryo is given an electrical jolt to spark-off cell division. The purpose of this routine electrical intervention is not known. All is known is that cell division is unlikely to occur in the absence of this electrical intervention. According to plasma metaphysics (Our Invisible Bodies, 2006), this electrical spark is necessary to generate a plasma bubble which acts as a catalyst during embryogenesis. Unlike a biomolecular environment, a plasma environment allows long-range correlations, without which a 3 dimensional structure could not be projected from a 1 dimensional gene. An embryo within a human body is protected by the plasma bubble (i.e. the physical-etheric double) of the mother and inherits a bubble within this environment. (In this process, it acquires what the Qigong literature refers to as ‘prenatal qi’.)” Fascinating, especially “The purpose of this routine electrical intervention is not known.” Those of us who credit the Bible story of Creation being drawn from facts have no trouble with the claim that God is a spirit, that the spirit of God energizes life, is in fact the source of all life. My own thought of the soul not being formed at birth but needs to be nourished and tended like a seed has its basis in distinguishing between spirit and soul, that while the soul that sins may die the spirit does not but continues in continuity with God our Creator. That some such spirits may take the form of orbs that have been observed here on earth is still the stuff of the metaphysical and paranormal, but scientists are doing some remarkable research and making some astounding discoveries about orbs that hold some hope of bringing these studies and beliefs together. As to the soul, I’ve always liked John Wayne’s line in The Shootist “My soul is what I’ve made of it.” But it takes time to grow a soul in my opinion, just as it does any earthly plant. There may be an age of accountability based on this growth of the soul. And the monsters among us that prey on women and children may be satanic creatures without a soul. I do believe Satan exists, and I believe he plants his seeds of evil as Jesus described in the Parable of the Tares. In supposing such a thing I admit to believing the germ of life can be satanic in some instances. Whatever happened that became the story of The Fall in Genesis there is no mistaking the curse came down particularly hard on women. And if that old serpent in The Garden was the Devil, he seems to take particular delight in targeting women. I just wonder, for example, if Mortimer Adler looked at the paucity of women in the U. N. and decided if they were not found worthy of leadership and representation there why should they be represented in The Great Books? Whatever it is that energizes life and departs at death is beyond our present state of science to identify and explain. But great scientists of imagination like Michio Kaku encourage me that answers may be forthcoming, though with this caveat: There remain things in the universe not only unknown, but perhaps unknowable. However, I believe scientists may have to become more open minded concerning things like paranormal orbs and crop circles. We simply do not know what energy is, we do not understand the forms it takes or how the universe holds together. There is this thing called gravity, but we do not know what it is. No one can dispute the observation by Jesus that it is impossible by some exercise of the mind to add an inch to our height, but with the increasing power of computers his comment that the very hairs of our head are numbered by God, that not a sparrow falls to the ground without it being known by God becomes quite believable. In my opinion the knowledge of many things of ancient people could not have been gained by observation alone anymore than one of them could add an inch to their height by an exercise of the mind. They could not have discovered iron and learned to work it by either accident or observation. The constellations and planets could not be discerned by their unaided eyes no matter how long they stared at the heavens. Knowing this I conclude the knowledge of the ancients was gained by revelation of some kind from some unknown source much as we find in the Bible concerning certain things. As heretical as it is I do not believe the greatest of scientific discoveries like those of Kepler and Newton came by their unaided genius; I believe they came by these monumental ideas through revelation. And I ask myself, to what purpose these revelations from whatever source? The world continues to be filled with evil and violence and the greatest of our scientific achievements have not solved the problems of evil and violence. We have the knowledge to destroy ourselves, but lack the wisdom to save ourselves. For some of us the last chapter of the Bible suffices to assure us all turns out well in the end. But in the meantime here in the Kern River Valley we not only have the annual Turkey Vulture Count, we have an annual Butterfly Count also. While the vultures serve a utilitarian purpose in nature, I think I will just sit back and enjoy the butterflies for a while. And should I happen to see one in an orb I don’t believe I’ll be all that surprised. After all, both seem quite reasonable as expressions of God and I never ask myself, why the butterflies? I simply take delight in them. I can’t do anything about the huge plume of smoke from the fire south of me here in Bodfish; I can’t put out the fire. But I take encouragement from the butterflies; that beauty will prevail over ugliness in the end.   The Vultures are Circling http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/29238 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/29238 Beaky Buzzard is a great favorite of mine, and I still enjoy that marvelous first cartoon appearance of his with Bugs Bunny. It isn’t often Bugs gets upstaged, but Beaky managed to do it. Despite the smoky haze the wonderfully warm weather drew me outside early this morning where I could enjoy the wonders of nature of my surroundings in this part of the Sequoia National Forest. But as the cat and I were basking in the warmth of the balmy summer morning I noticed the Turkey Vultures circling overhead. The Kern River Valley boasts a nature preserve that draws birders worldwide, and is also the Butterfly Mecca of California. But we also have an annual Turkey Vulture count, and here in Bodfish Canyon where I live the sky overhead has been darkened by as many as 200 of the critters circling in a bunch all at the same time as though orchestrated by some master choreographer. Now I grant you the spectacle of vultures circling overhead brings to mind many a scenario, and what with earthquakes, floods, fires, and drought I can’t help but consider these winged scavengers and what they represent of death and destruction. Poe had his Raven and we have plenty of those here in the valley as well; but as a sure indicator of the presence of death though Hitchcock didn’t use them the vultures are the most significant sign of such. While Poe could hardly have written such a masterpiece using a vulture they remind me of Ben Franklin wanting the wild turkey to be our national bird. Fortunately in this particular instance despite Ben’s genius and practical bent he was outvoted. While turkeys are a valued food item even my own Indian ancestors sang the praises of eagles as a symbol rather than turkeys notwithstanding Ben