A Work Progressing

There was a time when we would seek out kosher chicken from the butcher, not Safeway. There was probably not much difference in the quality of the meat, the Safeway chicken had the label kosher so my guess is that it’s death was humane. But the butcher variety came with all the extras necessary for the various side products needing “”schmaltz”, the secret ingredient of Jewish health food. The various sweet meats, the scrawny neck bones, and the slightly scary chicken feet. Everything tucked away in the carcass of the bird. Like a surprise box.

Well, it was this surprise that caused my wife to flee the kitchen, leaving the bird unattended in the sink. I was told to deal with it. When I arrived the chicken lay there with one scrawny foot peaking out, as if the chicken was giving birth to an alien. It was a terrifying sight!

I removed both feet, neck and innards, then had an interesting thought. I was busy at the sink, running water, and the two kids were right in the next room watching television. Sherry was still hiding from the chicken feet somewhere.

I’m not saying I ran this next few minutes through a proper “parenting filter”, but I went ahead with the plan anyway. I ran the hot water until there was plenty of steam wafting about. Then I grabbed the chicken feet, one in each hand, and pulled my shirt cuffs down to cover my fists. Then I screamed that the water was too hot. “Jeowww!, I’ve burned my hands. Help me! Help me!” Both kids came running into the kitchen just in time for me to turn around, silhouetted by billowing clouds of steam, reaching out with my hideous claws.

The looks on their faces told me of future years of intense therapy. Widening eyes, screams of fear and empathy, and a sudden awareness of “what was I thinking?”

I don’t usually repost, but this was just too snarky to pass up. British sarcasm!

An Obituary printed in the London* *Times…..Absolutely Dead Brilliant!!*

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as: 

– Knowing when to come in out of the rain; 

– Why the early bird gets the worm; 

– Life isn’t always fair; 

– And maybe it was my fault. 

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don’t spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition. 

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. 

It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion. 

Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims. 

Common Sense took a beating when you couldn’t defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault. 

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement. 

Common Sense was preceded in death,

-by his parents, Truth and Trust,

-by his wife, Discretion,

-by his daughter, Responsibility,

-and by his son, Reason. 

He is survived by his 5 stepbrothers; 

– I Know My Rights 

– I Want It Now 

– Someone Else Is To Blame ,I’m always right,

everybody is wrong —

– I’m A Victim

– Pay me for Doing Nothing 

Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. 

If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing.

————-

“Common Sennse is so uncommon”

Been thinking about freedom. It’s a complex issue, always a two-sided coin. You can’t discuss freedom without having constraint. If there is no constraint, then… you just are.

In the same way, a lifetime of constraint doesn’t mean much, until you experience a minute of freedom.

(Do you have to experience freedom, even briefly, or can you simply dream of freedom?)

We are said to be a free society, but that’s not entirely true. We have tons of constraints, we have fixed and formal laws, we have customs and standards. And as we move forward to the future we seem to tighten the grip even more.

In 2010 I can remember being late for an airplane flight. I barely parked the car, I glanced at the monitor for the gate without breaking my stride. It was almost like the OJ commercial, hurdling seating, racing for the boarding area. I made it just as the door was closing.

A year later that all changed, it’s been nearly a decade later and TSA hasn’t gone away. I’m trying to think of the day that someone will say that we don’t need this anymore. I dunno, I think TSA is here to stay, the world has changed.

Today it was announced that more people have died from the virus than people in 9/11. I think the world has changed again. And to a certain extent, freedom is the victim. I’m not sure what constraints will be made, but they will be made, and it will be a long long time before anyone thinks they are not necessary.

I am surviving. I come from a long list of survivors. Oh, they eventually died, but before they did, they passed on their DNA. I am so amazed that if just one of my thousands of grandparents had died as a child, then I wouldn’t be here. So here is my official thank you to those long dead, but not forgotten.

John Frederick Diestler (1833-1894, my first Great Grandfather. I still haven’t officially linked you to rest of the Gros Fahlenwerder clan, but I’m thankful that you left the Old World and started something new and brave.

Kari Haldorsdtr Brathole (1870-1949), my great grandmother who came from Norway. Your husband disappeared in the wilds of Canada, yet you persevered. You died the year I was born but my mother told me lots about you.

Johann Wilhelm Diestler (1750-1815), my 3rd great grandfather. You wanted to come to America, you we’re tired of the wars in Europe. Instead you listened to King Frederick when he offered free land in the Neumark of Brandenburg. Your left with more than a hundred “colonists” from the Pfalz area of the Danube. It was new fertile land and the king promised not to draft your sons.

Per Ingebriktson Engjaland (1695-1766), my 5th great grandfather. I know next to nothing about you except the area where you lived. Vossestrand is beautiful now, and it must have been then.

Johann Georg Diestler (1707-1789), my 5th great grandfather. Thank you for being the first to move to the Pfalz area. I wish I could find your father and others, you are the earliest with the Diestler surname.

Anna Torgilsdotter (1535-1610), my 10th great grandmother. Thank you for leaving the hint that you were connected to royalty. The real benefit is that it gives me a tremendous database of great grandparents. On my father’s side it pretty much ends at the 5th and 6th generation individuals.

Sigurd Erlingssen, the Pretender Ribbung (1203-1226), my 23rd great grandfather. You died a young man, but not before you had a child, and tried to be King. That’s why you are called Sigurd the Pretender.

Magnus V, King of Norway Erlingson (1156-1184), my 25th great grandfather. Thank you for being the first king of the family. But we’re you a good king? I have to read more about you.

Eric, the Good, King of Denmark Estridsen, (1056-1103), my 27th great grandfather. Thank you for being “good”, I’ll have to read more about you as well.

Harald “Blue Tooth”, king of Denmark Gormsson, (986), my 29th great grandfather. I know it might be sad that most people only know you by the logo of your two runic initials, and the communications technology invented by Hedy Lamar. But it’s better than the nickname based upon a dead tooth.

Harald III, Hardrada Sigurdsson, king of Norway, (1015-1066), my 30th great grandfather. I can’t believe I’m related to my most favorite Middle Ages character. Conan the Barbarian was based upon you! You fought and won all over Europe. I’ve read so many stories about your life. Too bad that you took an arrow in your throat at Stamford Bridge, York.

Harold Godwinsson, king of England, another one of my 30th great grandfathers. Thank you for not dying in the battle with my other great grandfather. Too bad that you died nineteen days later, with an arrow in the eye. William the Bastard attacked just about at the right time, just after most of your best men were killed fighting Harald Hardrada. Oh yeah, I guess he gets to be called William the Conqueror now.

Alfred the Great, king of The Anglo-Saxons, (849-899), my 32 great grandfather. Thanks for being great in a Dark Age.

Rurik, Founder of the Rus Dynasty, (830-879), my 35th great grandfather. Thank you for being the leader of a dynasty that created the country of Russia. Okay, you might be mythical but that’s all right.

Aun Jorundsson, King of Uppsala Sweden, (400s), my 48th great grandfather. Thank you for being so mythical that you might be a character in the Beowulf Saga.

Odin of Asgard, (timeless), my 55th great grandfather. Thank you for all the myths, nice to know I’m also related to Thor and Loki.

It’s been a busy week doing the research, plugging in the data. 13,500+ people, very few of them noteworthy. Just great grandparents staying alive long enough to have children. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

So, let’s check the boxes. I am old, not terribly old, but old enough not to be confused with young or even middle-aged. I have diabetes. I’ve recently had a heart attack, and heart disease is another box that’s ticked. I had prostate cancer. My breathing has been an issue.

Hmm, I’m a prime candidate for the Great Cleansing. Well, I’m not surprised. It’s not hard to read the writing on the wall, particularly when it is in ten foot letters, and repeated so often. My time on this earth is ending. So now what?

Well, there is still stuff to learn and think about. All this time cooped up has given me more energy to research ancestors. The honey-pot of genealogists is finding a connection to royalty. Not because it’s so cool (it’s cool!), but because so many really good researchers have spent years doing the lineage research.

