Gravity Bob

  I was going to call this C.P.E. "Gravity Steve" originally. Dr. Hawking will just have to change his first name to Robert at some point; now won't he? Have you seen the recent Gravity Bob (Hawking) movie? Don't bother, if you have not. Gosh, but I hated it! A typical chick-flick is ostensibly about "relationships", yet if you'll note; that ain't quite so. Truth said, it's more like people being "on the verge" of relating.
  For some unknown reason, women consistently find this sort of thing to be entertaining, a kind of "almost relating", in which the parties emerge with a bunch of unsaid doubts, and all kinds of conflicting emotion. I have yet to plumb the depths here, and cannot imagine what it is, that is at all satisfying about viewing such material. I mean, if they would just toss in an exploding helicopter or two, or maybe a running machine-gun battle occasionally (maybe), then it would be watchable. But all this near-miss, almost saying what you mean stuff is just no fun to watch. In brief, the movie "Theory of Everything" stinks on ice! Altogether too much "almost connecting" for my tastes.

  So anyhow, "Gravity Bob" a.k.a. Stephen Hawking is (in the movie) all about developing a T.O.E. (theory of everything), but we are not supposed to notice that he never seems to get around to it? Or something. Along the way, he dumps the wife who has been taking care of him for a quarter century. She; washing, feeding, and changing the diapers of an overlarge and ill-mannered baby for decades, he drops her to chase the skirts of the nurse? Simply brilliant; Doctor Hawking! Gravity Bob may well have an outrageously high I.Q., but who cares? He has his little cadre of worshippers, and everybody around him is busy knocking themselves out, so that he can keep his "terribly important dream" alive? Yawn.

  This kind of thing, in my opinion, is just altogether too like the modern mess, of which one's "dream cannot be denied". Friends? Family? Your sworn word? All of those are just more trash to kick out of the way, on your self-centered crummy path to "true happiness". To top this off, if you'll do a short Google search, the nurse gig didn't fly either! She ended up being some kind of gold-digger, crazy woman who liked to beat Gravity Bob up; behind closed doors. So, in real life (not in the movie version) he ditched the nut. We are left with the guy who knowing "nearly everything", apparently knows nothing of human kind?
  Don't get me wrong here, it is not as if I profess to understand women or something. My ignorance of the fem ways, are to some extent (apparently) similar then to the good doctor's? But in fact, the wide array of topics of which I know very nearly zip about; I tend to view as an advantage! We need not pretend at knowing it all. Ignorance is only a handicap, if you allow it to be one!
  So don't bug me with the math involved, I wouldn't be able to follow "knowing it all" in any case. Yet, as a believer in Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews (the sign on the cross read), I have a very different "take" on gravity, than does Bob and his fellow brainiacs. I don't know much at all concerning T.O.E.s. Heck; the last I paid any attention to any of this material, the spin (then) was still all about G.U.T. (grand unified theory). Be that as it may, the single feature of the four forces which both T.O.Es, and G.U.T.s deal with, which constantly kicks the butts of genius types; is gravity. To unify theory, somehow, somewhere gravity has to fit in, and the stinker consistently refuses!
  It's kind of odd isn't it, that we can have unspoken ideas rolling around inside us, for years? The thing is never said aloud, but it's still filed "in there" somewhere, apparently awaiting the day it be announced aloud? Today is the day. So, along these kinds of lines then, my "theory" of gravity is thus necessarily linked to speech.
  In the best analysis I am capable of, the Nazarene speaks reality into existence, but more pointedly, His  continuing Word, is the glue which holding things together, also directs them to appointed ends. To an atheist like Gravity Bob, this type of view is simply nonsense; but what we usually fail to grasp, is that in such a system as Bob's, the True Voice is being actively suppressed and denied, in order to supplant same. . . with another voice! And isn't it irony itself, that Gravity Bob (new-speaker extraordinaire), is mute? Or worse yet, that the new "voice" in question is a cheapie low-ball robot voice? See? The reason I begin with speech, when discussing gravity, is that at some point a "genius" is required to "say-so", to utter and then "prove" the breakthrough orthodoxy. So, the first church of science has it's own "infallible words", spoken authoritatively by it's "saints". And whether the church of Hawkings can ever own up to it or not, the speaker in their cult is not in fact Gravity Bob, but none other than Sir Isaac Newton!
  Recall that in his own era, Zack's inverse square theory of "attraction of bodies" was widely ridiculed as "occult". The entire premise of "action at a distance" was deemed by the (then) science geniuses as absurd. Yet Zack spoke authoritatively, and Zack won the day. His gravity idea is that a universal "force" is always attracting. And it is just about here that I get off the bus. Zack never had the data we do, concerning the movements of galaxies at the remote end of visibility. Gravity Bob and company (the big-bangists), keep insisting upon a colossal "boom" at the outset of things. But Bob & Co. looking at the telescopic data, consistently fail to deal with the most alarming aspect of the expansion cloud; and that simply is, that the galaxies distant are at this very hour continuing to accelerate away! Recall that a rocket under steady thrust, continues to accelerate. But when boost is shut down, it would be a very strange thing indeed; for that coasting ship to continue to gain velocity! So, if Gravity Bob's one-time boost (the boom), is said to have quit boosting x-billion years ago, and yet his "rockets" (galaxies) are to this day still building speed, what ever could that mean? Gosh Gravity Bob, how can "un-thrusted acceleration" be? Oh, I know! It is because the bangists are still using the Newtonian premise of action at a distance! It (gravity) only and ever "draws", pulling in, thus saith Saint Zack! That said; in the bang-ist model then; the boom and only the boom, could possibly be doing the accelerating. But if Zack was only looking at the up-close feature of gravity, not even he could have accounted for an un-thrusted acceleration. He was unable in his day, to note the far-distant view, but if he could have seen what we see, might not he see "out-go" as the inverse and corresponding half to 'in-fall"?

  The old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon began with Rocky rolling down a snowy hillside. The faster gravity goes, the furiouser it gets. Zack would have liked Bullwinkle I think, and surely would have grasped the beauty of Rocky's downward roll. Just at the brink of going over, the plucky flying squirrel stabilizes, assisted by Bullwinkles' touch! So then, my (entirely unsubstantiated) "theory" on the matter, is that gravity, linked to the Speaker, is more of a "field" than a directional "force". Minus mathematics, there is yet room in my "theory" to accommodate galactic recession, in that as a range limited field, both ends might well accelerate! In this model thus, things would both move faster as they fall "in" toward center, and likewise they would move furiouser as they fall "out" of center. Further, my "theory" predicts that the True Center, must needs be one and same as The Speaker. So, in reality, gravity isn't "about abstract laws of nature". Rather, it's the aroma, the whiff of the Captain's scent! Gravity is a dim whisper of the stronger reality, that of Him drawing His friends, and He driving His foes, it's both; because He is both.

  The draw and the drive, the pull and the push of gravity, this is what is missing from the Newtonian understanding, And I believe it this (partially, at least) which best explains why all T.O.E.s crash and burn. Committed to a draw-only gravity, they are working with something like half of the truth! And so, in a draw-only version of gravity; Gravity Bob keeps coming up empty on the unification drill, and this repeat failure of his, drives me further off! The net result of bad draw theory is that it irritates people!
  So, gravity in my definition is just "folks". People really do matter, for good and for ill. It is your family, your church, your neighbors, which are "close and nearby". So, what do we do? We defend, and build-with, we sacrifice for, and patiently endure their nonsense, and such efforts format as the pull. And this pull (which always is pulling in), continues to strengthen ties, it builds upon the existing and set foundation, so to "gain mass". So too, the broader our net is cast, and the wider the span between folks, the less we sense the pull, and the more we begin to notice the push. By the time we consider a large scale "America" for example, there are clearly two Americas to consider. One of which we are drawn to, and the other one we find to be repelling. As push increases, we wonder "How can people even be that way?". And the wider the sample, the more this gap widens.
  So then, something like a social gravity is "in" us, and to the extent that we even remember the existence of a "Pakistan or Singapore", our inner gravity becomes almost exclusively "push". At that remote range, one must actively "try" to recall that, however damned strange those foreigners be, they (somehow or another) are yet human! So it is that very thing binding us together, which is the same; we find to be driving off "outsiders". A social field, and not some cohesive uni-directional force is what is in us. So, my "theory" is predicting that some parallel of the same reality which "in here", is "out there" also! What after all would the other option be?
  If asked, which is of premier value, the individual, or the community, clearly the Trinitarian answer is "Yes". Neither a unique valuation of individuals, nor it's opposite, some communal one-ness of the group, as supremely worthy, can (of themselves); solve here. The Three Who Is One, remains "undivided individual", harming neither, blessing both. Gravity, on it's very best day is a subtle whisper, a dim hint of the Really-Real Himself, as is all else.