and T. R. But as I watched the vultures circling overhead this morning I was reminded once again of something Henry Thoreau wrote: “There is no odor so bad as that which arises from goodness tainted. It is human, it is divine, carrion.” Henry was making direct reference to the evil arising from the unintended consequences of those forcing their view of what is best on others not like minded and “would rather suffer evil the natural way.” Nature does indeed provide vultures whose purpose is to cleanse the earth of carrion, but we seek in vain for the vultures that would cleanse humankind of the divine carrion of tainted goodness. No one for example of any noble character wants to be a politician. Like lawyers in too many instances the role of a politician is that of Henry’s goodness tainted, divine carrion the stench of which reaches everywhere but without the benefit of Nature’s vultures to cleanse away the filth. So it is that as I watch the circling vultures here in Bodfish Canyon I’m reminded they still represent Nature’s way of dealing with carrion, and cannot help wondering if Nature herself has had it with our species defiling our planet? As a metaphor, I see the vultures circling everywhere and just waiting for the moment to descend when the stench of death has reached Biblical proportions. There is an old hymn we used to sing in our small church in Little Oklahoma that goes “How beautiful heaven must be.” Considering the plight of our species and how we have fouled our own nest, it isn’t any wonder some of us are longing for a promised heaven in a hereafter we are not likely to ever experience on earth. It seems there are just too many descending on us promising to do us good, insisting on doing us their idea of good from whom we should flee as quickly as Henry claimed he would from such persons, knowing they represent divine carrion, goodness tainted by such people demanding we all become part of their odd society. It may be there are vultures circling ready to pick the bones of America and there is nothing I can do about that, but I’ll tell you what I am going to do. I am going to enjoy what I can of summer’s warmth here in the Kern River Valley; I am going to enjoy watching the vultures circling overhead, the butterflies, quail, doves, hummingbirds and others of my feathered friends, the numerous lizards frolicking among the rocks and count my blessings I am able to enjoy these companions in such a setting.   Books and Writing http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/29133 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/29133 As though the usual world class air pollution was not bad enough in Kern County smoke from the many fires is hanging heavy in the air here in the Kern River Valley making it hazardous for young and old alike. Fortunately feeding myself and the resident cat is the extent of the essential exertion I face and I’m reminded it took a leisure class to produce the great works of literature. But whether such leisure is had by poverty or wealth a good education and a mastery of language, the skills and discipline of writing remains essential. It used to be that a library of finely bound books of great literature was the hallmark of a civilized society, and for those of us born to read before the advent of TV books were our path to imagination and adventure lifting us out of the ordinary affairs of day to day living, and in some cases delivering souls from desperate poverty. Benjamin Franklin was a man of great genius, and in his genius recognized the need of a public library in order to make books available to those who could not afford them. Alas, the libraries of America have fallen on hard times due to electronics and illiteracy and this generation does not cherish books the way past generations of Americans did. People interested in writing today should read the interview of Harper Lee by Roy Newquist. Her remarks are a scathing indictment on the lack of writing skills and the teaching of these in the universities over forty years ago, and the situation has only worsened since. When I wrote my critique of To Kill A Mockingbird I had the benefit of knowing the era and the kind of people Ms. Lee wrote about. And while derided by many, I have a beautiful cameo embossed and gilded rare copy of Thomas Nelson Page’s IN OLE VIRGINIA, and most of the great southern writers knew his work well though as the years passed many would become increasingly circumspect about even mentioning the name of Page let alone familiarity with his writings. When I began teaching in the 60s I became quickly aware of the coming slide into illiteracy due to the very things Rousas Rushdoony pointed out in Intellectual Schizophrenia and Harper Lee mentioned in her interview, things she undoubtedly knew were not going to be corrected, things that despite the Blue Book A Nation at Risk would become increasingly worse in the universities and their product schools of America. It was while teaching a graduate class of prospective teachers, all university graduates with their B.A.s in hand none of whom could write a paper worthy of a college freshman I knew there was little hope of improvement. Here is a continuing source of consternation when it comes to literature. To my utter amazement when the first edition of the Great Books of the Western World came out not one single woman was included! And despite the sop to women in the second edition, one must read Mortimer Adler’s justification for the exclusion of women to fully appreciate what the thinking of Adler and the committee was that led to the exclusion of women entirely from that first edition; quite remarkable, really. And all you ladies, you owe it to yourselves to familiarize yourselves with this. Gerry Trudeau had quite a bit of fun satirizing the common thinking of men during colonial times in America that the minds of women were too weak for the classics of literature. But here is Henry Thoreau’s comment: “Books are the treasured wealth of the world and the fit inheritance of generations and nations… By such a pile we may hope to scale heaven at last.” And given the admiration Margaret Fuller was accorded by transcendentalist luminaries of her time it is doubtful any thought a woman too weak minded for the classics of literature. While Mortimer Adler didn’t come right out and say such a thing, he may as well have. You see, I was raised with the books by Stratton-Porter and other gifted women writers. I was fortunate my reading was not confined to male authors, but included women as well. However, as Harper Lee pointed out writing was falling to an abysmal level in America and though hers became known as The Novel of the Century it must be admitted there are women whose writings are as dreadful as those of some men. Good writing, great writing has everything to do with the advancement of a civilized culture and a civilized society. TV supplanting literature has not contributed to a civilized America but quite the contrary. And it did not take the kind of vulgarity that began to creep into American writing that made the greatest of literary works what they were and continue to be as “the treasured wealth of the world.” Literature as the symbol of a nation must be the very best. And while America has such a great heritage of literature this has been squandered to the vulgar tastes of an increasingly barbaric nation that has left off the good manners and civilized speech that used to qualify the best of literature that is now mocked in the universities of America and our schools. For my part, I want the realism of Stratton-Porter’s Limberlost, Ingalls’ and Cather’s Prairie as opposed to the kind of violent, vulgar, profane and perverted realism in which America and the world is drowning. There is no denying the benefits of books that have stirred social conscience and led to the redress of righteous grievances. But neither is there any denying the need of books that make their own unique contributions to a healthy mind, a mind in which imagination, hopes and dreams find a safe harbor apart from violence and barbarism and encourages civilized, proper speech and behavior. Somewhere there must be room left for idealism in the face of pragmatism, and the best books keep such ideals alive long past the lives of their authors.   