Life Well Lived

The Crepe Myrtles are blooming. Their soft, ivory petals gleam in the sunlight during the day and act as guiding beams of warmth and comfort at night. Slowly almost imperceptibly they gain a bright pink hue, die and the green leaves that have been dormant since last year make their way into our world.  This species of tree has become one of my favorite since I moved to the south so many years ago. Although it still has not replaced the fragile River Birch of my youth, it is still an amazing tree.

I look forward to their blossoms every year. The street where I work is lined with them, as are most streets in Old Towne Portsmouth. They are not a large tree by any means yet they provide plenty of shade in the summer and can withstand the harsh winds of fall on the eastern seaboard.

It is hard to not see them when they bloom, yet somehow, I missed it last week when they started. Maybe it was because my mind was tethered to other thoughts that had nothing to do with my surroundings or the joy I take from the small, simple things such as the changes in weather and all the effects it has on our surroundings. Yet when I did notice the change, on Saturday night as I was walking to my car from work, I was stunned. I stood on the sidewalk of High Street, which should actually be called a boulevard, and looked east and west. From the river to the traffic lights. All along the median the hundreds of Crepe Myrtles were in full bloom.

The moon in the sky shown down on them and the blossoms cast the luminous glow back to the heavens. My heart, which had been heavy and cold, warmed and lightened. The weight in my legs slowly disappeared and my troubled and somber mood became still and joyous.

It was then my Navy training in celestial navigation gave me an answer I wasn’t quite prepared for. I knew in just a few short days, our ancient satellite would be full. A common occurrence in all of our lives. Yet the day it was to be full happened to be the same day my family was going to say goodbye to our matriarch.

A few days later, as I stood in the parking lot of a funeral parlor in another state, I watched as the full moon slowly rose over the river not three blocks away. I smiled. I know in my mind this is a common occurrence. That life moves on, that the mechanics of our universe are pretty much set in place and we are helpless to do anything about their movements. Yet it seemed fitting that on this night, when a woman who had given so much to her family, a family who had come to say their last goodbyes and remember her, was escorted through the darkness by a light in the sky so bright that at times the street lights would flicker off because the light sensors didn’t know if it were day or night.

The moment seemed right, perfect, as if nothing in the world could go wrong or would dare to go wrong as this much loved and appreciated person was celebrated by the ones who had cared for her and she had cared for joined in celebration of her amazing life.

No, she didn’t find a cure for cancer, or sail the seven seas or even travel out of the United States. She didn’t change the world with one amazing discovery. Instead, she changed the world one person at a time. By being kind, by showing love, respect and honor. She gave when she had nothing to give. Love when there was no reason to love and respected those who didn’t deserve respect. She received unwavering loyalty for her kindness. And those that were fortunate enough to have learned from her example, well, they went on to share those lessons with others.

Which has changed the world.

She proved that you don’t have to be a celebrated figure in the world to change it. You just had to listen, love and care for the people you came into contact with. For that, I will always be grateful. As I am sure the people who knew her are too.

Rest In Peace Doris.

            

A Hole in Our Lives

I was sitting in the largest wheelchair I’d ever seen. So large in fact it not only held my almost 200 pound frame but my sixteen year old daughter was sitting comfortably next to me. We were snuggled up, and comfortable. Both of us looking at our respective electronic devices and trying to forget where we were and why we were there.

            It was a hospital corridor. Much like all hospital corridors across this country. Neutral paint covered the top portion of the walls, while stark white paint covered the lower. The line of demarcation of the paint was a wooden chair rail. The afternoon sun cast rays of bright yellow light through the over thick windows making it difficult to see the electronic screens that held our attention.

            Not ten feet from where we sat, through a large door and half hidden by a curtain lay my daughters Great-Grandmother. She’d been lying in the industrial grade bed for three days. Not moving, not responding to any stimulation and not eating. Her face was covered with a large oxygen mask. The machine was pumping almost pure oxygen into her lungs. She needed this machine, it breathed for her. It kept her alive.