  Gravity the symbol, Him the reality, we note He then; the True Center calling "in". We find the faster we go that direction, the furiouser it gets! What began in us as a limping or halting crawl, soon becomes a brisk pace, so to one day become a mind-bendingly rapid sprint homeward! Further, to those to whom He declares "I never knew you", they are at first nudged away, then they march off on their own; soon to be forcibly flung away into "outer (darkness) parts". Hell, gets progressively worse in a view such as this, and likewise heaven becomes an ever increasing sum of fierce gladness! Both accelerate like bodies necessarily driven. The further away they go, the faster they get, and likewise, the further pulled in, the swifter the sprint into His arms! Gravity, is about the call, Him speaking "Come near, Son"; and it's about that pull being so Almighty powerful as to overthrow our guilt, all grief, our sad serial failure patterns, triumphing even unto death and hell themselves! Gravity is about His Verbal rejection of the person, "Be gone stranger!". With Him, it's a both/and, not an either/or.

  Have you noticed? The big-bangists always portray being "drawn in", as a bad thing? Black holes are those inescapable gravity wells. Danger Will Robinson! Don't go there! But, what if a chap one day, up and realizes he no longer wishes to escape what (Who) is at the Center, eh Doctor? What then to do? And over in ancient Israel, there was a ceremony for those ex-slaves, which upon being freed (if the slave desired to remain), the ear would be pierced. He renouncing "freedom in the abstract", was thereby proclaiming a new and undying loyalty, in the concrete. A hole blown right through the ear, perhaps signaling a "permanent hearing"? The slave, now freed, testifying to hearing (with his body) the voice of the master speaking words, "Remain then friend; for your true place is here!".

  That's reality for ya' Gravity Bob! Being drawn in to the center, is a "certain death" surely enough, and it is also the portal into a love stronger than death. The picture is Moses and all Israel walking purposely into the sea-parted (certain death!), so to emerge (mysteriously) on the other side. We get knocked down, and we get up again.

Word Pookie #18 (date unknown)

  Maybe it's just a sign of age, I don't know. You know the package; the old grumpy guy fussing about how kids talk nowadays, or to that effect maybe? It's just that I can barely tolerate listening to the usage of some words, as they are murdered in public. Another aspect of the old guy syndrome is the evolving usage issue. Some words come into wide application only briefly, and kinda flit away again. Others, just as annoying, remain. So then, we might be able to guess that the short list I intend to bellyache about will promptly disappear next week, leaving me with nothing to complain about! That said, I shall next hazard my list.
  It bugs me to hear young men say "totally", when what they mean is "that sounds about right, I guess". It bothers me to listen to girls say "absolutely", when what is intended is a polite agreement, so as to not start an argument in public. The sound of "of course" grates upon my nerves, in that it is almost never applied to instances of common knowledge. "Of course" might apply to Hank Aaron's record number of homers. It almost certainly would never apply to the gross national product of Guatemala, as a "well known number". Number four on my list is "y' know whad I mean?", which is almost exclusively applied to inference sets; of which in fact, I have no idea at all; what you are discussing, y'know whad I mean? Rounding out today's list of word-pookie is the utterly egregious and finally banal misuse of "awesome". An intelligent F-5 tornado, as it demolishes St. Louis; might perhaps qualify as "awesome", the flavor of a stick of chewing gum, hardly ever, at all.
  Does any of this matter to you? I mean, you'll have to admit that I completely overlooked the "ebonics" of usage, as in the deployment of "acks", nor did I gripe at all over the misery of "eksetera" (acks Yul Brynner about that one!), so it's not like I'm getting out of control on the topic or something.
  No, what bugs me is (I think) the premise that words and language itself are in existence such that by virtue of a common and expected usage of symbols, content of thought might pass from one mind to another. Imagine a world in which conversation was done with semaphore. The flags raised sequentially at certain angles, are to convey across a distance; a message. The "creative" use of flags to imply meaning, rather than convey it; is not "progress" in my mind. To signal "whopper tidal wave" with arms and flags so to refer to a pigeon's nest, might be thought of as an "overly strong" usage, but in fact is weak and wobbly.
  The totality of which "totally" is sign, is an oddly "mostly not there" type of totality. Likewise with the absolute, lately gone missing in action in "absolutely". To teach creative writing then, we should aim "down" toward understatement. To habitually overstate is precisely what weakens our words. Compare and contrast "Of course, the totally awesome hamburger, was absolutely delicious, y'know what I mean?", with "The burger was okay, I didn't die". Which of the two more accurately portrays the sitting down to consume greasy ground beef? Furthermore, the unreliable inclusion of "y'know whad I mean?" appears to imply a clairvoyance on my part, as listener, such that the comment itself is unnecessary, since I already knew! If I am to become "great" by the means of shrinking great words; somewhat akin to having F.D.R and J.F.K out back raking leaves, I'd guess such to be an unwholesome development.
  Further along this line, the aristocratic laziness involved to simply slap together words willy nilly in any old way seems to imply a certain "high-ness" on my part, which was never verbalized, but implied by it's structure. If then I'm so "up" a person  as all that, as to skip my actual statement, and supply instead an uppity hint at meaning which you are to decode as you wish, breaks the rule of communication. The message was not transmitted, and old guys are grumpy about it!
  Now what difference any of this makes, is difficult to state clearly. That is, the topic itself seems to transform itself, from a generalized gripe about "youngsters" into a specialized reference set of me, or my generation. And it isn't merely words we witness this phenomenon operating in. Haven't you noticed how people tend to get fixated over time with some small thing or another? Perhaps it is noisy cars "racing" down the street, cupboard doors left open, or "proper etiquette". Some niche or another of expertise presumed is carved out, a trivia, or some narrowly defined history, begins to become an unanswerable redoubt.
  Arguments against whether the hull thickness of WWII battleships were vulnerable to torpedoes, end up stalling. Whether or not petunias are perennial, ends stifling conversation, not promoting it. Soon, the turf of the tiny expert becomes unassailable, and next they begin to "humor" you! The "area" chosen by the grump, over which he maintains "unassailable truth", also just happens to be "entirely irrelevant truth". You'll get no arguments, for the simple reason, that nobody (but you) cares enough about it one way or another to fight over it with you. Your "reality" has lately become "numbing", and this is what we mean by the word "old", I think.
  Just in the same way as you once went through growth bursts, as a teenager, we age in bursts. To physiologically have grey hair, stooped shoulders and wrinkles might be signs of age, but not necessarily those of being "old". I'm saying that our quirky expertise in dead-end topics, the mastering of conversation killers as a cultivated crop, that is what makes us "old".
  And perhaps we could get by with simply swearing off such bad habits as all that, so to refer to ourselves as "young at heart"? Newsflash, only old people talk that way. Nor can the correct answer be simply the development of such a thick hide as to not fly off the handle when "awesome, actually, and fusstrate" begin to manifest. To simply "not-do" will not do!
  If language were a garden, you would not (I hope) be glad to simply defend your patch of carrots, and yell at kids who laugh at you as you do so. Our error was neither in the planting, nor in the defending of our gardens, but in failing to enlarge it! We are not place-holders first, but only "hold turf" after it is conquered!
  Likewise, we tend to see becoming a grump (getting old) in service to some private expertise set, as a thing (in itself) to be avoided. But, what if the grumpiness is a sign, that we best ought pick up speed in regard to conquest, which would be to learn new things? And I mean that the grump-quotient may well be an on-board warning sign to pick up the pace expanding the garden. If the ever-whittled-down size of the domain, is the problem, then, let's go conquer new dirt!
  So, instead of bellyaching about the vapid whippersnapper usage of "absolutely" as a "yes-ish" type of qualified agreement, we proceed instead to extend and ground the Absolute (Himself!) in our words! He the Rock, draws us to Him. It never was about the kid offending, or you being offended. We thereby, no longer satisfied to merely mock the thin gruel of rice krispy treats said to be "awesome", we become small channels of the Awesome One reaching out in space time to grasp in welcome those lonesome boys. Be in Awe of Him boys! Behold: He of Whom, through Whom, and unto Whom be all that is, was, and ever shall be! Or to rephrase, the enemy of old age, is you being friendly to little kids, and teenagers.
  We, by main force drive back the forest of ignorance, clearing the trees of guilt and superstition, burning the underbrush of loneliness and fear, so to build a garden, a playground from which we can rest to admire grand vistas. The greybeard was built specially to be the pilot of the D-9 dozer, leading the way into the wilderness. Happily blowing up stumps, knocking down piles of rock, is a glad thing and we won't be happy until we do so. Life is "directional", we spread out, as we gaze up. We root down, so to bear fruit, that others be nourished.
  Quickly we sprint. . . into True Arm's glad embrace, as He thunders "Well done Junior!". Words spoken, the entire concept, we borrowed from it's Inventor.
  He talks right.