Powerful Symbols http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/28965 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/28965 Moby Dick was very poorly written and John Steinbeck was a fraud. That these opinions of mine did not set well with some of my instructors as a literature major you may be able to imagine and caused me no little grief. But as to Steinbeck, my contributions to the Weedpatch Memorial Library pretty well covers my disaffection with his view of the Dust Bowl migration and the way his socialist views obscured what was really happening. For people who know nothing about life in the camps of that era and among people like the Joads but want to pontificate on the subject much in the way of the myth of the noble savage, I can only say you must know that kind of poverty without the benefit of Steinbeck’s silver spoon pedigree to understand. Socialism has often proven to be the siren call to those who find it so easy to be on the side of the angels, as they construe such beings, while ignoring the grim realities of life. It is for this reason the universities are filled with those out of touch with reality even from the time of Emerson that know very little about such grim realities but taut socialism and have earned the pejorative appellation Ivory Tower. These days what with socialism so well entrenched in the universities, their product schools, and throughout America and virtually half of Americans feeding at Caesar’s table drawing a government check in some fashion it has become downright heretical to speak against the early socialists like Steinbeck that promoted the idea everyone was owed a living rather than earning a paycheck. Utopian ideals were placed in the hands of politicians who promised everyone a chicken in every pot and a living without having to earn their own way, and those that took advantage of the ignorance and desperation of the Dust Bowl migrants were easy targets of socialists like Steinbeck. It’s easy to hate those that take advantage of others, but not so easy to place blame on those who look to politicians to take from the productive to feed the unproductive. My having been born in Weedpatch some of my earliest memories include bigotry, prejudice, and what the insults Okie and white trash meant. In too many instances of my own personal experience such insults were all too well earned, and the myth of the noble savage as abused by Steinbeck had no place among those who had to root hog or die, though the best of southern civilized good manners were still to be found. But the false idealism advanced by socialists and the universities through pandering politicians has brought us to the place we are today, a place where slave labor from Mexico is used for “Work Americans won’t do!” It was easy for Henry Thoreau to fault those that built pyramids for “some ambitious booby” calling such workers “degraded,” and to compare such an Egyptian temple to the United States Bank. “It costs more than it comes to. The mainspring is vanity, assisted by the love of garlic and bread and butter.” To bring Henry’s estimate up to date, we must include beer as well. Henry went on to say, “For my part, I should like to know who in those days did not build them,—who were above such trifling.” But trade cursing everything it touches, as Henry pointed out, and when there is a living to be made people adjust to whatever is required of them. Henry’s fault was in failing to acknowledge the fact that people “degrade” themselves to menial tasks when there is no other way of putting food on their tables. He was astute enough to plant beans, to learn what beans could teach him when it came to providing the necessities of life but was not himself in danger of starving whether he planted beans or not. And that is a very significant difference, the kind of difference that made Steinbeck a fraud. If our measure of success as a nation is that Steinbeck’s success has been the supplanting of Okies with Mexican slave labor from which he and his family profited then where is the advantage to America? As a symbol, The Grapes of Wrath aided in large part by the film was spectacularly successful. That these are socialist propaganda conveniently sidesteps the larger issues of what has taken the place of honest labor Americans not only used to do, but is now denied them by welfare or the inability to speak Spanish. Nothing can take away from Steinbeck’s honor due his artistic ability as evidenced by both his Pulitzer and Nobel. As a lover of great literature, as a writer and author I fully appreciate his artistry and find no fault in that. But I’m acutely aware of the prevailing attitude of the better classes of Steinbeck’s era, one in which socialism was gaining in strength advanced by the universities of America. But today, I think of Al Gore’s praise by the very same kind of people who were heaping praise on Steinbeck. Al has both an Oscar and a Nobel, but these do not make him an honorable or truthful man cleaving steadfastly to the truth. As those on the side of the angels sing the praises of the dignity of labor while damning the exploiters of the common man, I’m reminded of the German fellow I knew while working as a machinist that told me, “We were starving until Hitler came to power; and when he took over we had meat and potatoes.” There has never been a more successful symbol of power than that of Hitler’s design of the black, white, and red Swastika flag that even today evokes a visceral response in anyone seeing it. No one of any sensibility would compare such a symbol equated with the ruthless power of evil to The Grapes of Wrath or An Inconvenient Truth. But when any symbol comes to represent “vanity, assisted by the love of garlic and bread and butter” it serves us well to question the value and aim of such a symbol and question the real motives of those bestowing the honors on the creators of such symbols.   