            Surrounding her still body was my wife, my brother-in-law, my mother-in-law, my father-in-law and two pastors from church. They stood around her holding hands, praying and singing. A touching sight to behold. A tragic sight. A sight in which we all will eventually succumb to.

            When I first arrived I did not go in to the room. There were too many people in there. I stayed outside, said some comforting words under my breath and waited. My daughter on the other hand, a child who has more strength and wisdom than I ever did at her age or even twice her age, went right in, held her Great-Grandmothers hand and kissed the dying woman’s forehead as gently as a new mother kisses her newborn child. Tender, lovingly and with all the compassion a human body is capable of. Then she stepped out of the room and joined me on the over-sized wheelchair.

            Over the course of the next few hours, people came and went. Loved ones, family, friends, nurses and orderlies, everyone had kind words to say. When stories were told, people listened. When tears were shed, comfort was given.

            I bided my time. Eventually people filed out, others found chairs to rest in, and space around the woman I’ve known for thirty years was open. I walked in, squeezed her hand, bent down and kissed her on her forehead and said a few words to her. My daughter did something similar. However with her, she asked that she have some time alone in the room with her Great Grandmother. She sat in that dark room, alone with the dying woman whom she’d loved and spoken with for the past sixteen years and made her peace. I’m sure that whatever she said was important. Was essential to the both of them. And while the Doctor’s say she was unresponsive, I believe the woman heard her. Then we went home minus my daughter’s mother.

            We packed up some clothes and necessities for my wife and I headed back to the hospital. She wanted to stay the night. I couldn’t blame her. She had been close to this woman for her entire life and I don’t think a week went by where she didn’t see her or at least talk to her. This woman had been like a second mother to her and she wanted to be there for her at the very end.

            I, however, am more pragmatic. I knew what was going to happen, I’d accepted it long ago and I knew that there were things that I had to ensure happen mere hours from where we were. Responsibilities to my life, my daughter’s life and my wife’s life. So I did what I had to do. I took care of what needed to be taken care of.

            It was early morning when she finally passed. When I got the phone call, well, the second phone call, I woke up my daughter and we went back to the hospital. Once again the family was all there. I said my peace once again as did my offspring.

            Later, over breakfast, while everyone was talking and I slowly picked at my food, I thought about what this woman had meant to me. What memories I had of her. What effect on her family she’d had and what sort of life she had lived.

            This is what came to my mind.

            She was a loving wife and mother who had buried one child and her husband. She spent World War II working at the Norfolk Naval Shipyard while her childhood friends and family fought against the Nazi’s and the Japanese. She took in her daughter and grand-son after a failed marriage, loved them and supported them in a time where most families wouldn’t have. She cared for her husband when he wasn’t able to care for himself and she was there when he passed. Through all of this, she maintained an iron backbone and showed the world what a proud and independent woman she could be.

            As time does though, her body began to break down. Her health failed and the woman who once ran my daughter over with a motorized wheelchair became constrained by the frailty of the human condition. A sad sight to witness.

            One of my earliest memories of her was of her in the farmhouse in North Carolina. She was always in the kitchen, cooking fabulous food with all the things the health nuts tell you not to eat or cook with. She was always smiling, always fussing and always happy to pour you a glass of homemade sweet tea. Meals were epic, meat, vegetables, bread and dessert were always ready. A veritable thanksgiving feast in the heat of the south in mid-July.

            Anyone fortunate enough to be around her for their birthday or holiday would leave with full stomachs, warm hearts and gifts.

            If you had something to say, she’d listen. If you needed advice, she’d be gentle but firm. If you needed a hug or a shoulder to cry on, she was there. Her tall frame, her comforting shoulders and her soft, heart-warming eyes made you feel comfortable and at home. Even if you had just met her. Her demeanor was one that made you love her and care for her because she genuinely loved and cared for everyone she met. Even through all her trials and tribulations.