I’ve often thought, if I could only connect to a minor duke or count, then I could go back hundreds of years. All this time, no luck. I’ve barely found anyone famous or infamous. One murderer, and two victims of murder. That’s about it.

Then I saw one mention of someone stating a link to the Norwegian royal family. Yep, it was a solid piece. I checked it several ways. I had to take it back to 1300s but then I found Magnus V, King of Norway. Kings marry royalty, so it didn’t take long to find kings of Sweden, Denmark, Finland and even Kiev. Tons of them, over and over. Almost an issue of in-breeding.

In a couple of hours I added about 600 royal individuals. Haha, I even found a dozen kings that were mythical, characters from Beowulf!

On my fathers side I still can’t find for certain my great grandfather’s father.

My lovely wife did me the favor of collecting the yearly documents necessary to present to our tax person. Our new tax person, because our old tax person retired after thirty years. This has been a troubling time. For years our old tax person knew that the season was ending because I would show up at the last minute with a pile of unorganized documents. It would be only me because Sherry had done her part by finding most of the documents. It was my part to sit in the office and be embarrassed.

Now I have to train an entirely new person. This does not bode well.

The good news is that Sherry found something interesting in her search. Looking for taxes she found a collection of notecards. Back when I was mid heart surgery everyone thought that it would be nice to write down the “one thing” that I might have taught them. Or maybe two things.

This was just in case that I would not be coming home. Apparently I read them in the hospital, and enjoyed them very much. Also apparently they could have read me the phone book, and I would have enjoyed that as well. Hospital medication is amazing. I have no memory of that time or the things that were read to me.

So Sherry presents this little gift from my family, and I like it so much that I’m concerned that it might get lost in the future, so why not freeze the moment in time and make it a blog post…

John’s One Things from Heart Summer
One thing I’ve learned from my dad is Navajo bread is a family tradition, but now I have to learn how to make it. -Amy

One thing I love about Papa is his incredible gift of story telling- Laura

One thing I’ve learned is that a good, caring, wise and honest man can be a lifeline and father to the fatherless- that’s you!- Sherry

One thing I learned is to be careful around Jack Tone Road- Jenna

One thing Poppa taught me was about (the guy outside) John Muir. And he has swords, and watches.- Isaiah

One thing Papa taught me is that you should never be afraid to follow God’s direction. – Stu

One thing I’ve learned from dad is to always be creative when cooking meals. – Amy

One thing I love about Papa is his deep love and care for his family. – Jenna

One thing I learned is to remember. Remember your past, remember who you are as a person, as a community, as a people. Remember God’s good works in your life.- Jenna

One thing I learned was to treasure the written word. It is a balm, a friend, an outlet. Journal everyday, and change your life. I love reading your writing, and I love that you taught us to write.- Jenna

One thing I learned from Dad was you learn more from your failures than success.- Amy

One thing Dad taught me was that we have special powers to see through people (walls). – Amy

One thing I learned from Papa is how to always look at all sides of a situation.- Laura

One thing I learned from Dad was how to line up facial features when drawing the human face.- Amy

One thing I learned is to be a person of integrity. Let yes be yes and no be no. Be honest. Thank you for always being honest and open with me and everyone. Thank you for sharing who you ar and letting me be who I am.- Jenna

One thing I learned from you is that a huge heart coupled with humility = a person of integrity.- Nikki

One thing my Dad taught me is that Nikki+Wine= No Good. And Dad will always be there to keep me safe.- Nikki

One thing I’ve learned is the nobility of the centurion.- Sherry

One thing I’ve learned to appreciate the generations who came before us and to honor their legacy.- Sherry

One thing I’ve learned is how to put together a beautiful and meaningful blog.- Sherry

One thing I’ve learned from Papa is that history, literature, and art are incredibly important. -Laura

One thing Papa taught me is that you can never have too many knives, especially if you are going to the happiest place on earth.- Stu

One thing I love about you is that after 6+ years, you are still telling me interesting stories.- Travis

One thing I learned from you is to always pay attention to rooftops. Remember to look up was very handy in Italy.- Travis

One thing I admire about you is your artistic eye & ear, you have excellent taste in music & your talent for creative expression is inspiring.- Zach

One thing I’ve learned from you is to think deeply about faith & to not just take someone else’s word about God and his Word.- Zach

I like playing with Papa’s watch.- Abby

One thing I’ll never forget about you is how you worshipped & prayed at Promise Keepers ‘96. Love you Poppa.- Zach

Four things, that I appreciate is that you, Dad, is that you are loyal, brave, creative, and compassionate.- Nikki

Good grief! I will try for the rest of my life to live up to what I have told each of you. Well, most of them anyway. Forget some of them, I was wrong, you pick and choose.

I am of an age where my memory has been somewhat selective. I have professed to my children that the music from the Sixties was far better than any decade since. I had forgotten that the 60’s had its share of “bubble gum” music. The Bikini song, Alley Oop, Monster Mash, Mr. Custer.

True there were a few interesting years from 1964 to 1969, but that was only half of the decade. And frankly, the decade ended badly.

Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini

by Brian Hyland (1960)

She was afraid to come out of the locker

She was as nervous as she could be

She was afraid to come out of the locker

She was afraid that somebody would see

Two, three, four, tell the people what she wore!

It was an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini

That she wore for the first time today.

An itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini

So in the locker she wanted to stay.

Two, three, four, stick around we’ll tell you more!

She was afraid to come out in the open

And so a blanket around her she wore.

She was afraid to come out in the open.

And so she sat bundled up on the shore.

Two, three, four, tell the people what she wore!

It was an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini.

That she wore for the first time today.

An itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini.

So in the blanket she wanted to stay.

Two, three, four, stick around we’ll tell you more!

Now she is afraid to come out of the water.

And I wonder what she’s gonna do.

‘Cause she’s afraid to come out of the water.

And now the poor little girl’s turning blue.

Two, three, four, tell the people what she wore!

It was an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini.

That she wore for the first time today.

An itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini.

So in the water she wanted to stay.

From the locker to the blanket,

From the blanket to the shore,

From the shore to the water

Guess there isn’t any more.

• Georgia On My Mind by Hoagy Carmichaeperformed by Ray Charles (1960)

• Hit The Road Jack by Ray Charles (1961)

• Lily of the West, Traditional, performed by Joan Baez, (1961)

• Johnny Angel, by Shelley Fabares (1962)

• Duke of Earl, by Gene Chandler (1962)

• Puff the Magic Dragon, lyrics by Lenny Lipton, performed by Peter, Paul and Mary (1963)

• There but for Fortune, by Phil Ochs, version by Joan Baez (1963)

• I Want to Hold Your Hand, by The Beatles (1964)

• I Get Around, by The Beach Boys (1964)

• (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones (1965)

• Eve of Destruction by Barry McGuire (1965)

• For What It’s Worth, by Steve Sills, performed by Buffalo Springfield (1966)

• California Dreamin’ by The Mama’s and The Papa’s (1966)

• Outside a Small Circle of Friends, Phil Ochs, (1967)

• White Rabbit, by Jefferson Airplane, (1967)

• Hey Jude, by The Beatles, (1968)

• Mrs. Robinson, by Simon and Garfunkel, (1968)

• Sugar, Sugar, by The Archies (1969)

Build Me Up Buttercup, by The Foundations (1969)

Why do you build me up (build me up) buttercup, baby

Just to let me down (let me down) and mess me around?

And then worst of all (worst of all) you never call, baby

When you say you will (say you will) but I love you still

I need you (I need you) more than anyone, darlin’

You know that I have from the start

So build me up (build me up) buttercup, don’t break my heart

“I’ll be over at ten, ” you told me time and again

But you’re late, I wait around and then (bah dah dah)

I went to the door, I can’t take any more

It’s not you, you let me down again

baby, baby, try to find

(Hey, hey, hey) a little time and I’ll make you mine

(Hey, hey, hey) I’ll be home

I’ll be beside the phone waiting for you

Ooh ooh ooh, ooh ooh ooh

Why do you build me up (build me up) buttercup, baby

Just to let me down (let me down) and mess me around?