Life Becomes Increasingly Uncertain http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/28857 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/28857 When a young fellow back in the 60s came to school and tried to check his gun in at the front office while he attended classes and wanted to pick it up after school so he could protect himself on the way back home, from the reaction of the principal you would have thought he was making an unreasonable request. For my part, I thought it quite admirable the young fellow was even trying to attend school under the circumstances. These days, when the young people are carrying guns to school they aren’t as courteous as this young fellow was. One reason, and a considerable one, that I was able to make it at David Starr Jordan High in Watts during the 60s was my reputation as a skilled gunsmith. I usually knew who was carrying and who was not at the school, and sometimes my expertise was needed in some rather clandestine fashion that while undoubtedly still going on in some inner city schools seldom make any headlines. The greater problem is that our schools are supposed to be the bulwark against a descent into all out barbarism; and the schools, particularly those of the inner cities are being asked to do the impossible in the face of so much against them not the least of which is the threat of lawsuits from every direction. I was teaching metal shop as well as working security for the L. A. City Schools, but it was my ability to teach the young people how to operate machinery, to do welding and foundry work, all the metalworking skills, useful skills that made me both accepted and respected. Things were always a little different in Watts, as some in the Firestone Division of South Central L. A. from those days could tell you. And given the environment, that young fellow with the gun was acting sensibly being armed though some might fault his judgment in trying to check his gun in at the office. Of course I know how fanciful such a story sounds. But it was one of the reasons I used to tell people “Things aren’t as bad as you think in the schools; they are far worse!” Coming from industry into education I saw things from a considerably different perspective than most teachers going through the system directly into the classroom and never having punched a clock for a living. And what I saw was something I began to realize even back in the 60s when it came to education: A system for failure could not have been better designed had it been done intentionally! And I knew what I was experiencing in Watts at the time was bound to eventually infect schools across the country. Not only in terms of drugs and violence, but in dropout rates and illiteracy as well. But I also came to realize the fundamental problem in the universities responsible for education in America was impervious to any change for the better. However, that was Watts; and all that most of the country knew about that community was from the riots with the senseless violence and destruction born of anger and despair being shown on their TV screens while Ozzie and Harriet was on another channel. Who was going to speak up about the impossible odds the children and the schools in that area were facing? There was no political incentive to do so, and every reason politically to keep quiet and the job of the schools in that part of Los Angeles was to just try to keep the lid on because of all the violence. Now gentle readers, do you suppose things are any better in the schools of the inner cities these many years later? This morning I read an article at MSNBC where the writer is asking whether things in America are spiraling out of control? It’s increasingly obvious no one seems to be minding the store, but this should have been obvious back in the 60s. Mulholland Falls is one of my favorite films, faithful in the details to what I recall of that era when the L.A.P.D. took care of business as portrayed. But the F.B.I. as portrayed in the film, ah, I understand the Chief’s attitude toward that agency because that’s the way things were back then in the 50s. However, it didn’t get any better for the F.B.I. in the 60s despite the propaganda like Mississippi Burning. Along with a young man wanting to check in his gun at the school office, how is this for surreal? My being a Caucasian teacher in Watts made me unusual to say the least. But here come two young men, Caucasians, dressed in three piece suits and wearing hats, F.B.I. agents coming on campus asking to speak to me in private. These two were right out of the film Mulholland Falls, and might as well have had F.B.I. stenciled on their suits for the whole campus to see, asking me to tell them if I heard or saw anything that might be of interest to the agency? Talk about making me a target! And it didn’t exactly endear me to administrators and faculty. Ruby Ridge, Waco, these did not surprise me. That neither Janet Reno nor Louis Freeh could even turn on a computer let alone use one didn’t surprise me. The agency did much better in The Pelican Brief, though I doubt if computer literacy and systems have improved all that much. Problem is we can’t trust those in government to tell us the truth about anything. We hear of potential threats of Armageddon having been averted, things like the various accounts of the Cuban Missile Crisis, of how close Russia came one time to launching nukes, and right now the possibility of Israel attacking Iran. What I know is that I’ve experienced so much of the ineptitude and duplicity in government including the educational system, police agencies and government related industries to provide me plenty of cause for concern. Carlos Castaneda was a pretty popular fellow when I was doing my doctoral work, but then so was Viktor Frankl whom I met at my university where he was a guest lecturer. Both had their own worldview, and each had its attraction though I never credited Castaneda’s personal claims in many instances and voicing my objections led to some spirited debate in a couple of seminars I attended at the time. But each of them seem fanciful in their own way and serve to remind me that the truth is often stranger than fiction. The point being that when we are being confronted by so much uncertainty, when things seem to be spiraling out of control there is room for both reality and fancy to come together to help us through these very uncertain times. Hopefully we will not lose touch with reality in the process, but why fault anyone for taking the path of fancy when the reality is more than they can handle. If someone’s fancy should take the turn of religion or other similar means of dealing with the ugly and uncertain realities as long as they do not incite hatred or do harm to others they are welcome to do so. But neither should those compelled to do what they feel they must be faulted for their continued efforts to right the many injustices and inequities of this world system no matter whether they meet with any success in doing so or not just so long as they act from the pure motives they demand of others. I would far rather the guns be checked in at the school office, but so long as there is a need for guns just to attend school we have every reason to be concerned for the direction of America. Things change from any existential mode to grim reality in a heartbeat, but I remind myself allowance must be made for fancy as well if we are to retain any grip on reality. Mine are only the wonderings and ponderings of an old fellow that has experienced enough of reality, wondering how I have lived so long, to know it’s sometimes difficult to distinguish between the lunatics of this world and who really has a grip on reality. But as I view what is happening in America, I have cause to wonder just who our real enemies are? Some are readily identifiable, but I don’t trust our government to tell us who they are.   