            I know her life wasn’t easy. It couldn’t have been. A rural lady from a small southern town who moved to a much larger city on the seaboard to help out with the war effort. A move that introduced her to the love of her life. A move that gave her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren when the world was in turmoil and no one was sure what was going to happen from one day to the next. A daughter herself, raised through the Great Depression and taught morals and principles that she took with her to her grave.

            A woman I loved and admired has passed on. My heart is saddened and my heart is not alone. I don’t think I will ever truly understand the influence she had on my life or the lives of others but I do know that she was a great person and she will be missed.

            Doris Hayden, I love you and I’m happy you have finally found the peace you so dearly deserve. You had a great life and you touched more people than any of us will ever know or understand. Safe travels.

Shameless Plug

It has been a hell of a week for me. However, it seems to be ending on a high note. You see, a few months ago I was invited to write a short story for a speculative anthology that hadn’t even been sold to a publisher. Which in this day and age, is pretty crazy, after all, there was no guarantee of getting paid, no idea who’d else be involved in the collection or even when the book might be produced.

            Everything about the deal had red flags going on. It was the brain child of two free-lance editors. But I dug the idea, so I agreed. How they got my name, well, it’s not a mystery but it is almost suspicious in nature.

            You see, a friend of a friend who had read something someone else had done that liked something I did in some other publication referenced me. I know, convoluted, right?

            So within a few hours of being asked I had an idea. Three days later I had a story written. Three weeks after that, my beta-readers and editors had gone through it. During that time, the books editors found a publisher, told the invited writers to get working and send what they had as soon as possible.

            I sent my story, they liked my story, they edited my story, they sent my story back to me, I fixed everything they asked me to fix and then they sent me a contract. I signed the contract and sent it back to them. Now, in a few months, I will get published again, then a few month later, another book with my name in it will come out.

            When I started writing I never thought I’d be writing fiction. I never thought anyone would pay me for my words or ideas put to words. But here it is six years into beating my fingers to nubs on keyboards around the United States and I’m getting paid and published.

            Strange how this all worked out. Now, mind you, I don’t write novels, I don’t know if I ever will write a novel, but I do like writing short stories. I have more than my share of them written and saved on flash drives. Few have been published and I’m sure that if I keep doing this, more will follow. At least I hope so.

            You see, I started to write as a way to relieve stress in my life. Then, it became a habit and now, it is an obsession. To me, it matters not whether I’m writing fiction or non-fiction, just that I’m writing. That I’m conveying ideas, purging my mind of all the crap that seems to fill it up on a daily basis.

            It’s quite cathartic.

            Well, that and it allows me ample time to sit on my porch and smoke my cigars and not be bothered.

            So, where is all this going? Simple, I want you, my dear readers to buy the books that I’m going to be published in. One comes out in July and the other comes out in October. They aren’t going to be expensive nor are they going to be difficult to acquire. Heck, if you have any sort of tablet you will be able to download them.

            Or, if you’re like me, go on the internet retailer and buy the dead tree book. I’m sure it won’t cost you much money. Heck, you’d most likely spend more money on lunch or dinner than you would the book. Besides, I want you to read my twisted little tales. They are much different than the stories and thoughts I post here.

            Okay, enough pimping for now, I will keep you all posted when the books become available and I hope you do purchase the books. Also, leave a review or comment on what I’ve written after you’ve read the tale. I want to hear your thoughts too.

Have a great week.

Disillusionment

Look, I get it, I understand, okay, maybe understand is too strong of a word, but I sympathize with you. I don’t like it much either. I feel similar to how you feel.

            Oh, sorry, I’m talking about the current political situation in our country.

            Recently the state I live in, no, not confusion, although there is something to be said about the vast differences of beliefs and opinions in Virginia, we had our primary election. On super-Tuesday no less and as usual, I went and voted. Like I have for the past thirty years of my life, and as usual, at the end of the day, the candidate I voted for did not win. This of course, was no real surprise to me.