And then worst of all (worst of all) you never call, baby

When you say you will (say you will) but I love you still

I need you (I need you) more than anyone, darlin’

You know that I have from the start

So build me up (build me up) buttercup, don’t break my heart

You were my toy but I could be the boy you adore

If you’d just let me know (bah dah dah)

Although you’re untrue, I’m attracted to you all the more

Why do I need you so?

baby, baby, try to find

(Hey, hey, hey) a little time and I’ll make you mine

(Hey, hey, hey) I’ll be home

I’ll be beside the phone waiting for you

Ooh ooh ooh, ooh ooh ooh

Why do you build me up (build me up) buttercup, baby

Just to let me down (let me down) and mess me around?

And then worst of all (worst of all) you never call, baby

When you say you will (say you will) but I love you still

I need you (I need you) more than anyone, darlin’

You know that I have from the start

So build me up (build me up) buttercup, don’t break my heart

I, I, I need you more than anyone, baby

You know that I have from the start

So build me up (build me up) buttercup

What is it when we are not looking for something, and then we find it? It’s hard to be thoughtless in the literal sense, which is somehow different than the emotional uncaring sense. The pure thoughtless is almost like the zen state of quieting the mind. I’ve been there several times, but never by choice.

And I’m not sure that thinking has ceased completely, because my body still takes directions. I get up out of the chair, and I take a few hesitant steps. Invariably I head into the kitchen, I’m aware of this because I return to the thinking state soon after I am staring into the refrigerator, wondering why I am staring into the refrigerator?

Facebook movie clips are similar. Often I’m scrolling through the clips looking for something. I’m not aware of what I’m looking for, but I continue to scroll. I have a vague awareness that, at times, Facebook presents videos that are targeted to me individually. For some reason an algorithm led Facebook to present Chinese sniper movies, fighting the Japanese during WWII. I stopped to watch a few, and that led to more Chinese sniper movies. I stopped watching them.

Then the algorithm changed and suddenly there were dozens of talk shows clips. Viewing any of them brought even more. It was a little like the land of the Lotus Flower eaters. An unending stream of whatever knowledge I was seeking. Except I didn’t know what I was looking for. I was just looking unthoughtfully.

Another set of clips started to flow. Clips from the BBC, talk shows, game shows, blogs from British bloggers. I stopped at a few. Even more showed up. And then I saw something that generated a thought. Very similar to waking up in front of the open refrigerator.

It was a clip interviewing Stephen Fry. He was relating that in school he wasn’t particularly good at anything, not science, not math, not sports. What he loved was reading mythology. To him it was like videos games, or Marvel comics. The characters he read about seemed heroic and thoughtful. They tried to explain and give reasons for things that were all around him.

One in particular he remembered. Hercules was a hero, legends galore. He was a Demi-god, fathered by Zeus. Well, it seems that his Greek name was Heracules, in part because Zeus wanted to appease his wife Hera. Hera wanted nothing to do with the child of Zeus and some human woman.

In an attempt to create a bond with the baby Heracules, the god Mercury (directed by Zeus) picked up the baby and placed it on Hera’s nursing breast while she slept. After a time, Heracules’ strong suckling woke the sleeping Hera. In a rage, she leapt from the bed, spraying a circle of breast milk in the air all around her.

Milk in Greek is gala, breast milk circle is galaxias kyklos. The Romans called it via lactate. We call it The Milky Way.

Tangential knowledge.

The Red River flows north between the cities of Fargo and Moorhead. The Greyhound station was in Fargo and my destination was Milwaukee. I had a change of clothes in a small soft duffle, and some art supplies in an old Smith Corona typewriter case. With my jacket slung over my shoulder Hussar-style, I was the picture of a non-conformist artistic type. Too young to be a hobo or Beatnik, and long before the age of Hippies.

My parents were allowing me to take the bus to my mother’s brother for a few days visit, I had another plan brewing. I had a copy of Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road” in my back pocket, carefully placed with the title showing above the edge of the pocket. I had the habit of rotating three books in that back pocket. “On the Road”, “the Way of Zen”, and “Leaves of Grass” by Walt Whitman. Only “The Leaves of Grass” was uncomfortable by about 200 pages. Tight fit!

I suppose I felt that my oncoming physical look was somewhat confusing. My levi’s and t-shirt was not specific, my sandals were undercut by my white socks, and my slung jacket had a fake sheep’s skin collar. At least as I was walking away my back pocket would be making a statement. If only the cover could somehow be neon.

Periodically I found myself waiting for something, and I would retrieve the back pocket book to read a chapter of two. I was profoundly affected by all three books, with Kerouac slightly in the lead. Going on the road to search for America became more than just a book title.

Even at that early age I knew that this was potentially dangerous. Hitch-hiking between Eastern cities posed a far greater risk than the Northern road between Fargo and Milwaukee, at least I thought so. Taking the bus for a few miles then getting off to cash the ticket seemed like a safe plan. I could be in Milwaukee a day or two later, gain some much needed “gravitas” and be back in Fargo without anyone the wiser.

This one aspect of the dangerous mix of “pompous and nativity”.

The plan worked fairly well, except that I couldn’t cash the ticket. No matter, I still thecashforthereturn ticket plus a little spending money. It was early in the morning and I figured that sometime tomorrow evening I would be rolling into Milwaukee. Of course that would require at least two rides in sports cars doing the speed limit. The Geyhound was slower but in drove 24/7.

The first day hitch-hiking was uneventful until the last ride of the early evening. As the sun was setting a young woman in a convertible stopped. She was wearing a blue top, and blue pedal pushers. She was a recreational director at a summer camp near Detroit Lakes. It had taken ten hours to travel 43 miles. I could have walked.

Hitch-hiking was far more complicated than I imagined. Not only was the road an issue, but my presence on the road needed work. At least the last ride was more successful. The young woman asked questions and was very friendly. She volunteered an empty cabin at the camp, and offered a part-time job teaching sailing to the campers. I had dinghy sailing experience in San Francisco Bay. That was nearly the equivalent of a PhD.

That night I pondered the possibility of spending my 1966 summer at a camp in Detroit Lakes with a nineteen year old potential girl friend. It was a lovely fantasy and I left before breakfast in the morning. In Detroit lakes I got on board the next bus to Milwaukee. But the seed was planted for future trips.

EL: God Almighty(“mighty, strong, prominent”) used 250 times in the OT. Elah appears in the Hebrew Bible in Jer. 10:11 (which is in Aramaic, and is plural, “gods”). In Daniel (the Aramaic sections) Elah is used both of pagan gods, and of the true God, also plural. Elah is equivalent to the Hebrew Eloah which some think is dual; Elohim is three or more. The gods of the nations are called “elohim.” Elohim is the more common plural form of El. Eloah is used 41 times in Job between 3:4 and 40:2, but fewer than 15 times elsewhere in the OT.

ELOHIM: God (a plural noun, more than two, used with singular verbs);

Elohim occurs 2,570 times in the OT, 32 times in Gen. 1. God as Creator, Preserver, Transcendent, Mighty and Strong. Eccl., Dan. Jonah use Elohim almost exclusively.

JEHOVAH: LORD in our English Bibles (all capitals). Yahweh is the covenant name of God. Occurs 6823 times in the OT. From the verb “to be”, havah, similar to chavah (to live), “The Self-Existent One,” “I AM WHO I AM” or ‘I WILL BE WHO I WILL BE” as revealed to Moses at the burning bush, Ex.3. The name of God, too sacred to be uttered, abbreviated ( . . . . ) or written “YHWH” without vowel points. The tetragrammaton. Josh., Judges, Sam., and Kings use Jehovah almost exclusively.



