Sunday, October 21, 2012

Carl Sandburg


I watched a terrific American Masters show about Carl Sandburg this weekend. Then I got a book of his poems from the library and stumbled across these two poems:

Two Nocturnes

1

The sea speaks a language polite people never repeat.
It is a colossal scavenger slang and has no respect.
Is it a terrible thing to be lonely?

2

The prairie tells us nothing unless the rain is willing.
It is a woman with thoughts of her own.
Is it a terrible thing to love too much?


and this one:

Masses

Among the mountains I wandered and saw blue haze and red crag and was amazed;
On the beach where the long push under the endless tide maneuvers, I stood silent;
Under the stars on the prairie watching the Dipper slant over the horizon’s grass, I was full of thoughts.
Great men, pageants of war and labor, soldiers and workers, mothers lifting their children - these all I touched, and felt the solemn thrill of them.
And then one day I got a true look at the Poor, millions of the Poor, patient and toiling; more patient than crags, tides, and stars; innumerable, patient as the darkness of night- and all broken, humble ruins of nations.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Wayfaring Stranger

I was playing through the songs in my songbook tonight and came across "Wayfaring Stranger". It's an old traditional American song from somewhere up in the mountains. I pass it by usually and play other songs: it is in a minor key and feels sad to me. But I played it through several times, alone here in my room, and it seemed more hopeful tonight than plaintive. It is a song about the end of life, but it is about hope, and going over to a beautiful world of love on the other side.

Gordon Cosby told me once about a talk he had with a soldier in a foxhole before a battle in World War II. He told me the soldier, who'd had a premonition that he was going to die the next day, told him that he didn't believe in Jesus, but wondered what he could do to prepare in case he was killed. Gordon told the soldier that he should expect to experience love which is so great that it is unimaginable to us, but which would bear him away and that he would need to do what he could to ready himself to work with that. The man did die in the battle the next day.

There is something in my heart that knows there is a beautiful vast eternity awaiting us. This old song captures that knowledge, and reminds me of it tonight.

"Golden fields lie right before me
Where weary eyes no more will weep.
I'm going home to see my father
I'm going home no more to roam.
I'm only going over Jordon,
I'm only going over home."

Tonight my heart is with Charles, and with his family gathered around there as he goes home.

Listen to Wayfaring Stranger


I am a poor wayfaring stranger
Traveling through this world alone
There is no sickness, toil or danger
In that fair land to which I go 

I'm going home to see my mother 
I'm going home no more to roam
I am just going over Jordan

I am just going over home 
I know dark clouds will hover on me, 
I know my pathway is rough and steep 
Beauteous fields lie right before me 

Where weary eyes no more will weep

I'm going home to see my father
I'm going home no more to roam 
I am just going over Jordan 
I am just going over home

I’ll soon be free from every trial
This form will rest beneath the sun
I'll drop the cross of self-denial
Come back home with God
I'm going home to see my savior
I'm going home no more to roam
I am just going over Jordan
I am just going over home

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Psychology of hoarding

Ran across this interesting set of facts about hoarders and thought I would share it. I have watched shows about this disorder, and have wondered what works to help folks. See near the end about what works and doesn't.

The Psychology of Hoarding

Friday, October 12, 2012

The Egg

I found this story intriguing and so am reprinting it here. Let me know what you think.


The Egg
By: Andy Weir

You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.