            You see, I can’t say that I’ve actually voted for a winning candidate at any level of politics since the 1980’s. That is a very long losing streak for me. Almost something to be proud of actually, for lots of reasons, the primary one; I can always say, yes, I voted, yet my candidate didn’t win. And then I can move on to speculate how the candidate that I voted for would have handled the political situation better or worse than the seated elected official.

            So, moving on… when I woke up on Super-Tuesday, I still didn’t know who I was going to vote for. Even when asked by no less than twenty people leading up to Super-Tuesday I didn’t know whose name I was going to put my “X” next to.

            You see, none of the candidates, and I mean not a single living soul running for president, actually has said or done anything to prove to me that they have either been in my situation, understand my situation or even sympathize with my situation. This of course is a generality. A generality that most people seem to not realize for themselves during this time of hype in our season of rebellion.

            As a general rule, I don’t trust politicians or anyone who wants to be in charge of anything. I don’t believe any promises or platforms they stand on. I’m tainted by life. Yet I dream of a better living for my child and a future where people get along, listen to each other and leaders willingly admit they don’t know everything and have the answers to all questions. What I suppose I’m saying is, I want a leader who will listen.

            Listen to their advisors.

            Listen to the poor.

            Listen to the rich.

            Listen to the manufactures.

            Listen to the sick.

            Listen to the well.

            Listen to the right.

            Listen to the left.

            Listen to the middle.

            Listen to the employed.

            Listen to the unemployed.

            Listen to the angry.

            Listen to the forlorn.

            Then, when they’ve listened, they sit back with smart people and try to figure out what the best solutions to the problems they’ve just encountered and move forward.

            Instead, what I get to see and hear are people with inflated egos talk over each other about how great they are and how many accomplishments they’ve acquired. I get to hear them insult each other in smarmy tones all for the laughing public.

            I get to witness wedges driven into American people and divide those same people into categories and then watch them point fingers at each other in disgust and hate. I get to see loving and caring people turn into hate mongering name callers and others turn into media martyrs. I get to hear from all sides that if “So and So wins, I’m moving to Canada, or Brazil or Costa Rica.”

            I’m sick of the division our so-called leaders are forcing upon us. I’m sick of the rhetoric and I’m sick of the vitriol on both sides.

            Where is the great unifier? The person or people who want to bring us together instead of drive us apart. Where is the person who talks of love and forgiveness over fear and apathy; a person who’d rather do what is best for all and can convey that sentiment for all to understand instead of trying to build walls and canyons between the classes in our country?

            T.H. White said “The Destiny of Man is to unite, not to divide. If you keep on dividing you end up as a collection of monkeys throwing nuts at each other out of separate trees.”

            Which it seems is happening throughout the caucuses of this year. Everyone seems to be pointing fingers at everyone else and saying the problems we are experiencing lie with the current or old administrations. Maybe they have a point. Maybe they don’t. All I know is that if you or I pointed a finger at a co-worker or supervisor at work and said the things the people who want to be our leaders are saying then we’d most likely be fired or at best sent to Human Resources for sensitivity training. Yet when the talking heads do it, they are applauded. They hold themselves above the masses and the rules the masses follow and are offended when they are asked why they don’t have to follow the rules. Or they deflect the question by pointing out the shortcomings of someone else or point to an individual or group of individuals and state “that’s where the problem is. Blame them.”

            I hate this mentality.

            We are supposed to be better than this.

            We are supposed to be great in all things.

            We are failing.

            I want to be able to change our society for the better yet wanna-be leaders only seem to want to make us hate each other. I hope we as a society are smarter than what they are giving us credit for. I dream of a country that has put to rest the demons of its past and work toward a better, happier and more peaceful future.

Eleanor Roosevelt Said “Pit race against race, religion against religion, prejudice against prejudice. Divide and conquer! We must not let that happen here.”

Disillusionally yours,

Skip.