EL SHADDAI: God All Sufficient, or God Almighty. 48 times in the OT, 31 times in Job. The Septuagint uses Greek “ikanos” meaning “all-sufficient” or “self-sufficient.” The idols of the heathen are called “sheddim.”



EL ELYON: “Most High” (from “to go up”) “When the Most High gave the nations their inheritance, when he divided up mankind, he set the boundaries of the peoples, according to the number of the heavenly assembly.“ Deut. 32:8

EL ROI: “God of Seeing” The God Who opens our eyes. ‘So Hagar named the Lord who spoke to her, “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “Here I have seen one who sees me!” Gen. 16:13



EL-OLAM: “Everlasting God” (God of everlasting time);,”Abraham planted a tamarisk tree in Beer Sheba. There he worshiped the Lord, the eternal God.” Gen. 21:33

EL-BERITH: “God of the Covenant” Used of Baal in Judges 9:46. Probably used originally to refer to the God of israel. “When all the leaders of the Tower of Shechem heard the news, they went to the stronghold of the temple of El-Berith.”

EL-GIBHOR: Mighty God, “For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon  his shoulder, and his name shall be called  Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” Isa. 9:6



YHWH-JIREH: “The Lord will Provide.” Gen. 22:14. From “jireh” (“to see” or “to provide,” or to “foresee” as a prophet.) God always provides, adequate when the times come.



YHWH-ROPHE: “The Lord Who Heals” Ex. 15:22-26. From “rophe” (“to heal”); implies spiritual, emotional as well as physical healing. God heals body, soul and spirit; all levels of man’s being.



YHWH-NISSI: “The Lord Our Banner.” Ex. 17:15. God on the battlefield, from word which means “to glisten,” “to lift up,”



YHWH-M’KADDESH: “The Lord Who Sanctifies” “To make whole, set apart for holiness.” The Lord says: “Consecrate yourselves and be holy, because I am the Lord your God. Keep my decrees and follow them. I am the Lord, who makes you holy.” Leviticus 20:7-8



YHWH-SHALOM: “The Lord Our Peace” Judges 6:24. “Shalom” translated “peace” 170 times means “whole,” “finished,” “fulfilled,” “perfected.” Related to “well,” welfare.” Shalom means that kind of peace that results from being a whole person in right relationship to God and to one’s fellow man.

YHWH ELOHIM: “LORD God” “These are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created, in the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens.” Gen. 2:4



YHWH-TSIDKENU: “The Lord Our Righteousness” Jer. 23:5, 6, 33:16. From “tsidek” (straight, stiff, balanced – as on scales – full weight, justice, right, righteous, declared innocent.)



YHWH-ROHI: “The Lord Our Shepherd” Psa. 23, from “ro’eh” (to pasture).

YHWH-SHAMMAH: “The Lord is There” “And the name of the city from that time on shall be, The Lord Is There” Ezek. 48:35

YHWH-SABAOTH: “The Lord of Hosts” The commander of the angelic host and the armies of God.

“Therefore the Lord declares, the Lord of hosts, the Mighty One of Israel” Isa. 1:24

YHWH-ADONAI:

Lord in our English Bibles (Capital letter ‘L ‘, lower case, ‘ord’)

(Adonai is plural, the sing. is “adon”). “Master” or “Lord” 300 times in the OT always plural when referring to God, when singular the reference is to a human lord. Used 215 times to refer to men. Heavy use in Isaiah (Adonai Jehovah). 200 times by Ezekiel. Ten times in Dan. 9.

JUDGE:

Psa. 7:8, 96:13.

ABIR: ‘Mighty One’, (“to be strong”) Gen. 49:24; Deut. 10:17; Psa. 132:2, 5; Isa. 1:24, 49:26, 60:1.

BRANCH: (tsemach), The Branch: Zech. 3:8

KADOSH: “Holy One” Isaiah uses the expression “the Holy One of Israel” 29 times.

SHAPHAT: “Judge” Gen. 18:25

KANNA: “Jealous” (zealous). Ex. 20:5

PALET: “Deliverer” Psa. 18:2.

YESHUA: “Savior” (“he will save”). Isa. 43:3. Jesus is the Greek equivalent of the Hebrew “Joshua.” The latter is a contraction of Je-Hoshua. (“Christ”, the anointed one is equivalent to the Hebrew Maschiah, or Messiah).

GAOL: “Redeemer” (to buy back by paying a price). Job 19:25; For example, the antitype corresponding to Boaz the Kinsman-Redeemer in the Book of Ruth.

MAGEN: “Shield” Psa. 3:3, 18:30.

STONE: (eben) Gen. 49:24

EYALUTH: “Strength” Psa. 22:19.

TSADDIQ: “Righteous One” Psa. 7:

MELEKH: “King” Psa. 5:2

FATHER: 2 Sam. 7:14-15;

KURIOS: (kurios) “Lord” Found some 600 times in the NT.

DESPOTES: (despotes) “Lord” 5 times: Lu. 2:29; Acts 4:24; 2 Pet. 2:1; Jude 4; Rev. 6:10.

THEOS: (yeos) “God” (equivalent to the Hebrew Elohim), 1,000 times in the NT. In the NT all the persons of the trinity are called “God” at one time or another.

I AM: Jesus upset his generation especially when He said, “Before Abraham was, I AM,” John 8:58. Note also his claim to be Jehovah in such phrases as “I AM the Light of the world,” “the bread of life,” living water,” “the Resurrection and the Life,” “the Way, Truth and the Life” in John’s Gospel. From the Hebrew OT verb “to be” signifying a Living, Intelligent, Personal Being.

THEOTES: “Godhead” Col. 2:9; Rom. 1:20.

HUPSISTOS: “Highest” Mt. 21:9.

SOTER: (Savior) “Savior” Luke 1:4 7.

LOGOS: (Word) John 1:1ff

PANTOKRATOR: (Almighty) 2 Cor. 6:18

(Edited from Lambert Dolphin, http://www.ldolphin.org)

negentropy

Noun

(uncountable)

• The entropy that a living thing exports to keep its own entropy low.

Has it always been so? Looking up the definition of a word and not finding the expected simple answer. I feel over time that I have a grip on the definition of entropy, then when I expect to find the opposite of entropy, I find this statement. I export entropy in order to keep my entropy low?

Generally we are referencing the first and second laws of thermodynamics. The first law is that everything is moving from order to disorder, eventually. The second law is that some isolated systems briefly move from disorder to order. Solar systems are created, dead food creates complex, ordered life, molecules are fashioned into crystals, etc… Negentropy!

We don’t speak of this as much. Frankly I’ve never looked up the word and I’m surprised at the definition. Why do I want to keep my entropy low? When the spinning top becomes sentient, is the first order of business to keep itself spinning? Apparently.

According to the definition, the top thinks, “disorder is increasing, and I will soon topple over. Let’s give this disorder to someone else, so that I will spin farther (further?). Ha! This puts a distinct “spin” on interpersonal communication.

I want to know more about “exporting”. Does this actually mean removing a state from one thing to another? Or is it like information, something that is shared but still remains? In order for the definition to work, it must be entropy that is removed so that the amount of entropy is less.

Exporting is something I need to ponder. Hmm. If I have disordered thoughts, then I take the time is order them… am I exporting or just re-arranging? If I am exporting, where do they go?

When I sneeze I am reducing the amount of virus in my body (solid evidence of exporting). And does more sneezing lead to a cure from the flu?

Frankly I’m having a hard time with this exporting concept.

en·tro·py

/ˈentrəpē/

noun: entropy; plural noun: entropies; symbol: S

1. PHYSICS: a thermodynamic quantity representing the unavailability of a system’s thermal energy for conversion into mechanical work, often interpreted as the degree of disorder or randomness in the system.

2. lack of order or predictability; gradual decline into disorder.”a marketplace where entropy reigns supreme”

3. (in information theory) a logarithmic measure of the rate of transfer of information in a particular message or language.