Everyone has to be Somewhere http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/28786 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/28786 An anecdote in Reader’s Digest some years ago described a woman who found herself seated next to Bing Crosby on an airliner. Staring at him, the woman exclaimed, “Why, you’re Bing Crosby!” Bing calmly replied, “Well, everyone has to be somewhere.” Bing was correct of course; but I find myself asking lately why everyone thinks they have to be in California? So when I read a headline regarding Kern County stating “And now for the bad job news” I realize things are not getting better, but might be some better if there were not so many people living here. What with all the bad news both here in America and throughout the rest of the world I await the predicted major earthquake that will cause a good part of my native state to be shaken into the Pacific Ocean taking out Frisco, L. A., and Dago and wondering just how bad things can get? Ok; that bad. Might have been better had the Lord a hankering to get the business done during the time of Dana’s recounting his adventures in Two Years Before the Mast. My, but that man could write! He makes you feel and taste the sea and the rime around your mouth as you read that classic of American literature. But way back in the time of Dana’s classic the west coast was not that populated and the loss would not have been the disaster it would become now. The disasters of the 1906 quake, Katrina, the flooding in the Midwest now will pale if what is forecast for the west coast takes place both in the potential loss of life and financial. But for the millions of us sitting here happy as clams, well, maybe only a couple of clams, such a thing might as well be some horrific SciFi disaster tale. But alas Krakatau was real, Tunguska was real, Myanmar, the list goes on of the catastrophic dangers facing us wherever we dwell on this planet. However, with the many millions now in harm’s way the disasters of the present era take on a greater significance in terms of the loss of life. As Bing so well said, everyone has to be somewhere. But with the burgeoning billions now inhabiting the world the more desirable places to be are coming at an increasing premium. And while I used to live in Oakland for example I wouldn’t want to live in most of the neighborhoods there. I can say the same for many of the most desirable places throughout the west coast in which I have lived at one time or another but are now gang-ridden and graffiti smeared. If a catastrophic earthquake takes out the west coast haters of America will be dancing in the streets as they did on 9/11; but I wonder if Mexico will sue America over the loss of millions of its citizens here illegally? Like Lawrence of Arabia in the film, I find the great western deserts desirable because they are “clean,” without fences, asphalt, or concrete; just the wide panoramic vistas of the Big Empty’s that I find enchanting and mind expanding. But this has never dulled my senses to the fact that abundant water and greenery are desirable for the mind as well, and most people quite reasonably would prefer Malibu or Tahoe to Death Valley. But as to everyone having to be somewhere, if threatened by a comet for example and I couldn’t escape I would prefer the end of Richard Crenna and those Indians in the 1978 TV film A Fire in the Sky, just kicking back with a pipe of magic mushroom out in the open desert, watching that comet approach and waiting for the end to come. Now that I think about it, here I am in the Kern River Valley with abundant clean air and water, no traffic congestion, no gangs or drive by shootings, no graffiti and some visitor from one of the congested warrens of L. A. might look about and ask me like Shoeless Joe in Field of Dreams “Am I in heaven?” But now, Kevin Costner wouldn’t want to be in Iowa and The Music Man certainly wouldn’t be getting off the train there. How quickly our circumstances can change from heaven to hell, and even a far less significant earthquake can cause Isabella Dam to break and wipe out the town. There is enough to worry about these days to satisfy anyone with a bent for gloom and despair, but even if given a normally sunny disposition one can be excused for wondering when the next shoe of disaster will drop here in America? As it is certain items are disappearing from store shelves across the country, and even here in the valley we are experiencing some shortages due to high fuel and food prices. Tomatoes? My, we have every reason to believe the worst of a government that can’t seem to tie its own shoelaces. My electric bill for last month was $24.16; and that includes the power for my well. No A/C or swamp cooler and living alone with the resident cat does not require the use of much electricity. But I understand the needs of a family with children, and many in such circumstances could not live as simply as I do nor would many wish to. Still, just the high cost of fuel is causing some major readjustments in the lifestyles of millions of Americans, many such things beyond just inconvenience. Few of us believe any politician is going to offer a cure for what ails America; but what if bread, TP and water to flush toilets become luxuries? Ah, then Americans will be ready for a Messiah to deliver our nation. And few will care whether he is of heaven or hell. Me? I’m now the elderly and somewhat detached observer of events like the price of gas, earthquakes and the floods in the Midwest over which I have no control. But I can’t shake the feeling I’m in somewhat the same position of Richard Crenna and those Indians, even though I haven’t yet seen that comet in the sky. I’ve got the pipe, now all I need is the magic mushrooms and all would be well. As it is, since everyone has to be somewhere I realize the Kern River Valley is a somewhere many would choose if they could and count my blessings accordingly. Gold Fever http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/28666 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/28666 It’s very likely while panning a stream and you’re coming up with #8 birdshot and no trace of color you aren’t going to find any amount of gold. We have one of the most marvelous native trout streams here in the Kern River Valley; Bull Run Creek. The largest trout I’ve pulled out of this pristine, mountain stream weighed five-pounds, but the biggest I hooked and lost raised a rooster tail nearly two-feet high with my line sawing through the water as it made its run through one of the deeper pools and dislodged the hook before I could lessen the drag on my reel. In 1969 I filed on an old lode silver mine up the stream, not with the intention of working it but to try to keep it from being trashed while also keeping the trail open for forestry and other avid fishermen like me. I had first learned of the mine and the stream from an old fellow that came by our cabin one day in 1949. When he discovered my interest in fishing, he drew a rough map of how to get there and I had been fishing it ever since until I was no longer able to make the hike. Years ago forestry put a gate at the end of the pavement of Burlando Road, for which I was grateful. Any place easy to get to in nature is inevitably going to be trashed, and the entry to Bull Run was showing evidence of this when the lake went in and the population here in the valley began to increase. There is an old saying; Gold is where you find it. I’ve done enough prospecting to learn the truth of this. But the beauty of Bull Run Creek had always been gold enough for me; the natural and unspoiled trout