On Modern Strife

Wow, I’m stunned. Just stunned. And I really don’t know what to say or how to say it. So, what do I do? I try to write about something that has plagued this country for ages. I really don’t know how it is going to go but this topic has been gnawing its nasty little teeth at the back of my mind for quite some time and I suppose it is about time I address it. So, here goes.

            Yesterday I was sick and spent most of the day lying in pain and loaded up with all types of cough and cold medicine. I’m better today as I write this. However, during my interim, I had endless hours of television to watch. Mostly I watched “How the Universe Works” as narrated by Mike Rowe. I like this sort of programing. It lets me know that there are larger things in the universe, galaxy and solar system, than me. It grounds me and gives my life a perspective I don’t normally have. However; as the day waned and darkness took over the hemisphere where I live, I lost control of the remote to my wife.

            She flipped channels for a while and then settled on the movie “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” with Kathryn Hepburn, Spencer Tracy, Sidney Poirtier and Katharine Houghton. Sure there were more in the cast but those are the four main characters. It’s an amazing movie and one I know my wife and I have watched at least a dozen times. Yet each time I see the film I walk away with a new perspective, a new thought or idea. The film makes me think. A lot.

            Also; my wife was flipping to a re-airing of the Grammy awards. Now, as a general rule, I avoid any and all award shows. Especially ones where people just give themselves awards. So, when one show was on commercial, the other show was flipped to and watched. Which means I could tune out the awards show and become attentive when the movie was on.

            The movie… I have two favorite scenes in the movie.

            One of them, I’m sure is everyone’s favorite scene. It is at the end, where Spencer Tracy makes his speech about his feelings towards the interracial marriage of his daughter and all the crap the couple would receive from a world full of ignorant people. SPOILERS: He was for it for the simple reason the two people loved each other.

            My second favorite scene is where Sidney Poitier says to his father “You see yourself as a black man, where I see myself as a man.”

            I like to tell myself this is the line in the movie that won the writer “William Rose” his Oscar. But most likely, the gold on the statue was poured for the ending speech alone.

            We, as a country that is, have tried for over 70 years to try and put race relations to rest and it seems to me that in 1967, when Sidney Poitier said that line to his father about seeing himself as a man, we were on the path to equality and understanding.

            Now, fast forward to 2016, with the horrific utterings of the word “racism” at the drop of any hat or misconceived slight, we are all guilty.

            Guilty of not learning from the past. Guilty of not learning. Guilty of even the slightest prejudgment. This is not just blank on blank prejudice. (Insert your own race or creed in the blanks).  It seems to go deeper.

            Not just in our neighborhoods or cities. Nor is it a national problem. This seems to be an international problem. We have elected and non-elected leaders telling us that our problems come from this type of person or that type of person. We even have self-important people with access to social media and millions of followers talking about slights based on race. All of these actions seem to be step backwards and not forwards. It all hurts my head and worse, it hurts my heart.

            In a country where marijuana is legal, where homosexuals and lesbians can marry each other, where an African American man has been elected not once but twice to the presidency and even where a woman is running for president, we are still mired in the sins of our fore-fathers.

            I say for-fathers even though I come from a turn of the 20^th century immigrant family. Yet, this is my country and I’m proud of it. I’m just not proud of the actions of some of my fellow countrymen.

            This also makes me sad. I thought we were better than this. I know we are better than this. We have to be in order to survive.

            Which brings me to one of the performances on the Grammy’s. I don’t know the artists name nor would I write it if I did. However; his lyrics and song made quite an impact on me. He came out in handcuffs along with his backup singers and dancers. They were also dressed as inmates. I understand the point he was making. I also understand that as an artist you have the freedom to express your feelings, good or bad, in your art. I also know that there seems to be a great chasm between crimes and criminals in our justice system. A system that is not perfect but it is a system that has changed over time. Slowly it seems but there has been change.