Well, clearly I’m confused. I’m not sure of the “boundaries” of the first definition, and only the middle part of the second definition matches something that I understand. I kinda get the third definition, but only if it relates to the message eventually becoming unintelligible.

For me the simplest definition is a spinning top. It was one of my favorite toys as a kid. It was magical, it stood straight up on the tiny steel tip, and it spun forever. Well, not forever…eventually it spun slower, then it fell over. This was one of the first lessons in life. Keep moving, or you will fall over.

And the best top was the one that spun the longest. Many factors were involved: the shape of the top, the careful wrapping of the string, the surface where the top spun…lots of details. But the final measure of a good top, a better top… was time! How long did it spin? It could be colorful, it could be electric, it could be plated in gold… but if it fell over in a few seconds it was crap.

At the time not one of us kids considered the possibility of a forever top. Wind it up, toss it, and it would spin all weekend, all month, all year. A good top just had to beat your best friend’s top. Entropy would finally take over. You were the lucky one if your top spun the longest. You were the lucky one if you kept moving the longest before you fell over.

So, I ponder. The natural created state is one where the top eventually falls over. You stop moving. The Sun burns itself out. The universe collapses. The only difference is time.

Buy a new car, and it breaks down, Bad car! Buy a new car and it works fifty years. Good car!

More pondering, if all things are on a path of entropy, how long should it go in order to “be good”.

Change is natural and good. But I don’t want to experience too much change too quickly. Some change in my lifetime is excellent. Some change I think should take generations. In all cases, I’m not particularly happy about the breakdown in order, the rotting of growth, the stink of decay… although I’m told that this is natural.

Some of this thinking relates to my physical health. I’m slower. I fell on my head recently. I had a heart attack last year. Entropy on a personal level. And modern science has tried to help. My heart had surgery but it didn’t change the direction of entropy, it just slowed the rate.

But every now and then something happens that is truly miraculous. Entropy can be reset, but not reversed. I recently had cataract surgery. I went from seeing fuzzy, to seeing sharp. Amazing! I still may stop moving someday, but I will be able to see that clearly.

Some of our students just returned from a week at our nation’s capitol. Can you imagined what they must have learned? What a perfect opportunity to witness history, to actually see the government in action, to hear live presentations from current leaders in their professions. It was quite the field trip! And so much more.

Many departments have been able to send groups of students to Europe in study aboard situations, to enable students to experience the world. As academic leaders we have recognized that it is good to have a range from local field trips to statewide conferences. It is good because the students are changed for the good.

How much better is it when our students are also challenged for their abilities? Only a few departments know how this feels. Certainly in sports, speech, music, in fact any department that spends the time to find organizations where their students can be showcased. Of course there are issues. What if we lose? How will our students feel? How will I feel if my teaching seems less than it should? Most of us don’t try to compete. Even when there are organizations where our students can be showcased.

This week I am hoping that there will be returning teams from some district in the Midwest, where they got several Honorables and maybe a fourth place in the nation. The team will be welcomed with a lunch at the district office and will be honored by everyone at their college because the team is owned by the administration and the staff. They were their students. It was their community. They put their training and expertise on the line, and risked their competence. And they won and carried away the prize.

In ancient Rome, a victory in some distant part of the empire would receive a Triumph, a celebratory parade in Rome. Thousands would fill the streets to give honor, and partly to own the victory for themselves.

This week Contra Costa College came back with two National Pacemaker Awards from the Associated Collegiate Press (ACP) it is the largest and oldest national membership organization for college student media in the United States. It awards the newspaper, magazine, and online National Pacemaker Awards, which are considered the highest honors a student publication can receive.

It is an amazing story that continues a long line of successful stories. The college has won many Pacemakers over the years. Perhaps because of this, the college has often ignored the accomplishment. Maybe it was thought that it was a conference of a couple of dozen friends who come together for a good time and give “attaboys”? Do the research. This is a big deal. The college has never won two Pacemakers in the same year. Will that make a difference? I think not.

The college, various departments, certainly the district, and even some faculty have distanced themselves. They don’t see it as “our’ journalism department. They don’t even see it as our students. What does that mean to the community?

Is it possible that we are committing far more energy to our plan to educate for greatness, instead of recognizing the greatness that is current? Our college has never received the respect an honor that it deserves. Our students are remarkable!

It occurred to me that perhaps some at the college, and certainly some at the district are reluctant to give honor to the journalists at the college because of some article that was published. I have only this to say, if reporters found an error, then the first thing you do is to be proud that they have been taught to do the research, and have the courage to report the truth.

Or more simply, if you don’t want to look like an idiot in print, don’t do idiotic things.

I am so honored to be even remotely connected to The Advocate. You deserve a triumphal arch erected in the Quad.

I have recently been intrigued by the classic black and white headshots of the 1940s. I’m not familiar with any names of the photographers, but I am admiring their work. Wikipedia sometimes gets the actual names of the actors wrong, and sometimes I am unfamiliar enough to not notice.

In order to learn a bit more about color, I have taken on a study to colorized a few of the classic photos. It’s been very instructive, and I’ve created a new drop menu on the menu called Hollywood Art for the finished projects. I’ve changed backgrounds on some, redrawn the eyes and mouths on others, and experimented with color shading on all. Generally each photo goes through a process of blending about ten different layers, merged finally into one.

Here are a few samples…

I once saw a man with a tattoo of a watch on his wrist. Periodically it had the correct time, at least twice a day. The theoretical concept is that if he had more tattoos, it will increase the ratio of accuracy. If his arm was long enough, and he knew where to look, his tattoo watch would be perfect, with no moving parts or power.

That is the basic problem with time, our attempts to measure something that is in the fourth dimension with third dimension technology sucks.

I’ve been pondering the concept of “now”. I can see that it is coming, and I can see that it passed, but I just can’t freeze the moment in between. “Now” is elusive. There is supposedly the “Clock of the Long Now”. Actually, it exists, and there is a museum. It is also called the 10,000 Year Clock. Look it up on Google. There is one being built on a mountain in Nevada, powered by the difference in temperature from the top of the mountain, to the bottom of the mountain.

Stewart Brand, of the Whole Earth Catalog fame, is on the Board of Directors of the Long Now Foundation, so is the musician Brian Eno. There is also a cafe/museum/interesting place called The Interval in San Francisco. I haven’t been, but it is a place where one can discuss “deep time” issues.

I think redefining “Now” into the “Long Now” does not help my concern. But maybe a trip to the city with coffee and a bagel will change my mind.

I am inspired by his work

www.youtube.com/watch

Well, in simplistic terms, I make art. It is art because I say so, not because I have mastered any particular media. It is art because I have recognized that in the making, that the image has crossed the threshold into art. For me!

There are literally hundreds of mediums to explore in order to make art. From the basic rudiments of “found art” to the complicated layers of screen printing. I have sampled a few in my time and “mastered” very few. I’m pretty good at sketching, not bad at sculpture. Color portraits are the worst. Watercolor is monstrous. I’m terrified of oil painting and paralyzed at acrylics. None of this stops me from attempts. But, oh, the hideous makings.

So where am I comfortable? I like working from photographs, I like the filters that some programs use. I’m never satisfied with just the filters so I use layering techniques to combine other filters, or layers of hand drawn detail. I don’t have a requirement of some percentage of hand-drawn for the art to qualify as art. I’m more interested in the final image. I see no distinction between 100 percent hand drawn and 100 percent filter. If someone else does, it doesn’t change the way I see the image. as far as media goes, I guess you could say that I fell in love with digital in 1985.

When I was teaching art appreciation, I sometimes showed students the work of modern artists, painting modern art. Many did not appreciate the abstract quality. When I then showed work from the same artists that painted more realistic images, then they showed interest. Because the painter choose to paint in the abstract, then it was more valid. I understood this, but it does not mean that it is a test for art. Prior skill is not necessarily a stepping stone.