stream in a wilderness environment is something no amount of gold can buy. Fishing such a stream is time not subtracted from our natural span, and I often think of the judge who when asked why he spent so much time fishing replied, “Because it keeps me mindful of how very unimportant so many things in life really are.” To lie beside Bull Run Creek at night taking in the scent of the surrounding forest while a light evening breeze soughs through pine needles, listening to the stream and viewing the stars overhead unaffected by any extraneous manmade light is to see and experience heaven in its real glory so far as we earthbound creatures can do so. But I was to learn not everybody is sensitive to such glory, and one instance of this left an indelible impression on me. A young fellow who wanted to go fishing with me at Bull Run also wanted to learn how to pan. So, along with the fishing gear I packed a couple of my gold pans. I knew there wasn’t much chance of finding gold in Bull Run, but this young fellow was anxious to try his hand at panning. Arriving at one of the more beautiful spots in the stream where there was a goodly amount of black sand I showed him the fine art of working the pan. But to my consternation all thought of fishing, all thought of the surrounding beauty of our environment was lost to this young fellow as he spent the hours in a vain attempt to find some gold. To this day the mental image of this young fellow wading in the pristine, crystal clear water of this marvelous stream working that pan and wasting the precious hours of the day remains vividly with me, and I realized gold fever isn’t caught only by the sight of gold, but the hope of it as well. There is many a homily to be drawn from this story, and over the years I have done so. One of the things that makes life a living hell on earth is the fact where people don’t care about the environment you will find trash. If there had been gold in Bull Run, it is doubtful it would remain the beautiful trout stream it is today. But when a nation is producing millions of unproductive mouths demanding to be fed, eventually the beauty of places like Bull Run will be sacrificed by politicians. I’m all for the present demand for drilling for oil that will meet our needs. Other nations are not going to care for the environment no matter how green America tries to be. That pragmatic part of me realizes the futility of trying to save the planet when it has so many unproductive mouths demanding to be fed, when politicians, tyrants and despots are determined on their paths of power and wealth. But when you cram people together like rats you have to expect some to behave like rats. I realize our species is not on the path to heaven being the global environment. But it’s the relentless gold fever of so many that seems to be pushing our species to extinction all the while the real gold of our planet is being sacrificed to greed and the kind of ignorance that makes slaves of billions. I’ve experienced Norman Rockwell’s America and I’ve experienced Bull Run Creek, and it would be a poor trade for the selfish interests of politicians and their corporate bosses to prevail over these. But the best of what our planet has to offer can only be saved through the cooperation of nations, and given our track record as a species this doesn’t look promising.   A Personal Note about Floods http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/28519 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/28519 An article I wrote about the local flood of February, 1998 that puts things in some perspective for me: Well, we've been getting our share of water here in the Kern River Valley and it finally flooded. But not the flooding so many others are suffering. Snow surrounds the Valley and it's cold. Don't like the cold. I was eight days without propane, so no heat and the temperature went down to 27 degrees one night. That's cold for an old fellow. So I bundled like an Eskimo and spent a lot of time under my electric blanket reading and being grateful the power hadn't failed. A small electric heater at my desk enabled me to continue writing. Last winter I spent three weeks stranded by snow in Tahoe. This year I get flooded here in Bodfish. It all started with some relatively heavy rain that caused comparatively minor inconveniences like a huge boulder, about 200 tons, that decided to cut loose and blocked the canyon to Bakersfield for two days until it could be drilled and blasted to clear the road. The rains create some interesting situations; and some tragic ones as well. <o:p> </o:p> The only modest catastrophe I suffered physically during this early period of the rains was falling off a ladder while repairing a rain gutter. Of lesser damage to me was an incident that occurred while emptying the sump at my back door. This catches run-off and has to be emptied periodically. While performing this operation, the bottom of the plastic pail I was using decided to detach itself and I managed with superior skill and cunning to direct the contents of the bucket into my shoes. Once I had performed the appropriate rain-dance accompanied by the proper incantations directed at the perversity of the gods of El Nino and plastic pails (thankfully no women or children were about), I looked around at the snow-covered mountains and decided it shouldn't be so surprising the water in my shoes had the effect of soaking my feet in a very large, thoroughly and properly chilled martini (sans olive). <o:p> </o:p> Through all the inconveniences (mostly the result of personal stupidity) to me I'm reminded that they are only that; inconveniences. I'm always sensitive to the difference between trying to decide what you're going to eat and whether you're going to have anything to eat, of having to fix the leaks in the roof and not having a roof to fix. <o:p> </o:p> Well, early afternoon of February 23 changed things considerably. Bodfish got a taste of real flooding. It came like a flash flood down the canyon without warning. It was exactly as though a dam had suddenly burst up the canyon, and I had about twenty minutes to get what I could off the floor before the water began to enter the cottage. Within a half-hour, I had nearly five inches of water filling the house and still coming through both the back and front doors. I left them open in case I had to beat a hasty retreat. <o:p> </o:p> But driving out, even had I been inclined to do so, was made quickly impossible with the river that was now so suddenly raging through my front yard and down Bodfish Canyon Road. But by the grace of God, so I believed, I never lost electricity. There were some extension cords and three breaker strips I quickly got off the floor. I missed the one in my bedroom, but when I had re-wired the house I had wired the bedroom circuit to the bathroom outlet and installed a groundfault breaker. When the water hit the extension cord plug, the breaker kicked out and saved that situation. Whew! <o:p> </o:p> I watched anxiously as the water cut channels on both sides of my well. If the river carried away the pressure tank, I would be in some real hurt due to the loss of fresh water, though I did keep a couple of gallons on standby at all times. A box of approximately 50 LPs had to sit it out on the floor. No time left and no place to put it out of the water— Shoes on the floor of the closet and under my bed; too late for those. The vacuum cleaner: too late and no place for that. <o:p> </o:p> The water reached the coil of the refrigerator. Unplug that; same with the washer and dryer. Turn off the gas to the water heater, heater and stove. I had moved books and a couple of dozen items. A whole set of Britannica had to be placed above the water along with other books, various boxes of papers, stationary, etc. The bottom drawers of my filing cabinets; it was a frantic race against the rapidly rising water. In retrospect, I'm amazed I saved what I did. <o:p> </o:p> By Sunset, I'm in my recliner watching TV. The weather news is vitally important now. Stupidly, I didn't have any waders. I've been doing all this in the frigid water in my bare feet with my pants rolled up to my knees. I have an electric heater on the coffee table next to the chair. I put my ice-cold feet right up against the heater. <o:p> </o:p> I think about the miraculous survival of some people who have lived through hypothermia, even while submersed in freezing water in Alaska, by the mechanism of their minds; truly mind over matter. The Will to Live is only a label, it doesn't explain anything. Perhaps, like prayer, God holds conversations with us through our minds. Perhaps it is Him, not ourselves, who carries us through such things. Certainly I credit God for carrying me through many a crisis. I can't quite believe it is only my strong will and mind (pigheadedness or stubbornness) that has saved me in such events. <o:p> </o:p> As my feet gradually warm, I begin to take stock as I watch the rising water. It has reached the bottom fabric of the chair. Will it gradually reach high enough to saturate it and I can no longer sit in it? <o:p> </o:p> By nightfall, the water is nearly seven inches high moving through the house. A couple of emergency workers, fire department, come sloshing into the house. Do I want to be evacuated? No. But I ask them if they happen to have a spare pair of wading boots? No. At this point, I'm willing to pay anything for a pair of waders. They would have spent $3,000 of taxpayer money relocating me to a shelter, but couldn’t give me a $20 pair of waders. Our government at work. <o:p> </o:p> I do have plastic trash bags. I wade into the kitchen and get them. I slip some over my feet and using clothespins to attach them to my pants’ legs and large rubber bands to keep them snug, I fashion Okie waders. Just keeping the water off my feet is a relief though it doesn't do a thing to keep out the cold. My feet are really freezing. <o:p> </o:p> But the rest of me is nicely bundled. So I watch TV and the water in the house and with both front and back doors closed praying it doesn't get any higher. The water reaches nearly three feet around my house and is booming like the sound of a cannon as it shoots out of a culvert under the road nearby. I try not to worry about the record albums and other things I wasn't able to save from the rising water. <o:p> </o:p> Thank God the water didn't reach my bed. By midnight I've determined the water has stopped rising and I wade into the bedroom and with great difficulty I'm able to get into bed; fully clothed, of course. I've pinned my plastic bags to my top dresser drawer. When I get up, I'll be able to reach them. I fall asleep to the sound of the rushing water all around the house. <o:p> </o:p> In the gray morning light, I groggily assessed the disaster. There was still about three inches of water circulating throughout the house. The torrent had cut a channel at the end of my driveway about eight feet deep, eighty feet long and six feet wide. The river was still running with great volume and force through my front yard. I wasn't going to drive out anytime soon. <o:p> </o:p> Stuff was stacked everywhere in the house but I had missed a few things. There just hadn't been enough time to save everything from the rising water. The moisture content in the house had reached one hundred per cent, and as the sun came up every window began to weep moisture; the greenhouse effect. <o:p> </o:p> I had a small electric heater for which I made room on my desk. I had to try to keep the moisture from damaging my computer; I could survive if I could write. I know I won't be able to print, however. Every piece of paper in the house is moisture-laden. Books have swollen from the moisture. <o:p> </o:p> But the little heater did the trick. The computer came up running. My dear friend Byron brings me a pair of waders in the late afternoon after the waters had abated sufficiently for him to do so. At that he has to brave the still running waters to reach my place on foot. I'm more grateful than I can say. I've been sitting at my desk in over two-inches of water and mud with the plastic bags around my feet as I write. A hazard of which I'm constantly aware: Don't drop anything! The TV remote for example. <o:p> </o:p> One of the greatest difficulties throughout was my leg. The fall I had taken before the flood hit had apparently damaged ligaments and muscle. It is extremely painful and all the work I had to do moving things had only acerbated the damage. The leg had become swollen and walking was excruciatingly painful. <o:p> </o:p> The biggest problem I now face is the mud. As the water in the house recedes, it is leaving about an inch of very fine silt, mud, throughout the entire house. This keeps the moisture content in the house at virtually one hundred per cent. With electric heaters and the sun now shining I can dry the air somewhat as the day progresses. But the nights are another thing. As I'm trying to sleep I think about an old medical term: Ague. I'm constantly breathing a lot of moisture. This can contribute to pneumonia; worrisome. <o:p> </o:p> My house is front-page news in the local paper, The Kern Valley Sun. Since I'm at the bottom of Bodfish Canyon, I caught the brunt of the flood. There is an interesting picture of my little cottage with the river running around it and through my front yard. <o:p> </o:p> But so many things are relative. I watch the news about the tornadoes in Florida with such loss of life. There are the pictures of houses sliding down hills in Southern California, the two CHP officers killed buried in the mud west of me. So many have lost everything, some their lives. I have no room to complain. And thank goodness my youngest son Michael showed up as soon as he was able to help me shovel out the mud and restore order. It’s the American way. And what with cinderblock construction and slab floor my little cottage is prepared for the next flood whether I am or not. Fires, floods, and earthquakes; I’ve been through them all and my heart goes out to all those suffering far worse than I have.   