            There are actions that are not excusable committed by people in voice and power that make me ashamed to call myself an American. However; I’d like to think that as our country grows older, we also become wiser. I hope that one day, like the great actor Sidney Poitier said “You see yourself as a _______man, while I just see myself as a man.”

            Or, in the lingo of the new enlightened world “You see yourself as a _____person, while I see myself as a person.”

            After all, we are all people and we are all sharing this journey together and while we may not get out of this journey alive, it’s easier and nicer to be together through the joys, the pains, the success’s and the travails of life than struggling through our own misguided prejudices.

            Have a great week. And remember, try and understand and love your fellow travelers. We all deserve a little of both.

Reason not Excuse

Last October, okay, maybe it was September; I received a jury inquiry letter on my front door. I assume it was put there by the local deputy sheriff. It is after all, their job to do such things. I quickly filled out the paperwork and turned it in. And then my waiting began.

            In December, when I still had not heard anything from the clerk of courts, I called them to inquiry about the status of my potential of being a juror. I was informed by one of the clerks that the paperwork I’d filled out and turned in was for the year 2016. I was relieved. Then, in the midst of January I received a subpoena for the month of February. Upon my first look at the paper I was a bit elated. Which is an emotion most people don’t have when they get summoned for jury duty.

            You see, I’ve been a voter for over thirty years. Local elections, state elections and federal elections; I’ve tried to vote in all of them. As a matter of fact, I believe I’ve only missed one turn at the polls in all that time. In all this time I’ve seen friends and family get called for jury duty. I was always a bit stunned I had never been called. I want to serve on a jury. Not to judge the innocent or guilty, I just want the experience. I want to be part of the judicial process in an impartial manner. Hear the stories from both sides in a legal and litigious manner. Talk over the facts with the eleven other jurors. It just seems like it would be a pretty cool experience. Well to me at least.

            Now, through this entire hurry up and wait experience, I finally received a new turntable to play my albums on. Okay, the turntable isn’t really new. It’s an early 1980’s Sears model. It needed a new belt and the needle was bent so I ordered both from a large online retailer. The belt arrived within a week and when I put it on the machine it fired right up. I then tested the bent needle on The Blues Brothers “Briefcase Full of Blues”. The music sounded amazing blasting through my JBL studio monitors.

            This small addition to my office has actually improved my work productivity. Since I don’t want to leave my office and working while spinning your favorite records is a great way to lose yourself in the pure enjoyment of music while you work. Seriously, you spend about twenty five minutes of working, then get up, flip your record, drop the needle and go back to work for another twenty-five minutes. You literally get a break from work while choosing what you want to listen to while you work. It is quite pleasing.

            As of the writing of this blog, I still have not gone through all the records I have in my office, let alone what I have hanging on the walls in picture frames. I’ll get around to pulling them off the wall one day and putting them on the turntable for endless hours of listening pleasure.

            Amongst this mess of jury duty and record listening, I was asked to perform in another play. Much like the one I was in a couple years ago. I get to play an angry, abusive father and husband. Basically, I get to be the bad guy. Again. Which is cool. I know it seems almost stereotypical but at least it is something I can do. As a matter of fact, my first practice is tonight, after my doctor’s appointment. An appointment that is going to be primarily dealing with my heart.

            Oh? You didn’t know about my heart? It’s swollen. Inflated. Inflamed if you will. Which means, to me that is, I care too much. I need to stop caring about anything and everything. I’m the Grinch at the end of the movie and I need to get back to being the Grinch at the beginning of the movie. But in all seriousness, I do need to take care of my heart better. I’ve spent too much time in the hospital as it is and I don’t want to spend any more time there than I have to. Seriously, who does?

            On top of this, I’ve got two stories being published this year, and I’m also scheduled to do another public reading. A reading of a story I have not written yet. We’ve already had two meetings about this event and a third is quickly approaching. So I guess I need to get busy.