Science #19 (date unknown)

  Over in You Tube land, I watched a few vids recently. If you search for "dumb things Christians say", plus related lines; there appears to be some seriously "unsympathetic to the faith" material out there. In our time, and in our culture this is "normal", and is a one sided arrangement. I do not pretend to be even mildly sympathetic to the modern scientific worldview. But, in my rejection of thoughts, I do not thereby criticize the brain and it's function. Rather the heart and it's intent are what is announced by malice aforethought!
  At the heart of man, is "cult". Cult-ure thus formats thought, not vice-versa. We think in the patterns we do, because of a prior heart loyalty. From the outset then, there are no disinterested nor unbiased seekers after truth. Rather, we humans having previously chosen our loyalties, set out next to re-enforce, and so to undergird our position. For instance, the news media types are constantly pretending at an unbiased and balanced reporting of news. The only thing we can safely conclude about such assertions is that the reporters are (for reasons best known to themselves) unwilling to announce their actual position, and that such being the case, we might reasonably distrust the testimony of such secretive souls. I say, we might reasonably distrust, and also we might ask for clarification. But this charity on our part is never, ever returned to us.
  If you just once utter the mildest dissent from Darwin, then remember to observe the "charity and understanding" you receive in return! Demur precisely one tad from big-bangery and watch the kind hearted welcome coming next! To differ with the popular cult is to forever be; "a hick, an uneducated and ignorant hillbilly, hopelessly lost in dogma". Fine. . . I'll take that, and return the favor; so to point out that the a priori heart commitment to "Science-ism", or "secular humanism" or whatever it is called this week, is essentially an immanentist supposition. Furthermore, the very same three invisible realities, which are mirrored by three visible; must be, by any competing system of belief; alternately interpreted. But such viewing of things never once addresses these things except via postulate.
  Simply said then, Christians are fully committed to three realities, and Science-ists likewise deal with the same three. Science-ists are forced to shape opinion in light of their systemic rejection of Yahweh, whereas Christians are freed to shape thoughts welcoming Him. Thus, we are not discussing thereby faith versus fact, or prejudice versus evidence. Here we see militantly competing faith claims of two disparate religions, and those claims are over the very same turf. That turf can be seen as "is, jazz, and rule". Being (is), speaks of the very "is-ness" of reality, and works from premises to conclusions. Life (jazz), refers to the animated and congruent replication of entities, and almost always is a sidebar to origins. Authority (rule), is a reasoning type defense of the the systemic interpretation, the "who says so" of facty-ness per se, and so formats as the epistemological inference.
  And in my Christian dumbness, I shall very briefly outline the Science-ist's basic spin on the three as I understand they themselves to be asserting. Recall, that these are unprovable faith based statements, and far from being themselves "provable", form the presumed bias, by which all further interpretation of data must be viewed from within the cult. It is the lens we see-by, not the thing viewed. The three are the binoculars, not the field of vision.
  Is, just is! Formally then, the cult is devoted to an unsupportable premise of the eternality of matter. Oh sure, over in Life, they will stoutly define big-bangery as if the action of explosion somehow "grants" existence of the to-be-exploded, but please note. That grand-daddy whopper black hole of all known matter which "was", prior to the explosion, that guck "in there" has (itself) no point of origin. Science-ism proposes no coherent reason as to why or how the super-compressed stuff ever came about in the first place. So, as a religious premise, there is no "need" (logically) for a Creator, if and since all the stuff of "is" just is, was and shall ever be, all by itself. Further, supposing a Creator in this type of matrix, He Himself would have to (logically) doff His hat, to pay homage to that awfully handy stuff "which can neither be created nor destroyed", as a more-eternal than He! In my opinion, much of the charges against us for being "dumb", are because we fail to admit the supremacy of matter.
  Jazz likewise, in this system just happens! Big-bangery is the quasi-cosmology, but the anthropology is closely linked. The cult proposes that chance plus time, equals reality, and this for no reason. That whopper ball of stuff (with zero spatial dimensions); somehow containing all stuff (which would make it the original black hole), one day just kinda went the other way. . . for no apparent reason. Science is quite firm about holes. To pass the event horizon, is to never emerge again from the gravity well, and this (we infer) would be likewise and more-so true of the original monster hole, drawing ever and always "in" Science says; "One day (unaccountably) it went out!". The sucker blew up. . .for no reason. From chaos, order is built by accident, and those hot gasses flying apart from the colossal boom at the speed of light. . . were nonetheless drawn together "gravitationally". Kinda like how when you blow up a stick of dynamite, it ends up looking like the Mona Lisa perhaps? Anyhow, the draw, once again at it, purposelessly exceeds the push, forcing the blobs to spontaneously combust in sustained fusion reactions quadrillions of times in a row? Kinda flukey that. And you know how them gasses are, don't you? Those rascals like to "not draw" (after all) and so they proceed to orbit as they refuse to be drawn all the way in, so to pointlessly become solids, like say planets and such? So, what with one thing and another, chance plus time finally gets around to creating the disordered-order called life, which as we are all quite aware, "tends" toward complexity! Single cell life just spontaneously combusts out of amino acids, salts, and lightning bolts. Unsatisfied with it's lowly self, it becomes, first a fish, then a frog, then a lemming, and then a lemur. Nearly a monkey now, it just goes all the way up to fully chimp! But, life ain't satisfied, and next thing you know. . . poof, here we are! But the entire process is akin to you spilling your dinner into your lap, an accident, and nothing to be learned by it.
  Rule, as it emerges in this system, is clearly a latecomer, and might be best ignored. The ape shedding his fur, sprouting a forehead, and dressing up in un-evolved animal hides; one day up and decides to whack his neighbor, so to steal his woman. Rule and authority in Science-ism are purely social constucts, and cannot logically be derived from the is or jazz view. But what goes entirely unsaid, by news anchors and the other "unbiased" among us, is that authority; in actuality, always remains one of the three basic valuations any cult must maintain. The "secret" of the religion of man is that he worships himself, but ordinarily fails to mention it; and thus reserves final authority as a purely personal prerogative. Authority is "vacant" in the cult of science, for the excellent reason that it inheres in the individual believers themselves, and this vacancy is authoritatively maintained!
  Being, life, and Authority. the three speak of an unreachable reality which can only be accessed by faith. And we Christian believers are entirely biased, in that we freely link these three to the Person, the Work, and the presence of the Almighty. Not only above and unseen, but below and visible are the three known. Cosmology, Anthropology and Epistemology apply to the high mystery indeed, but they also speak of everyday, and obvious things. It is in how the obvious is maintained, that we draw conclusions about the unsaid biases on the unseen.
  Apostle John says it more or less as "having viewed your distaste and mockery of the one we do see, (your neighbor) kinda blows the legs off of any claims of yours about any proposed "high view" of the unseen." How can you love (High) Invisible-True, when you clearly despise the (low) visible-true? If matter is indeed eternal, and "is" just is, if life and the cosmos are the results of staggering and pointless improbability (but that emptiness is all that truly is!), if authority means simply might equals right, then it is okey-dokey to mock. With such a system in place, divorce, the murder of babies, shameless deceit, debauchery and all the rest of what we view in the daily news, is entirely in line with the cult's religious dogma. . . as its' ethic! If Science-ism is true, then there is no evil. But even the believers in and of that cult, maintain the reality of evil, if only to accuse us of it! Their doctrine is forced to admit the reality of evil, while at the same time cannot admit it of itself.
  Doctrine it remains, even if it is merely that it's crap doctrine, and even the adherents of the cult hide from being known by their works. But they are never free to deny and walk away from their hopeless enterprise. Simple as simple, the main difference, between the competing faiths, is that we have been freed to acknowledge our need for help from outside our crummy, fallen little systems which we so love building. Or simpler yet, we call for aid upon the Name, "I AM HE WHO HEARS", and He indeed does!
  If Darwinism and it's attached misery is the case, then you are a pointless hiccup, in an idiotic rise of goop. If from goop to ape, and then from ape to man, begs the question; "from man to. . . what-next?". Trans-humanism in its' proposed bonding of human consciousness into a digitized format, proposes an "eternal life", of sorts. But that path leads to destruction, for the one "forgotten" reason. Science-ism is always wedded to an immanentist-only type thinking. Strictly speaking, it is "intra-cosmic. . .only!". Thus, there is Nobody "outside" of reality. All persons-ever, within Science-ist premises "must reside inside" the cosmos, and so, there can be no true hope. There is no-one "out there" to call to, in this faith.
  We beg to differ! Our hope lives on, indeed He does! There are two faith systems, one man built, and the other introduced by The Builder of Man (and all else). One path is harsh and insane, the other welcomes ex-madmen, and makes tons of sense. The insane faith cannot grasp the sane, but the sane understands and pleads for those yet trapped in hopeless darkness. The darkness has not comprehended the Light.
  The King says; "You will recognize them by their actions, you will know them by their fruits". What we "do" then is to accept ridicule, and welcome rejection for our "hick" views. Such is the very highest complement the others could, at this time pay! Until that glad day that they come into their right minds, their rejection remains the highest human endorsement available.
  "Rejoice in that day you are rejected (for My sake), for so they treated the prophets before you". The Voice of sanity, is He. Light of the dark world, Friend of the friendless, what a Champion!