Often the lack of traditional art ability was the excuse for the individual to not think of themselves as artists. We have lost too many artists because of this false belief. This is similar to not call yourself a photographer because you don’t know how to use a camera. The photography is in the vision! The camera comes later.

Finding the right medium is sometimes a lifelong process. It might make sense to stay with a comfortable medium and developed finer skills. It also might make sense to step into a noncomfort zone to explore a new medium. For years I have told my photography students that every good photo that they admire was likely taken by an uncomfortable photographer. I can’t prove that, but I believe it to be true.

When I analyze my own artists path, I realize that I have always seen things in three dimensions. I think that is why sculpture has been attractive. But I also see the depth of landscapes, the layers of distance, so even portraits are dimensional. The attraction of digital is undo, and the speed of variations. I have enjoyed making tribute drawings, redrawing or using filters. I have sometimes “channeled” the artist, and learned new things by the image I was making. I’m not done with my versions.

My best advice is to follow DuChamp. “Artists make art”.

A good friend posted an article by Dennis Praeger and suggested that I read it. I’m good with that. I have several of his books and I have enjoyed his writing. No red flags there… Well, maybe one.

Praeger has many books, a radio show, and he has many speaking engagements per year. He also has Praeger University.

I dunno, I see a small red flag waving when you found a university, then name it after yourself. I mean there are billions of choices, some horrible, some might even be brilliant. Settling on your own last name seems iffy. Maybe he named it after his parents?

Still, we all make choices and some may be mistakes.

In the article Praeger makes the statement that most of us haven’t come across a major mathematical formula. Good intentions minus Wisdom equals Evil.

Interesting formula, but one that I find too simplistic, therefore, it slightly misses the mark. I find that the threshold for evil is quite a bit higher.

His formula works very well for a mistake, or an error of thinking, but to classify that as evil seems harsh. I agree it can be the first steps on the road to evil, but there is still time to change direction.

I am not saying that every mistake leads to a correction. I’ve known plenty of people that have made a mistake, recognize it, and continue to make it, everyday for years. It still doesn’t make it evil.

I’m about to make some of you reading this uncomfortable. The basic definition of sin is “missing the mark”, comparable to an arrow not hitting the bullseye. It has taken another meaning in religious circles and I find that unfortunate.

We should have a word that describes our failures. A word that is stronger than mistake/error but not so strong as damnation.

I’m thinking that the original definition of sin fits the mark, perhaps that is why it is so unpopular.

Is sin evil? Possibly, evil is certainly sin, but I don’t think they are interchangeable.

Sin is an action that causes the spirit to be grieved. Sometimes we plow ahead thinking that it will somehow be resolved. Mostly it isn’t. When we analyze it enough to recognize that the action benefits you to the detriment of others, that’s when it crosses over to evil. I suppose there are small evils and larger evils.

Praeger contends that embracing communism was evil. I certainly believe it was a mistake, and I also believe that most leadership began to embrace it for their own power, and justified horrible decisions with the idea of the greater good. That tiptoes into evil. “Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely”.

Thank you Lord Acton. (Most folks ignore the “tends to”.)

But it would be a moral mistake to classify millions of people who once believed in communism as evildoers.

When we sin we have the option of redemption. Some of us do that faster than others. The same can be said of true evildoers but the conviction is far more difficult. It is not only a knowledge issue, it is often a deeper rooted thinking issue. It can truly be described as a personality shift. Evil is pernicious. Sin is unfortunate but we can make a change.

Encouragement can be found in a vast mountain lake. A reservoir filled to the brim, more encouragement than you can receive in several lifetimes. And yet it is untapped for most of us, for most of our lives.

It is the stored encouragement. The “frozen in time “ encouragement that can be found in books, in song, and sometimes even in physical places. It is encouragement that is freely accessed, and yet we don’t feel like it. It is encouragement that is available 24/7, yet we ignore it. It is encouragement that is honest and true, like scripture. Yet we turn a blind eye. Why is that?

I believe the most powerful, and enduring encouragement, comes from these static sources of encouragement. Yet we focus on the words and actions of people, as if this is the encouragement that is more important. I think that we have conflated the issue.

People, and sometimes the world, have way too much influence on our access to static encouragement. “I feel discouraged.” “Why don’t you read the Bible?”, “I don’t feel like it.” “Why?”, “Because Bill and I had an argument.”

The discouragement we sometimes get from people act as a gate, blocking us from accessing tremendous amounts of encouragement. The sad thing is that the gate is a very small item that can be opened quite easily. Sometimes it is not people that stops us, sometimes it is the world, and your reaction to the world. Your car won’t start, you can’t find your glasses, or your wallet. For some reason every traffic light is twice as long as normal, and you have hit every one. You have switched lanes five times to the slowest lane on the freeway. Sometimes the world gives discouragement. The solution in this is that you can realize that you have a choice in how you see the world.

There are some thing’s that are not a choice. Gravity brings you to the earth, fire is hot and burns, skunk spray stinks. apart from these things, and a few others, everything else is subjective. The more that you can see this, the less the world can discourage you. People, however, are a different matter.

Again, people can discourage you primarily by disallowing your access to powerful static encouragement. A curse is bad, but when a curse disables you from seeking powerful encouragement, then it’s more than twice as bad.

So, it’s possible to be less affected by the discouragement from people, but that often comes at a cost that disconnects you from society. “I will ignore you, and choose not to hear your words!”. I don’t think this is the solution. My suggestion is to change the ratio of discouragement and encouragement.

Discouraging comments from people are mostly a learned pattern. There are mean spirited people out in the world, but more often there are unthinking people that are neutral to the issue, or they are unthinking in regards to discouragement. If individuals actively choose encouragement then it begins to cascade, and others become more encouraging.

Encouragement is reflective, it is viral. Intentional encouragement from a person validates the individual’s choice to access static encouragement. More encouragement creates more encouragement. The ratio changes and the world is better for it. Understanding the real source of lasting encouragement keeps people from relying totally on the words and actions from people. Remove, or take charge of the gates, and let the encouragement flow.

I have lost count of what I have done and how many.

Apparently my storage system is a little wacky, because I remember working on the image, and then I can’t find it. Later, it pops up like an Easter Egg.

There are worse things…

Marcel Duchamp has been on my mind. I haven’t tried a tribute work, he is too complicated. I haven’t done Dali either. Well, I tried Dali, but it never worked out. I actually had to tear it up. It offended me.

Back to Duchamp… art historians give him the title “the one who freed Art”. And they also believe “the Fountain” is the most important art work in art history.

DuChamp promoted “the Found Art Movement”. He would find an object then declare it “Art”, and it would be in his next show. It could be a stool with a bicycle tire, it could be some sandwiched items between glass.

Lest you believe that he was pulling your leg, he would often write a fifty page monograph describing the inner workings of the piece.

DuChamp was the real deal.

Art is made by artists, not defined by critics or salon/gallery owners. Not even by the public.

The art may not be liked, they may call it unworthy. But they cannot say it is not art, once made by the artist.

There is a freedom there. Art is not defined by an official medium. There was once a standard that art had to be archival. It may be a policy for some museums, but it is not a definition of art.

Things like, what is truth? What is beauty? What is art?

We should have certain knowledge about these things. Usually in our desire to “know”, we are wrong. At the very least we can work on defining our own views.

I have been going through a change lately. I no longer create art. I make art!

It seems like silly difference in words, but I’m very serious.

Everything in the universe was created at one instance. Since that time (time was also created) nothing has been destroyed. Everything has simply changed.

I have taken created things and made new things, which last for a time. I create nothing, but I am a prolific maker.

What about ideas? Nope, everything is built up. I put things together.

Of course the problem is that this is a personal perspective. I’m not saying that this is true for anyone else. It is simply what I believe for me.

There is way too much responsibility in being a creator. Too many liabilities.

Plus there is the ego thing. Putting a few things together is way more humbling.

And what about the days, hours, months that you are not creating? Much easier to take a break from putting things together. You are just resting.

Yep, I make art, and I make it art.