            I’m sure you’re asking yourself right now, “Why is Skip divulging all this information?” The answer is simple, I missed last weeks blog and I barely have time to write this blog. So I figure I’d give you guys, my dear readers, the opportunity to see what sort of insanity is going on in my life. This blog is not an excuse, it is a reason why I have not written much lately. I just seem to be so busy that I can’t even find time to sit down and be creative.

            It seems to me that my experiment of slowing down has failed and I need to reinstitute a new practice. If I can figure out how to implement that new practice I’ll let you know. Or, if you have any suggestions, please let me know.

Have a great week.

Lennon to Newton

Imagine there’s no heaven, it’s easy if you try. No hell below us, above us only sky. –John Lennon

            We live in quite an amazing time. Instant everything it seems is at our fingertips and yet we still don’t know what is in our own oceans; or the full workings of quantum mechanics; or even how large our universe really is.

            Some say our universe is 46 billion light years in length and still growing. To put that in perspective, a photon, which is a particle of light whom I think I’ll call Gregory, if leaving our sun at this very moment and traveling at the speed of light, as is Gregory’s nature, then he would have to travel for 46 billion years just to reach the current edge of space as we believe it is now. I think Gregory should pack a picnic basket of food for this journey. However; since our universe is still growing, there is very little hope that Gregory would actually reach the edge of our known universe.

            I know, it stills seems a bit hard to visualize the immensity of the universe. So, hmm, okay, how about this, our galaxy, the Milky Way contains over 100 BILLION stars. You know, like our sun. Only some are larger, some are smaller but they exist. They are there. You see them every night you look up into the sky and make a wish. No, you don’t see all of them, you can’t. That’s like saying you can see your entire city from sitting on your front porch. You can’t do it. But, you can see some of the buildings near you. So, imagine our galaxy is the size of a grain of sand on a beach, how would that compare to the scaled down size of the universe?

            That answer is quite interesting. The universe would be the size of a cathedral. But how big is a cathedral? Well, Saint Peters Basilica in Vatican City is almost 50,000 square feet on the inside. Now, considering your average house in America is about 2,400 square feet you’d need about twenty one houses to even come close to the size of that Saint Peters interior space. That’s pretty big. I know from firsthand experience. Now, fill up every dump truck in the world with sand and then unload all that sand inside the cathedral. Can you imagine it? The entire basilica filled with sand from the floor to its 136 foot tall dome. That is a lot of sand. Also, I’m sure the Pope would have you excommunicated, exorcized, condemned, evicted, arrested, flayed, drawn and quartered, beheaded and burned at the stake but this is a mental exercise so none of that is going to happen.

            So, we’ve filled Saint Peters up with sand, because Saint Peters represents the size of the universe, and each grain of sand represents a galaxy. Now, somewhere in one hundred and sixty-five million cubic feet of sand lies our own grain of sand, the Milky Way. (That number is based on the fact Saint Peters dimensions are 730 feet long, 500 feet wide, 448 feet tall. With the exception of the dome which is 136 feet tall.) So, yeah, it’s almost inconceivable as to the size of the universe in comparison to us, but I hope this visualization gives you a good frame of reference.

            Now, another interesting fact is that less than fifteen percent of the smartest people in the world believe in God and the creationist story. (I say story here because I have yet to see evidence to prove the biblical tale.) This intrigues me. You see, I don’t think being smart, curious and eager to learn should be cause for a person to lose faith in religion. That is, if you had faith to begin with.

            Also, over the past few decades, scientists have started to give the theory of a multi-verse credit. No, there is no concrete proof or evidence that there are more than one; however; when you look at the universe, life, planets, suns, atoms, and everything, there is no such thing as one of anything. Even singularities, black holes, we know are not singular. Nope, they seem to be as plentiful as the galaxies they fuel, create and destroy. Which is kind of funny, because in a biblical sense, there is always more than one of anything; I’m not saying that this is a coincidence or even inferring it. This is just the way my brain works. It compares information.