Merry Christmas 2014!

  Well, this thing right here is some type of landmark, I'd guess? After discharging from the U.S.A.F. back in 80; I began at some point, a sort of "tradition" or another, that of cobbling together, about this time of year; a missive of questionable merit. Normally, some type of nomenclature such as "Beware; for here is yet another genuine, bogus non-card, card". This was to prepare and alert (somewhat) the reader for what followed. Somewhen along the line, I adopted the use of graph paper as the "stationery". Some of the non-cards in years past included some rather poorly rendered drawings. Typical of these artworks, one might picture a "Santa" figure, with a circle about him, and a diagonal line drawn through, so to indicate a "no Santa zone".
  Most of these un-cards are careful to alert the reader of a forthcoming definite lack. No New England-y type snow scenes, zero evergreens, zip chatty newsletters, nil reindeer and such like stuff. My Mom was real big on cards, she loved both getting and giving them. To me, snow was just so much ice falling out of the sky; and I never did trust that "Santa" dude back at Montgomery Ward's when I was yet young enough to sit on his knee, so to chat up the weirdo. Moreover, I found it disturbing as a youngster to note the obviously fake beard on the guy, but as a boy, could not imagine how best to discuss the topic. Mom (or somebody?) apparently "wanted" me to believe in the icy strange pants drill, and so; I pretended to buy the yarn. For precisely whose benefit this pretending went on, I (to this day) can't say.
  I can still recall my brother Jim attempting to convert me out my deep agnosticism on the whole Christmas schmeer. I was perhaps a first or second grader, so Jim must have been about 11? He was trying to convince me of how terribly reasonable it was to build "here". I recall objecting at one point in the conversation; "We don't even have a fireplace, so how could it be that the guy drops in?". His memorable and stunning response; "He uses the air ducts on the furnace", seemed an even worse answer than the fireplace drill. Our furnace louvers were about 1/4 of an inch wide! How small afterall, is jolly old Saint Nick anyhow? And how could such a teensy person lug that monster bag around?. . .
  Honestly, I strongly doubt that it once occurred to me to surmise, that the link to be made here is to a magical, or mysterious reality. The logistics and the planning required to gain entry on millions of households, in only a few hours time, was "where" my brain lived in those days. The astounding amount of speed and flawless execution such an annual reverse burglary would have required, meant (in brief) that I simply assumed that these people buying into the story were insane. Ergo, Santa is not a left-brained phenomenon. The linear, logical and reasonable are supposed to be on vacation "here". The right brain was/is being given permission (temporarily!) to operate unmolested. I never, in those days; thunk that. Our very human need to believe in a terribly competent "father" (of some kind); who loves all children (even me?) just did not ever cross the brain scope in those days. Further, the premise that the cat was watching my every move, such that I could score points, so to derive cool stuff, seemed both; way too simple, and also more than a little perverse of the creep.
  All this said, it seems to me now, that I was out to "correct a problem". I had somehow become the sole survivor of logic and truth, and it (apparently?) was my job to "fix" those poor saps who had become unfortunately seasonally delusional? That said, what better method then, than do de-program the victims with a bit of shock therapy? Thus, Christmas was never a matter (for me) of basking in a glow, nor enjoying the getting all sentimental about days gone by. Hoping for a better tomorrow, was (in my book) a tomorrow devoid of lunatic assertions about invisible fat people. Other than these observations today, I cannot really say just why I bothered generating my monstrous non-card things all those years. The summary of many of them usually sounded something like; "Christmas is a religious feast. . . which has gotten entirely out of control!". No longer about Messiah Jesus, but twisted somehow into a kind of communal guilt tripping over whether or not one is properly "in the spirit of the thing". If one is approved on that score, we are then to behold some inane one upmanship gig about getting-even, (plus some) on the gifts given (and received) tally? Who (in their right mind), could possibly care about either? If Christmas is fundamentally a "caring-for" day, them's some mighty slim pickin's!
  So, to return briefly to the original topic, this marks the first ever cyber-digital type of non-card, card I've generated. No longer handwritten, and then xeroxed down at the U.P.S. store, this here model is all 21st cen! And to be honest with you, the writing of it hasn't been much of a priority for me this year. Not even I care about the blasted thing, but for Mom, and for tradition's sake, I will hammer this rascal out. Behind or perhaps beneath all of those previous non-cards is an unspoken "beef' with Dec. 25. And not to put too fine a point on it, but the modern version of the day is horrendously and astoundingly depressing. Some vague statistic I pretend to recall is that suicide attempts skyrocket during (precisely) "the season". I, for one am not surprised in the least, supposing such is actually the case. The craziness of a "happy/sad" day is confusing enough, that perhaps a little sign; or bumper sticker might help clear things up?  It might be a little like those drivers you see all over the roadways. You wonder where their sign is. You are on a major artery in town, with a posted limit of 35. Clown-zilla, smack in front of you; is blazing right along at 22? Where is the sign? Or, how about we just put a bumper sticker on, reading "no license, no insurance"? So thus, for Christmas, the deal, is that I am supposed to "care" about "the season" (yuck!) by eagerly listening to forecasts of probable retail sales? That (?) is what the "joy" is all about? An invented "marketing opportunity", specially designed for families with youngsters, and this year's version of gross sales, versus years-past, kinda forgets something. That little matter is that not all of us have mates, not every person has children. The marketing and profits all hinge upon marriage. And as a single, my sign plainly reads "I don't belong here". If you don't have a tyke to bounce on the knee, nor a sweetheart to snuggle with, the fiesta in question turns out to be a day off work, maybe (if somebody takes pity on you) some turkey and spuds, and a day to loaf. It's a sugar coated Saturday, in which the acquisition of more "stuff" is supposed to gladden the heart? Not depressing enough for you? Oh, I forgot to mention that to notice the sadness of this is "not being in the spirit of the season", strictly verboten!