I can’t leave it alone. Gotta try reworking. And I’m really only using two different brush styles.

Okay, the last one is my grandson’s.

I wanted to revisit Egon with my Apple Pencil.

I wanted to focus on the Mucha women, mostly their expressions, so I removed the background.s. Then I could see the faces, and naturally I took some liberties to make some changes. Changing color and line weight was a good study. I still may print these and add some color pencil.

Steve Jobs had very strong opinions. Way back when the Newton was a thing, he liked it but couldn’t stand that it had a stylist. “It could get lost!”

Well, yes, Steve. It could get lost, and it did get lost periodically. But it also did some pretty remarkable screen images that my finger can’t make!

Yep, I bought and Apple Pen for the iPad Pro. It’s remarkable.

Tribute Wyeth’s Helga

Tribute Vincent

Portrait of Wyeth

Marilyn from Stills

Laura in Jerusalem

I haven’t even explored the middle basics, let alone the advanced.

I’m using AutoDesk Sketch for the first time. Nice app. I like sketching, then printing, then Prismacolor work, then scanning for more iPad sketching! Lots of layers!!!

I finally upgraded an old iPad that cracked a screen. On the way to better vision, its getting hard to see detail. the doctor says its all good but I struggle. So i busted for a 12.5 iPad Pro, and I’m very happy. Still drawing with my finger but the sketches on this big screen are much easier to get. I have twelve sketches in progress and eight are as done as i can get. Two are family sketches and six are various tribute pieces or personal projects

“The Big Island

Today I stepped on new earth.

Earth that rose from magma,

Mother giving birth to child,

As unlovely to look at as can

be imagined.

Yet time will pass and the child

Will change, gaining the

Rainaments of forests & grass,

While we scamper on the surface

Like small mites, barely aware

of our host.

Today I stepped on new earth,

Convicted of my parasitic nature.”

I wrote this about ten years ago. I’m still convicted of our parasitic nature on this planet. I once read that if you think of the Earth as an orange floating in space, all life, and all of our busy drama, exists in the fungus that is growing on the peel of the orange.

Wow, now that puts it into perspective!

And yes, I am a parasite on this earth. A particularly nasty one at times.

At this moment I am trying to walk carefully, barely touching the ground. I sway with the slight breeze, the sand is hardly displaced, I make no discernible mark as I move from place to place.

I just wish to be here completely enveloped.

I’m back in the land of new earth. Dirt that is younger than I am. Yes, I know, composting trees, brush and vegetables creates new earth. But this place belches new earth from the core of the world. The Big Island!

This really has been in the works for more than three years. Sherry bid on a Hawaii vacation at a charity auction, and we won! Stuff was happening, I was under treatment for cancer, so the plan was to reserve from the owners a week after my treatment was done.

The plan backfired because the week after radiation was finished is not the best time to travel. He graciously allowed us to cancel and set up for the following year.

The beginning of summer for the following year was the summer of the heart attack. Yikes! Cancelled again.

The next summer we went to Jerusalem, so It seemed that Hawaii was out. Nope! We went anyway.

Now I’m pondering new earth after experiencing very old earth. From dry desert to island paradise.

It will be a good week!

Diogenes was noted for holding a lamp during the day, saying he was looking for an honest man. He often disrupted the teachings of Socrates and Plato, by bringing food and drink to their lectures. He even criticized Alexander the Great to his face. He was a founder of the school of Cynicism.

Finding truth was like finding an honest man in daylight with a lantern. It’s not impossible, but the tools you use don’t help.

Many will say, “I know the truth when I see it!” There is an element of truth to the phrase. But does this mean that a blind person cannot know the truth? Does visible evidence guarantee truth? There are thousands of magicians that hope people will only use their eyes to know a truth.

A friend often uses the phrase “sufficiency of the evidence” in knowing the truth. Yes, but when is it sufficient? Don’t most people set a limit, and when the limit is reached, then truth is found. Is it the same limit for everyone?

“I know because I saw, I know because I read a book, I read three books, I took a class at a community center, a college. I know because I have a degree, I know because I teach, I know because I once knew for certain, and now I’m not sure!”

The worst of all proof is, “I feel it in my bones!” But isn’t that the most honest answer?

I’m not an expert on Bedouins, I’ve read very little on their culture, and spent less than an hour listening to a young woman explain the Bedouin life to a tourist group. Something did ring true to me during the discussion. Bedouins have embraced technology and the modern life. They have engineers, doctors, lawyers, etc. but they also have a deep connection to the “good life”, the life of a tribe. Living with little technology, sleeping in tents, tending herds, praying, and drinking strong coffee. Simple truth may be found in a simple life.

The “good life” can also be seen as the intentional simple life. The world is often too much, and causes a confusion in value systems, “What is the value of this? Is this important? If I embrace this, will I be a slave to this in the future?” These are good questions.

Why do we need a written code of conduct that determines the truth of things? Because we have been given the gift (or curse) of rationalization. All things are subject to interpretation.

Life is sacred. What about war? What about self defense? What about the impact of one absolute right, when it conflicts with another absolute right? In our culture today we handle this by making one of the absolute rights as false. Both can’t be true, so one is false. Weirdly enough, that actually might be true, but it might also be false. What are we to do? How can we know truth?

Sadly, I go back to, “I feel it in my bones”. This is dangerous because I must be honest about the things that I’ve experienced, the things that I have read, I must know that I’ve looked at the possibility that I’ve been manipulated, or that I have not seen correctly, I must look at how much that I “absolutely know” something.

“I believe, help me in my unbelief”.

Jerusalem

We have been back for two or three days. Somehow with the international date line, we may have missed a day. The last few days were a blur but I will try to summarize.

It was a great trip, a worthy trip, a life changing trip in ways that were unexpected. It’s not fair to say that I was a tourist, although I’m sure the visa made that distinction. It’s also true that I was not on a pilgrimage. The truth was somewhere between.

We did many things that are on the tourist list, the ruins, the churches, and the camel rides. We also made pilgrimages to places that we have read in scripture, and our intention was more spiritual than touristy.

Mostly it was about places and the feelings that came with it. Not very scientific, feelings are difficult to analyze. The Church of the Holy Sepulcher was historic and important, the Garden Tomb felt right. I can’t prove that either is the absolute reality. Yeshua was buried somewhere, and rose as the Savior.

The walls of the city were impressive and evoked feelings, does it matter that most of the walls that we see are from the Ottoman Age?

The conflict between the Israeli and Arab citizens is real, does it matter that the living conditions are remarkably the same?

The Green Line to the north with Syria, and to the west with Jordan is quite distinct. Developed and green on the Israeli side, blasted and bleak on the other side. The land is the same, the people are mostly the same. Is it intentional? Is it the result of history?

I would have expected a Green Line in the Palestinian communities on the West Bank. We traveled several days throughout dozens of villages and I saw no physical evidence. Things seemed prosperous and normal. Was I able to “feel” a spiritual or political “Green Line”? Perhaps, or was it a preconceived state?

The last day was spent going to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust museum. I have spent nearly fifty years reading about the event. Not every day, but certainly several weeks a year. I have at times lightly viewed all the available photo graphs, I have dived deeply into the written accounts. And certainly watched most of the cinema productions.

Still, being there in person, seeing what I have already seen, was overwhelming to me. I found that my steps were quickening, the displays were becoming more of a blur. Basically after three fourths of the display, I fled the building.

There were some things that I have not seen, but some were very familiar. I thought that I would have been inured, but I wasn’t. It was just too much information with no emotional break.

I’ve been told that anyone from another country, either business or political, cannot have a meeting unless first going through Vad Vashem. The country must be seen through the lens of the holocaust.

Fortunately the last stop on our tour was with the Joseph Project. This is a nonprofit that collects clothing, goods, and furniture to be distributed to all who are in need, regardless of political, religious or cultural differences. Most are brand new donated, some are slightly used, some things are broken in shipment and need repair, and some things can’t be repaired. We sorted!