            Where does this leave us? Well, we live in a pretty big place and a small piece of ground and go about our lives dealing with petty issues as if they are the most vital of all details in the grand scheme of things. When in truth, they aren’t.

            Even our loves, our wars, our trials and our success’s really don’t matter on a cosmic scale. I mean, think about it, our universe is almost 14 billion years old and we, mankind, have only been on this spec of space dust for about 2 million years. There have been births and deaths of entire galaxies even before we came around. Hell, even entire species on this planet have come into existence and then disappeared before we even started grunting at each other and bashing each other’s heads in with rocks and sticks.

            Yet when we finally did come into existence and when we finally calmed down, started building, communicating to each other and try to figure out why we were even here in the first place we came up with some pretty crazy ideas. Don’t believe me? Check out the Norse mythological gods, or the Greek ones or the Egyptian gods or the Native American Gods or any race that was around before Christians started spreading their news across the globe.

            Which is funny to me, because it seems that every time I read up on a religion or belief system that can be traced back before Christianity started, they seem to have some sort of creationist story in place; like some native Americans believed in a pair of feathered serpents whose very thoughts became reality and that is how the earth was created. In Greek Mythos chaos reined until love was born and order followed in creation. In Africa, one tribe believes the god of the sky lowered a chain down to the waters and a boy climbed down the chain and started dropping sand into the water to create the continents. I could continue on and on with different examples of creationism, but I don’t need to, you can do some simple web searches and come up with as many as you want.

            Through all these stories the Christians evangelized their own version of creation. They converted a lot of people to their way of thinking. Those old belief systems, those religions soon became myths in the light of the new truth.

            Now, in the 21^st century, the Christian creation story is coming under scrutiny by the scientific community and losing. Okay, to be honest, this is not a 21^st century predicament. This is only one of many biblical stories that have fallen under the logical thinking and testing of a systematic method. I believe most faith will fail when approached by logical means. But, then, Faith is not logical is it?

            No, how can it be? Hell, being human is not logical when you think about it and faith based systems are never logical. They can’t be. Because faith is more than logic, more than facts, more than understanding the how or they why of things; no, faith is more than the codified knowledge of all the genius’s in the history of mankind.

            Faith is the one thing that tells us to stand our ground when logic tells us to flee. Faith tells us to forgive when logic tells us to cut ties or seek vengeance when we are wronged. Faith affords us grace when logic tells us we deserve nothing. Faith fills us with hope when logic tells us there is none. Faith tells us there is something more to our lives and the existence of our universe when logic tells us we are doomed to die in a fiery crash with the Andromeda galaxy. Faith contradicts science without explanation or reasoning and in some cases, faith has given us miracles that science can’t explain.

            I understand the science of our creation. I accept it. I welcome it in fact and, I am continually fascinated by each new discovery we make. Faith however tells me that there is a great creator somewhere, some when and somehow making sure everything worked when this all started.

            Faith is the one thing I seem to have left at the end of the day, when I’ve read all I can, when I’ve written what I needed to, when I’ve worked as much as I could and when I doubt the future, the past and even my present. It is there, to assure me, to tell me I’ll be okay and so will you even in the light of all evidence to the contrary.

            Yes, I do believe in a scientific creation of everything, yet I also believe there is a larger force at work. One that started it all, I choose to call that force God. It is a belief I struggle with everyday and I’m sure a belief I will struggle with for a long time, however, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because if I didn’t struggle with it, I wouldn’t hunger for knowledge or have the drive to learn, to understand, to question just about everything in existence and if I didn’t have that, my life would be pretty damn dull.

            So I guess what I’m saying is, I believe in a creator, but I don’t necessarily believe in how the story has been told.

            Have a great week.

 This most beautiful system of the sun, planets, and comets, could only proceed from the counsel and dominion of an intelligent and powerful Being....This Being governs all things, not as the soul of the world, but as Lord over all; and on account of his dominion he is wont to be called Lord God -Sir Isaac Newton