  True to form however, as with many of the previous versions of this mess, I shall next proceed to abruptly shift gears, so to wax eloquent on an (apparently) unrelated topic. I've been thinking lately about Job. To me, the whole Christmas gig is in that short little book. In my Bible, the thing spins up on pg. 662. If you get to Psalms, just back up a few pages. Christmas is Job, at least for this year's version of the anti-card. The poor guy keeps saying essentially, "Hey look, if I'm wrong, then I'm wrong, and I'll come clean, but you could, at least do me the simple honor of telling me where it was that I supposedly went so far off the rails!". Dial tone. Or worse than a dial tone, the line has gone clean dead. There is no answer to be had for the righteous-est man on earth, as he is unfairly crushed.
  Hmmm, where else have we heard this idea? The champion of right-way-ness in all Earth, being crushed, though he himself did no wrong? Ring a bell? Job is a type of the Messiah! The inscrutable and seemingly "pointless" devouring of that honest dude Job, sounds to us, to have been some sort of awful mistake.
  See? The ordinary way we look at things, is much like Santa. Picture this, if you do good, you get pinball machines, and go-carts. You screw up, you get a lump of coal! Apparently, we are pre-wired to view reality through some sort of promise and reward type of lens. The Hebrew understanding of their champion is David the King, that military genius, and swashbuckling vato of success. Jesus is walking around saying stuff like; "I'm heading on up to Jerusalem, they'll kill me, then put me six feet under; and on the third day I'll bust out of the tomb". So (naturally) the 12 figured that either He'd been out in the sun a little too long, or that this was some kind of metaphorical type "spiritual" teaching. Even on the day of the murder, maybe (just maybe) one person on the planet "got it" besides The King. Remember that Mary came beforehand, anointing His body for burial. She knew, what you now know, it was the only way!
  The Jews figured that the Son of David would open up a king-sized can of whup-ass, and drive the stinkin' Romans out, (if He were truly The King that is). The entire concept of the unfair punishment of the only good Guy ever, and Him crushed to death (this pleasing to the Father?) just did not crop up on the brain scope. Doesn't "victory" mean. . . victory? Since when is "winning" defined as "getting pounded into the soil"? How could conquest of the nations be a fall guy taking the rap for crimes he never committed? Overcoming, solving, repairing the woes of the world seem to require a "going up". From our perspective, greatness, appears to be basic, but the only real solution is actually a crushing loss, bringing a dreadful sorrow. When it came, nobody saw it coming, certainly not then! And to be honest, nobody ever would or could get it, at least not without help. Help came.
  In his day, Job tried as hard ever as he could, to hold up his end of the bargain, yet in the end, had to fold. The righeous-est man on Earth failed. We needed another Job, a "super-Job", who although fully man, could bear that Almighty crushing, and like the lamb led to slaughter, never once claim His rights in the process!
  The magic of Christmas, is just about "here" somewheres. Post resurrection, and with the aid of the Spirit Holy, the early believers were practically lining up to likewise participate in this new thing in Earth, this "winning by losing". Their smashing victory, and overturning of the Roman Empire was in the participation with their Captain; as He captured and turned the hearts and minds, of the many! The weak, though weak indeed, was proving stronger than the strong! Their loss, (with Help and in Christ alone) became an unheard of kind of win. The ugly, marred visage of Him-crushed (who was no "looker" to begin with), became in them the Beauty-everlasting. He, The Finder, the Friend, the True Brother, Him accepting them willingly, intercepts the fury from on-high in His body. The "wall" He thereby forms, proves to be the only shield available when that Un-created Rage, long predicted; finally and actually does manifest.
  "Maranatha, even so, come soon Lord Jesus", is a wild thing to say! Think it over. We are pleading with the High-Holy-One, to come burn down reality, so to shatter beyond any hope of recovery, the world, and (near as I can tell) the universe! We are asking Him to be The Final Calamity (in Person), and that before our very eyes! The insane high treason of the enemy forever blown to flinders, all human and demonic wickedness to come to a permanent and screeching halt, this devastation in blinding violence; it's this we ask for? Devastation, way way beyond some puny super nova, or even some type of unimaginable "galactic uber-bomb", we plead for the return!
  The crushing of the one Innocent Man, that true-Job, is the only shelter ever invented, which could (and surely shall!) survive that day. And He came willingly? There is a deeper magic then. Our shabby insane market holiday is but a dim whisper of the fiercely real, the True Father All Seeing, who lovingly prepares the only present worth-having, in that great and terrible day; life!
  They call Him "The Save-er", and save-indeed He does! Saving from sin, and from death, so too from the hell of fire. He thereby saves from fear, from fear's twin; loneliness, and even from sadness, but best, and first-always, He is saving us. . . from Him! It was the only way, left open; and He took it!
  Oddly then, this type of thinking reverses things, making you, yourself, into the Christmas present. That beautifully wrapped mystery turns out to be y'all! And it is the one He most eagerly anticipates opening! Merry Christmas, you Christmas present-you! Bask in that glow, loaf, and remember. Hope in the surely better day coming. Eat lots of turkey, bounce many little kids on your knee, it is a religious feast, gone all right!