Strange Priorities http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/28403 http://www.tehachapinews.com/home/Blog/samheath/28403 Disasters like fires, earthquakes, and floods order one’s priorities very quickly. And if the Big One strikes California, which could happen at any time, the priorities will suddenly be re-ordered and the issue of sex in my native state and county of Kern will certainly be knocked off the headlines. But I’m beginning to wonder if it will take something so catastrophic to get the attention of people to what the real priorities ought to be? Well, God has used things of such magnitude to get people’s attention in time past and I suppose this is still a viable option. The Bible is remarkable in many respects, one of these being that no matter where you turn in its pages you find something of interest, especially regarding sex. This came to mind as my native county of Kern has been thrust into the spotlight over this issue. As Henry Thoreau remarked of economics that it may lend itself to levity but cannot so easily be disposed of, so it is with sex. Joking about it won’t make the matter of any less gravity, and there is much to be said for the Biblical view of sex having to do with original sin and the curse of God as told in Genesis. That the curse seems to fall disproportionately on women is a point I have attempted to understand for a very long time, and whether one accepts the Biblical account or not it cannot be denied that women suffer the results of sex far more than men and it has been one of the reasons for male domination throughout history. Religion has certainly been a means by which men have subjugated women to a role of lesser value, a means by which men have notoriously and even infamously declared women to be inferior to men as Harper Lee so eloquently expressed it in To Kill A Mockingbird. But it isn’t a point being addressed by those attempting to use religion as an apologetic against homosexual so-called “marriage.” The issue of sex confronting Kern County is making national headlines and ideologues and hypocrites on both sides are using inflammatory rhetoric to propagandize their causes. While I don’t support homosexuals demanding their perverted view of marriage be acknowledged as “normal” in any sense of the word and using bullying tactics to force others to accept such a minority view, neither do I want those in the churches to resort to bullying in return. I’m more than willing to allow the decision to be made at the ballot box, though I’m acutely aware the will of We the People is too often circumvented by judicial fiat. That I have personally suffered in the workplace bullying tactics of both homosexuals as well as good Baptists simply means that good people will do good and the evil will do evil no matter their sexual or religious affiliation. However, the whole idea of marriage, the ideals of family being the foundation of a society has been under attack for so long and suffered such devastation by the onslaughts of legislators and courts that no matter how Kern County or California comes out of this I do not see America surviving with anything approaching the ideals of the family structure that once dictated the morals of our nation. Just what, I ask myself, is the future of a nation without the foundation of family in the normal and traditional sense of the word? Nothing good, I have to suppose because there is no other viable substitute. But while the Bible is clear on the subject of sexual perversion being an abomination to God the opening chapters of Genesis regarding the creation of Adam and Eve are confusing. There is the matter of a council of gods in making the determination to create humankind in their own image, then there is the matter of differentiating between the first generic Adam meaning both male and female, and the later reference to Adam being male and Eve being female. But while Adam is said to have named his companion Eve because of her being the mother of all living, Adam is not called the father of all living. Why not? Scholars of the Hebrew language and Old Testament are of no help in this matter. The New Testament has it that the Jews were threatening to stone Jesus because he called God his father and that by doing so he was making himself equal to God. But Jesus called their attention to the passage in Psalm 82:6 declaring we are gods and the scripture cannot be broken. And while we may recognize God as our father even as Jesus taught the disciples to pray, while we may accept we are children of God this does not help us understand why Eve should be called the mother of all living but Adam is not called the father of all living. The subject of sex may come to the fore by way of explanation, but this would presume Adam knew Eve would bear children even before The Fall and the curse was pronounced upon our first parents, something that only leads to more confusion in attempting to make sense of the narrative. Biblical studies have not only been my resort of interest and scholarship, but my refuge when the world seems too full of misery and suffering and I can do nothing about it. The Bible addresses the issues of life with which I am concerned, and though it has its weaknesses nevertheless within its pages there is always something to ponder and helps me to make some sense of the too often seeming futility and lunacy of life. For example, while Young Frankenstein is a real hoot of a movie the idea of reanimating the dead is a very sober issue, though often the stuff of horror films. After all, what would be the point of experimenting with death unless there was hope of such experimentation having a positive impact on life? Even the many experiments having to do with life and death begin with life in some form, and science still has no understanding of either of these. Life may be considered energy, or spirit as the Bible has it, but that is only a label in lieu of understanding and death is the cessation of life. But what animates at birth and departs at death is still the greatest mystery of all. And rather than tilt at the windmills of so much prevailing evil in the world, I choose rather to give my attention to the great mysteries of our universe, of life and death and what could possibly be the meaning of it all? We carry the fire of life about in these mortal bodies, but the real value of life to me is others I love and cherish; family and friends. These, and only these, make life meaningful for me, and it is the love we have for one another that I believe will triumph over death in the end. So while ideologies bring people into conflict, while monsters in the guise of human beings prey on the innocent and men without either soul or conscience wage incessant wars I have to find the answers that soothe my soul and mind in the love I believe God has for those who truly love Him and declare that love by their love for one another. It does not make the monsters go away, it does not make the world any less evil or perverted, it does not diminish the number of bullies or protect families from the depredations of those intent on destroying any semblance of a normal family in America, but it does distinguish between the children of God and the children of the Devil. And in the face of so much evil and inequity throughout the world that has to be answer enough for me. Certainly it would be astounding to discover other intelligent life in the universe; it would be astounding to discover we are alone in the universe. But whichever it proves to be we will all die. Whether our questions will be answered then is also unknown. In the meantime if the stars declare the glory of God to me, if they speak to me in the language of God none are able to dispute this because such things are a matter of the soul and spirit and not subject to disputations of men. But I keep in memory the story about the death of a wealthy man, and when someone asked “How much did he leave?” another replied, “He left it all.” Despite what the MSM and others consider the priorities, death remains the great equalizer and being the ultimate final disposition of life and all worldly affairs orders and arranges all of our personal priorities in the end.