It was very hot in the warehouse, I sorted boys underwear and kitchen items. It was wonderfully healing to give something back, and to bind the wounding of the mornings experience.

We had a farewell dinner in a Lebanese restaurant in an Arab village. Later we boarded a nonstop flight from Tel Aviv to San Francisco.

Apparently we flew over Greenland.

Jerusalem

I’ve been here several days, and I will stay several more. It is a city of contrasts. In many was it is like most modern cosmopolitan centers. It has traffic, noise, the bustle of people. It also has history, and history upon history.

It is a destination of pilgrims of three faiths, it has ruins to ponder for everyone. It has places to worship and think about the historical events around that worship. It also has contention between faiths, and inside the faiths. It must make God wonder.

There is no better sample than the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. I’m not referencing the battle for the historical truth of the site. Helena, Constantine’s mother, came to the area during the 300s and asked where Jesus was buried. Someone said, “Here!”, and she built a church. It’s been there ever since. It’s hard to see that it was once outside, the church is big, and musty, and full of incense. Maybe it is the place, maybe it isn’t.

What is the most obvious truth is that multiple denominations are responsible to take care of the place, and over the last thousand years they have learned to mistrust and dislike each other, with plenty of shoving and fisticuffs to prove it.

The saddest proof is the ladder. The way to the church is narrow with twists and turns. When you finally break out into a court yard you can see a ladder on the second story just below a window. Apparently the window at some point needed repair, hence the ladder.

The responsibility of the church changed orders, the repair was finished, but the ladder remained. The next group refused to take it down, so did the next group. When the original group that placed the ladder came in charge, the other groups refused them the right to take it down, because they had not agreed to put it up in the first place. The ladder has been there around three hundred years. They have agreed to replace some rotten wood in the ladder, but they have not agreed to remove it.

It has become to me the symbol of man’s dysfunction.

Jerusalem

The city is filled with wonder, places of history, places suspected of history. When the British general Charles Gordon was here, he brought a piece of land that he felt was important. People had said that this was Golgotha, the place of the skull, and the site of crucifixions. There was a twenty foot cliff that had the impression of a skull. Today only the eyes and nose are visible, the mouth is covered by the construction of a tour bus parking lot. Apparently Gordon should ave purchased a little more of the land.

Today it is assumed that the site of the crosses was near the gate to the city, were people could see the offenders and abuse them if they wanted. It would probably be in the middle of the bus parking lot.

The main parcel that Gordon bought was the garden with a large family tomb carved into the cliff side. The entire area was a working garden with a wine press. Archeologists have found the remnants of a wine press. While the trees of the original garden were all cut done during the Roman destruction, there are many trees replanted, and some that may be sprouted from the roots of the originals. It is a lovely place.

Again, there is no direct proof that this is the place, but it feels absolutely right. I can sense that this is a place of peace and wonderful expectation.

Okay, I have three things to ponder; living water, being hopelessly trapped and living the good life.

I am currently in the Judean Wilderness, it’s not sand dunes, it’s ankle twisting, barren brown desert rock. It’s an intimidating place, made bearable because I am in an air-conditioned bus. I know it is challenging because about every hour we get out and try to survive 105 degrees.

One of the first stops this morning was the En Gedi spring and waterfall. There is nothing but blasted earth for miles in every direct. The only visible water is the Dead Sea miles away.

From the parking lot we have been told that after a short hike towards the ridge, we will find a spring and a waterfall. Yeah right!

Two hundred yards up the trail there is nothing. There is a creek bed but it is dry as a bone. I’m becoming dry as a bone. I would have turned around but wet kids in bathing suits kept coming at me,

Six hundred yards, and I could hear water running. The sound of water running means “living water”, water that can purify, water that can be used for religious purposes.

I see nothing, but I hear it underground, I walk further and there is a hint of water in the creek bed. The sound is greater.

Suddenly there is a rush of water falling twenty feet. The pool is quite small and maybe six inches deep. I want to take off my sandals, but I fear the pebbles will make me unsteady. I wade in and I’m immediately refreshed.

Its like the desert didn’t exist. The cells of my body are bloated with the living water. I am no longer desiccated.

Water is life!

The next morning we head to Masada. It was built by King Herod as one of four hidey-holes. Not a palace to live in, but a fortified refuge to hide from the coming trouble. I suddenly have some additional PTSD. It reminds me very much of Site R in Pennsylvania, except this hidey-hole was attacked.

When Herod died the place was occupied by a detachment of Romans. They were attacked at night by Jewish Zealots. The Zealots won and dug in.

The Romans had bigger plans afoot so at first they did nothing. Then in 70 AD the war began, the Temple was destroyed and all Jews were dispersed. Some of the refugees came and joined the Zealots on Masada.

Three years after the war was over, the Romans became aware of 900+ Jews living in Masada and declaring themselves Independent Judea.

The Romans couldn’t stand that, so they sent fifteen thousand troops and five thousand slaves, to take the place back.

The Jews did not surrender. The Romans built an eight foot wall completely around the fortress on the mountain. They built huge catapults to lob great stones to the top of the mountain.

The Jews splashed in the water cisterns, telling the Romans that they had something that they didn’t. Water!

The Romans began catapulting live slaves against the walls of the fortress.

The Jews had two or three years of food and water, stored there by King Herod. They first thought they could outwait the Romans. Then the Romans started to built a great ramp up the mountain to the walls. It took several months.

The Jews knew what was in store for them, it was death or horrible slavery. They were surrounded, they could not surrender and they could not escape.

Since the pay of the soldiers was the plunder and selling of slaves, the night before the Romans broke through they destroyed all their valuables in fire, then the head of each family slit the throats all his members. Then ten men by lottery, slits all the throats of the men.

Then one man slit the throats of the nine men. By Jewish law they could not commit suicide, so only one man had to fall on his sword. The Romans broke through the next morning but there was no one there.

We walked around the ruins and pondered living and dying at Masada.

The next stop was a Bedouin village. Bedouins have been in the land long before they were converted to Islam. Some older traditions still hang on. The tribe is the family, the village is a mix of multiple families, the city is a mix with everyone. The speaker wanted to emphasize that Bedouins are a modern people with technology, medicine, and business concerns. But she also spoke of the “good life”, the simple life of living in the tribe, living in tents, and moving to better pastures. No electricity, no refrigeration, and no technology. The Good Life!

This is a place of conflict. Conflict in the past, and likely conflict in the future.

We were brought to an outpost that looks over the natural path for an invasion of Israel from Syria. It was used in 1948, 1967, and 1973. The last actual conflict occurred in 1974. Yet, the Golan Height title implies tension 24/7.

Golan Heights is a place of cherries, Druze bread, and a cool breeze.

The echoes of violence is still present. It brought forth a feeling that I haven’t really felt since the DMZ in Korea in 1973.

The tension of waiting for something to happen. How will I react, will my training overcome my fear?

Looking out towards the cease fire line lets you know exactly where it is. It’s called the Green Line because the Israelis farm the land right up to the fence of No Man’s Land. On the Syrian side there is nothing but mine fields, desert, and scrub brush.

It is a depressing sight.

The church in the air. I am in Capernaum, the famous village on the shore of the Galilee Sea. It is the town of Peter and his fishing home port.

There is a ruin of a Beit Knisset, or synagogue, and a collection of house ruins nearby. One is called the house of Peter. Interesting that we know this because the area had a continuity of families until Helena came visiting. The people had no difficulty in pointing out Peter’s mother in laws house, because it has always been so. An octogon church was built surrounding the foundation stones. It lasted several hundred years, then fell into a ruin.

A thousand years later Israel came into existence. They did not seize private property so the church kept their property. The ruin of Capernaum was being uncovered by the church and the government.

The church had a plan to build a large church with the house of Peter as the centerpiece. The Israeli government allows the possession of property but ancient ruins can’t be touched. They said no!

A compromise was to build a church over the house but suspended on pillars. The house remains underneath and untouched.