Muh Ol' Day-ad

  Sundays are going to be different from now on. For the past couple of years I've tried to call (on the phone) my old Dad, hence the title of this C.P.E.. I wrote the title that way, because that is my usual pronunciation. No more shall I dial up "the old guy" (as my brothers and I once called him), and announce "Ola' Papa-san, this is #2 down in Cruces". That's history now, it's over. Pop died.
  It ain't like this caught us all flat-footed. We were not blindsided by a shock. It was much more like the snow arriving in due time, just about six weeks after the first morning frost is spotted in late October. He just kinda ran outta juice.
  I suppose it's inevitable that kids imprint upon their parents. I mean, what would the other option be? I imprinted as a boy, very heavily upon Carl N.M.I. Labor. By the time you hit your 30's or so, it becomes clear that you have become "more like your Dad (or Mom). . . than he is!". At minimum, such was the case with me. Now, as a side note; it is not entirely clear to me, whether in this essay to refer to the guy in the past or present tense. So there might well be some slop, category-wise herein. Anyhow, Pops was/is as much a "think" guy as you're likely to ever meet. It was all about cognitive brain action with the dude. A big word with Dad is, "to grasp"; as-in to understand a concept or idea. He loves puns, riddles, word problems, history and all things factual. A sort of one-man reality committee perhaps? Big conceptual word formats here are "realistic, unworkable, and actual" that there kind of thing. That is to say, he was informally at war with the entire schmeer of the "hold onto your dreams" school of thought; which has (until today at least) captured the imagination of the "West".
  See? It wasn't really "all about" whether (or not) you were personally all fulfilled in life, realizing goals and whatnot. That junk was for rich kids. Us blue collar types, who in fact do the WORK required to make the world go round, don't have the leisure to hang around bellyaching about some vague sense of unfulfillment. There is altogether too much work for us to be doing around here, to allow for any standing around, whining about whims not realized. . . I drank deeply at this well, so too my brothers and sisters. The whole "hip generation" thing just basically mystified him. Uhm, them there swingin' cats who are out to "get in touch with themselves", so to "tune in, turn on, and drop out" are just so many ill groomed morons to Carl.
  I think my favorite story of Dad's, was told just a year or two ago. He was really depressed, and so I just changed the topic on him. I said; "Pop, Christmas will be coming up pretty quick, what's the single most memorable Christmas you recall?". Without any hesitation, he jumped over into 1930. He was nine. He said; "You know what I got that year?. . . An orange!". It was the height of the Great Depression, and immigrant dirt-poor farmers (with a house full of kids), dug deep; and were able to outfit each one of their children with precisely one orange each! Hey, in the 30's it's not like you stroll the aisles of your friendly neighborhood grocer and pick up fresh produce gathered from across the world. Oranges were rare at that time of year! He said; "I took it upstairs with me up to bed. I peeled it carefully, and enjoyed like hell each and every slice! I saved-up the peel, and nibbled on it, until it was all gone. Best damned orange I ever had! Hell, I didn't even realize that our family was poor until I was about 14, when it dawned on me that Mom and Dad could not afford shoes for us boys.". So, the whole hip-generation thing with it's "angst, and the terror of being", or some darned thing, just was not a pressing concern for mister no middle initial. It was about work, it was about survival, and making the best that you can, of a bad situation. That's Pop.
  The one word that comes to mind when I think of the man, is "integrity". He loved using words like "honesty, common sense, and judgement". I do not recall him ever once smirking slyly that someone "got away with" something or another. He firmly believed, and said; "It will catch up with them eventually. Just you wait and see.". The very idea for instance, of seeing a coin fall out of a stranger's pocket, and keeping it himself, would be laughably improbable. Such a thing simply would not occur. . .ever. Carl was ever and always on duty, keeping guard on his own soul, on his own appetites, and passions. Order, always and ever trumped chaos, and Pop was the man who made it happen. So if his word was/is "integrity" I prefer to translate that into mike-speak as "word-oath".
  It was very difficult to anger him, (I managed it a few times only) but what surely drew his ire was "politicians", or more accurately "those dirty bastards". The entire problem here rotates upon the axis of word-oath. A man is as good as his word, and no more; and no less. Black, white, young, old, immigrant, native, educated, simple, none of that crap ever mattered a hoot. What the solitary measure was, was promise and it's fulfillment. Marriage sworn to death, was a playing of hardball on this score, and there was zero "chance" of him ever, ever "backing out, because we fell out of love". Such blather as that, was "incomprehensible bullshit", and that's him being charitable! Either you were a man. . . or you weren't, and the only working codex available so to determine that measure-by (in his book) was the "rock" of a man's word. This was Carl. "In the end you have to live with yourself, and your decisions. A man never went wrong by being honest". Oops, I appear to be channeling over here. But my point is this, "those dirty bastards" promised! Before God and man, with hand upon the Bible, they swore! They said they would uphold law, they said they would govern for the benefit of the whole community, not for the enriching of their stinking miserable cronies and goons! Dad could never forgive that. Ever.
   Pop, for the majority of his life was "outgoing", or so he imagined at least. I (for one) am convinced that somewhen in the 30's, there must have been some type of social consensus "out there" that it was fundamentally a better kind of thing to be an extrovert. See? There are only two kinds of people, givers and takers, workers and bums, contributors and parasites. If that much be granted, then extro is always the better option, and if you'll just try (!) you too can become an out-going "people person"! Let's just say that the results of that experiment are (at best) "mixed". I saw through this, even as a boy. I've always preferred to be alone. I get inspired with one or two (at most) very close friends, in a lucid and interminable all-nighter. Being shoulder to shoulder with throngs, or interacting with strangers, pretending to care is a tax to pay, and it is exhausting. Carl was that way too, but for decades, could not really center in there. This extroverted gig was "the right thing to do", best to be outward poised, and well; that settles that. And it kinda worked (in an awkward way) all those years, until it all came crashing down a few years back. "We can always hope" is Carl Labor, but when it became clear to that very visual soul, that he could never retrieve lost eyesight, he slipped into a depressive pity party that shocked even him. He was scared I think by the depth of despair, and really really did NOT want to "deal with it". His old pattern was finally cracking. The other shoe had finally dropped, and he was panicked to somehow return it to it's "rightful place". Nan and I both knew the dark side; but it surprised the heck out of him. When I said; "So you wanna die huh Pop? Well, take a number, and get in line with every other swingin' dick! You think you're the first on this page Dad? I've battled down suicide for over 30 years, and kicked it's sorry ass. But, I didn't do it alone! Your daughter Nan; you recall her? You know the one devastated in heart, over that lost son? You dig that divorce drill of hers? And you don't think that (just maybe?) that nearly tore her to pieces? Newsflash Dad, she didn't do it alone either!". It was an odd response that I got from him. It seemed to disquiet him that "somehow" he had entirely "missed" major "facts". This sort of thing (if true) breaks the Carl rule you see? The "king of the (fact) world" ought not "miss" such enormities. But, he simply discounted the entire conversation as perhaps a hallucination? I might as well have been talking to a wall. The guy could be fantastically, and wildly rude when "needed".
  Not quite two years ago, that whole "me, me, me thing"; with regard to "I just want it to end, I just want to die", slowly ever so slowly began to recede. When you feed a baby you use dinky spoons and lots of repeat efforts. Shovels are for feeding teenagers. 91 year old Pop was a baby, and so in little doses, we cover the turf over and over again, from a hundred perspectives, first close up and then from far away. But the recurring hiccup is him burping up the chow (again) because (oddly) hope "must live", and his appears to be very dead. So, simultaneously he's both right, and refuses to "go there". Hope did die! It happened on a hillside in desert country, perhaps you've heard?
  Carl is big on "letting go". For decades, we all hear; "Just let your grief go. Let that anger pass, and we've got to just let go of worry". Sounds easy huh? But the roadblock here was always hope. We needy humans need hope like we need air. We wither and die without it, and Pop simply could not "let go" of his hopelessness. "To see is to understand, to view is to know. Without sight, what am I?". But he could not ever "see" the love all around him, nor could he "see" that hopelessness itself must at some point "be let go of". At least he couldn't see it without help. Pat, not a hundred times but more, Lynn, not Pat's amount, but more-so yet; guide, aid, comfort, and counsel. The world upside down, and the child is leading the parent home? Weird world you got there pal. Slowly but slowly, the wall which was Dad, the rock which was Carl; was being breached. He no longer fought me and rudely walked off, when the topic of Jesus came up. He actually sat still to listen to how the Captain came to find me? After 30 plus years, he finally sat still for that story? Who are you, and what have you done with Carl Labor? The key to the man wasn't really integrity, in itself, but rather; "How in honking hades it turned out that me, poor wrecked Carl, somehow or another apparently ended up with more of the stuff than the Almighty? What am I to make of a god who can't even live up to simple human decency and common courtesy?". He never said that sentence to me, but he lived it, he breathed it.
  I think he finally "got it". The Great Depression, and all of those wars, the scandals and crimes, the oppression all across history isn't evidence of Him asleep at the switch. It's damning evidence against us, we collectively giving Him the one finger salute. The gifts and calling of the Great God are "without repentance"! Dad, Adam was responsible for the whole world! Care for the animals, cultivate the plants, guide the rains to their destination, raise those hills, fill these valleys! It was a vast responsibility, entrusted to him and his children. . . for all time! By virtue of him becoming a lunatic who demands to "do it his way", this of itself can never, never revoke the official and real responsibility he bears! If he becomes a worthless drunk, he yet ever remains responsible to defend the woods and seas. If he becomes a violent fraud, he is yet liable for the care of the fishes, birds, and streams. See Pop? You were dead right to demand loyal and good "public servants". You just didn't carry through the idea to it's fulfillment. There is a Real One, a True Son, the One Sane Man. . . ever!
  "Well, that's very interesting, I'll have to think that over". Oops, channeling Pops again. How much of our care sunk in? Beats me. All I know for sure, is that the man died at peace. At long-damned last, Carl No Middle Initial Labor is at peace! I look forward to a real good glass of scotch, that and a Cuban, for one heck of a lucid, and interminable all-dayer!
  Vaya con Dios Papa-san, go with God.

Artifacts #20 (date unknown)

  Note to reader; if you note a spooky similarity between old C.P.E. # 21, and #32, it's because I goofed, and did not notice that I was "re-correcting" the same essay? Oops.

  Thinking somewhat about "artifacts" today, and I mean; by the use of that word, to indicate those things that human-kind build for themselves, that we are able to observe. As builders, as shapers, we make objects for "glory", and for "identity. Town hall is a magnificent edifice, because we are a magnificent people! Moreover, the equation of making-to-identity, of being known via observation of our hands' effort, is to be "a positive thing". We want an enormous structure, because it's better to be great, than small, or so we infer. And whether this is a valid concept on our our part or not, we are nonetheless built ourselves, such that we keep replicating the pattern. My keen observation here is not to condemn nor laud making-building per se, but to point out instead; our sleepwalking, as we do so!
  Termites (at least some species) are a "community which builds". Like us, their structures are big, and unlike us they are not self-conscious. That means then, that no individual bug steps back from the mound to survey it's grandeur, so to thereby congratulate himself; or his kind. They are building in their sleep (so to speak), and thereby remain unable to link their efforts to their identity. We, on the other hand; are all about patting ourselves on the back. But is such patting itself, not a form of work? Why do we remain unaware of seeing this particular making (back-patting I mean), and further, we never inquire as to the sleepiness itself, that chronic zonking perhaps our "greatest-thing" yet built?
  Across history, and around the world, man always has, and very likely shall continue building something called "homes". In that era, a tent serves; in this jungle we note a hut, up north we find an igloo. Whether it be building fortresses, castles or condos doesn't much matter here. The creature (us, I mean) always, and always builds "dwelling places". In this sense then, man is; "he who dwells-with. . .someone". We (apparently) cannot-not build "homes", and as sleepwalkers nor can we see this making "as us". Yes, we differentiate "who we are" from our house or hogan, and proceed to turn right around in order to brag-up our own casa! It is both, and they kinda keep on "cancelling" each other. It is that inner divorce (also which we industriously built), which "is us"! It is almost as-if there is more than one of "me" in here?
  Or think for a moment of automobiles. Flashy or ugly? It don't really matter, new or old then? Nope, not that either. Not quite magic chariots, these pesky, expensive horse-less carriages of ours continue to act as artifacts of ours. And we do link our glory (or lack thereof?) to the owning, driving, and being seen in them by others, while simultaneously rejecting that behavior in others. The argument works to defy our selves, and that "thing" is what we build, over and over again. The "invisible and unconscious" aspect here is (perhaps?) roads! Viewed from the air, the sheer number of our smoothed, flattened roads, avenues, and boulevards is shocking. Hey man, that's a whole lotta asphalt down there! Our fancy-ugly rides, ride-upon. . ."something-we-forget". Man in this case is; "the flattener-straightener of the path". That traveler, that journeyer for whom the way is made, gets the glory, and is also remaining gloriously invisible behind those custom tinted windows! I'd tend to ask; "Which is the greater doing, plunking down some greenbacks to buy a new ride, or blowing out the hillsides and filling those swamps necessary for those fragile things to roll on?".
  We build, for we must, and likewise we sleep, for we must also. When you are next summoned for a family emergency from one end of the land to the other, you go buy a ticket and fly. Swift and high we soar, roaring with the sounds of little gods as they sound their tiny thunder. That full tilt sprint across now the whole world, at nearly the speed of sound; is a "grand making" indeed. . . and yet who notices any of that? See? Grandma is real sick, and sister said we'd have to hurry, or she might not be able to recognize us! The part we consistently overlook is that the call did indeed cross oceans and continents, and successfully came through, and thus; we now know-enough to go! The fact that we can get there in four hours, instead of ten weeks is "asleep" to the reality of that mightier-yet call. In the rush to "get somewhere", that . . . "someone calling" gets overlooked. Those miles of wire, those satellite links and cell towers did not appear over-night on their own, it was they first we built, and promptly forgot. Calling determines us as "we who hear, and come at the call".
  And so, our works-made, reveal "us". And part of what we thus reveal; is that we keep consistently forgetting "something, someone and some-why". We do remember to build and we do recall the admiring of ourselves in that making, but it's a bit like using a mirror. The image is reversed, and in that mirrored gazing, we fail to recall the original device of silvered glass itself. This disavowing of glass workers and miners and manufacturers is the price paid for thinking highly of my-our, image-backward. That divide within us, this unwholesome tandem affair of remembering to admire backwards, plus forgetting to admire (or thank) forwards, is the divide we always remember to build, and in that construct, we always forget that we "did it yet-again"!
  From this perspective then, we observe that what our artifacts actually "are"; is the grounds of judgement. The actual path we build is for The One Coming. Every hill brought low, every valley raised, for "Another" to walk upon. In our perpetual forgetting, we thereby deem our own selves unfit to walk that path, and yet; build-it we must! Our very civilization, our "city of man" is a dwelling place for a. . . "Somebody" we dare not name, and in this very reluctance, we evict ourselves from that "place of rest".   Consider for example, the "gubmint", and our no-longer republic. Defacto, it has become an empire instead of a constitutional republic. And all of our "concern for the poor" builds, not assistance, but in fact; a multi-generational permanently-poor class. L.B.J.'s "War on Poverty" turns out in practice to be a device to destroy black families by. Our present day "liberal immigration reforms" emerge not as a way to integrate new citizens, but a novel way to create a permanent slave-caste by. Of course (!) it is never openly named as such, mind you. We "liberalize for the good", but never for the good of the poor, but for the glory of "our" empire. We emerge thereby, as those sleepwalking our way into becoming; "they who build and hold empire-for. . . Somebody". In that undertaking, we endorse mistreatment of them unable to defend themselves, and as the internally divorced, this makes perfectly good sense. . . to us at least.
  That "compassion which is cruelty", that miserable logic-bomb of "rights for those illegally present", is plainly and simply the expansion of federal powers into un-(anti actually) constitutional realms. As sleepwalkers, we are building "centralized power for the few over the many". Simply, we are re-inventing emperor status. Build we must! For there is indeed a lawful High King, the Emperor of Is, and His dwelling place is "here"! Our lousy, sawed off imitation of that high glad regal greatness is but more evidence against us. As oath-breakers, we construct a "house all under One Hand", as a "thing" simply, which must be built, and it shall, and surely it shall!
  Insofar thereby, that our identities are linked to our making, and also our works damning us in that process; the situation appears hopeless. Our torpedo-job done upon our own selves, is pretty darned efficient! Man thereby "is". . .  he who ain't good enough, by his own measure, and his measuring stick is broken to boot! No cure, no medicine, no remedy can possibly overthrow this, our mightiest making. We are digging our own grave, and into it go, we must! Death appears (to us at minimum) to exclude "hope", and yet it is precisely here that Hope (Himself!) shines brightest.
  The new thing in earth, is not to try-harder to fix ourselves, but to surrender to death gladly! Joined to "Another's" death, we go-gladly! And it's not because we welcome it-itself (death I mean), but to greet He on the far side of same. Central to the confessing church thus, is the resurrected Champion, Good King Jesu, the righteous. The new thing made is that our new identities now include "those welcoming-home (Some-One)", and with assistance, that remembering is already begun! We have begun to emerge from our chronic fog, to recall for-Whom we build! Further, with holy-help, we have even begun to recall that He is the actual Builder-Extraordinaire, of Whom we are but fuzzy reflections.
  Terrifyingly beautiful are His works, clothed in light, immortality, and a gladness-unkillable, He indeed, builds "something-new"! He is building an astonishing new creature, some sort of "compound individual". Billions of component-men, as one-new "freed-man" (or more accurately, freed-woman!). Building a "wife" for the Son then, none can, and none shall; halt this Mighty construct. No power available, be it in heaven, earth, or hell, or (God forbid!) all combined, can halt or derail His Making of the new-thing made. The entire "thing" is now become "Personal" to Him, and has become a matter of His own integrity and honor. So, this new-making, is the surest-thing; ever! Building thus, a new kind, we (of all people!) are being re-made to endure and enjoy that otherwise intolerable brilliance of His. He Is. . . Light. In Person!
  Now, man qua man, becomes thereby a previously unthought thing,  Never an "it", this He-They-Her, this compound-entity-everlasting, comes violently to life! And that non-ending motion is already begun.

So Unify Already! #21 (date unknown)

  So, we can't speak for you too well over here, but in my (sad) case, whenever the theme-topic of "unity" pops up, I tend to hear the opposite, and presume we are discussing schism. . . divorce maybe? Likewise, when the chat is all about "peace", it makes me want to fight. "Safety", for example (the topic I mean); is a dangerous thing, and makes me nervous. I "hear" what is not-said more-so than what is being verbally affirmed, it appears?

  Here's an example; think for a moment of our fearless leaders in D.C., and what they know. They are completely aware and cognizant that "we must deal-with" the debt issue. . . and soon! If that be the topic here (fiscal responsibility perhaps?); what is the all too predictable result, would you guess? Well of course, we derive the forever-postponement gig, the usual foot-dragging and finger pointing drill. You know, don't you remember the "knucklehead shuffle"? It's what our leaders "do". We expect and anticipate the opposite results in this political instance, and I merely extend the system to be "more inclusive". It seems entirely reasonable to me that the imperative; "We simply-must act responsibly!", yields no single human ever, actually being held accountable. And so likewise; "We must find unity!", is pretty darned divisive stuff, it appears to me.

  Thereby I am inferring a generalized perversity of things, a futility-bomb running amok in creation; producing "undesired results, blow-back, and unintended consequence". This generally backward thing is "there", wouldn't it be better for us to take it into account, rather than being perpetually "surprised by results"? You tell me! The glory of gospel, is (in part at least) that there is a "new thing afoot", in the world. To "ignore" both of these realities, both the blow-back, and also the only working solution (!); is our norm, as survivors of the train-wreck at Eden.

  In the old model, as we intend to "build unity", we keep getting these pesky warring factions, and the old model prescribes just here; to try harder! Somewhat like realizing that you are standing in a hole, and therefore "trying to get out of it". . . by digging faster! The new thing in earth (He be; I Am. . . The Save-er) formats instead, as a desire-pursuit of Him. One of the "unanticipated products" of that hot chase, is a new kind of unity. We could name it "indirect", if that would be helpful? The idea here though is simple, "goal" is never an abstraction. The one-goal, the actual destination, ain't an "it" at all, it is He-Him, Live and in Person! To stupidly insist upon the old model then can only yield up what it always has (and must); "unfortunate, unintentional disaster(s)". Ignoring Jesus will not "make this go-away", we might as well face it. The old order is passing away, soon to be no more.

  Go tell a drunkard; "Hey, that stuff will kill ya, if you don't stop." Predictable result please? "I need a drink". "Inform" a smoker, "You know (don't you?) that those things are bad for you!". Product of the discourse? He continues to smoke like a chimney, but just not in your presence. The public aspect of your "helping" generates a "secret-private" practice. Expectable enough, but I say that the shameful aspect thereof, ain't his smoke, it is that you "should have known" it would occur. Your lousy "helping" only makes things worse. 

  The glory of gospel solves for our consistent perversity, in prescribing King Yeshua as "Goal (In Person), and further, Him as source of strength to "get there". For a track star, He (Lord Christ that is) is the starting block, the path-run, and the finish line.  In His mending of that open wound breech betwixt God and man, and then that further misery; of man versus man, peace as a topic can make sense "here", but only in that it is couched in terms of a martial victory! The old model of peace breeds some pretty cranky warring weirdos, but the new thing in reality is (instead); a victory-won, and applied by "Another, for The Other"!

  And not to start a brand new brawl over here, I'd just like to comment that; in the case of a new peace at large, that peace of man-to-man, founded upon the new peace of each man, to his Maker; this kind of thing forms the normal Christian view, I think. As such, it is about as far as we'd ordinarily care to go. But to me, this type of thing is short of the mark, in that if union, unity and all that one-ness jazz, is all there be to the topic; then we have just catapulted ourselves back into the believer's ghetto!

  See? We forgot Moe again. The founder of the muslim cult also promotes a "peace built upon one-god, and his victory". Clearly rejecting the Trinity, his moron-god, that pip-squeak crummy "mono-divine" of his, is also "all-for peace". It is merely that such peace is mainly defined by their cute little beheadings, and their "holy" blowing to bits of old ladies, with truck bombs. . . The "peace" of Islam, is very clearly of the old-model variety, but on steroids. That runt, "allah" just might "forgive" provided you are very, very good, and by "good", we mean evil here. Oh, and the idiot god in question is also absolutely arbitrary, and so it helps a whole lot if a beheading bombing "saint" is also really, really lucky! There exists no "mechanism" within this cult to influence allah's final decision upon the matter, all is fate. . . which translates as, "dig faster!". Doubtless, old Moe down in hell; wears a tee-shirt emblazoned with "Try Harder. . .dammit!". For us in the Christian barrio to restrain ourselves just here, and limit true unity, to "our kind" is what my comments are about. We keep settling for a live and let live, type of uneasy truce with our "co-religionists"? Not me. We are all about stealing-blind the mullahs, hijacking the Imam's slaves, and turning those freed into true saints. Peace is leveraged, it is bought. Always.

  John-Apostle clearly teaches the saints. "God is love", says he, with aid of the Spirit of Truth. We thereby infer that the Father loving the Son, and the Son gladly doing all of His Dad's desire; is the love spoken of here. It is the active-vital, the operative-dynamic love-for-Another, not some dumb static valuation of ours, that of "love itself". Moe's moron pervert god knows zero of love, for there is no "other"! So then in this sense, unity as in Tri-Unity, posits a "conflict"! Am I posing a conflict within God-Almighty? Some sort of "division to be overcome"? High heresy, we all shout! But, and yet. . . but and yet, something like our reality of division (never divisive!) is the foundation for all love. Deal with it already! You argue with your spouse not because you hate her, but for love of her! Even we know that much. In Him, the division might be more of roles (how would I know?), but there is a "breakthrough, a release" even, or more pointedly much-much more-so "There"! The very foundation of things, the meaning of life, is lurking; right around these-here parts, I reckon. In our sad stupid, small lives, some of the very best parts are those sweet moments of glad embrace after a snit. It's those refreshing insights of the heart, such that we re-value anew the "other" afterwards. In Him/Them, this small reality of ours; becomes a world-shaking revolution, a stealing-blind of the god of this age, a reunion, surprise party fiesta-bash like none other-ever! 

  In the Three-One, agenda number one is justice/righteousness, and is entirely non-negotiable. Our moronic revolt, that high treason against sanity itself, this cult of madness shall surely end, in space-time, by main force! The Warrior Champion shall surely surely shatter His foes, with zero "budge" available on that score. And the Son is all-for it. . . with one minor hiccup.

  Such Holy devastation as all that; kinda "conflicts" with His stated pledge-oath to save His own to the uttermost. If True Justice descends, then there are no "survivors" of that wreckage, saints included! But, what to do? If it's "opposite", Mercy wins the day, and those murdering cultists are let off scot free, then Righteouesness itself is wrecked, cleanly impossible. And the "stand-off on high" has precisely one working solution. The division, requiring reconciliation, has an outrageous price, which "Somebody" simply MUST pay. Christ the Lord thus, generates a peace between man and man, based upon a peace wrought in Blood; between man and God. But what we "forget here" is the "Reunion" betwixt Father and Son! That new-peace breaking out, descends even as low as we? Yes, and Amen. 

  The Peace, the Actual Peace, is an extravagant affair, a "going too far", on purpose! Our slim whisper of friendship-reforged (after a feud) is but a slender whisper, a numbed remembrance of the Genuine Article! Here, we run up against, not the city limits of the belief ghetto, but of language itself. In Him; "Somehow" full-tilt-bozo Justice is fully displayed, while during/and wild-madman-screaming Mercy is established. The "two" are in-Him, and are occurring "out-here". Both/And, not either/or, is the new thing in earth.

  And that, my friend; is why Moe is so blastedly wrong. . . about everything! In morbidly attempting to "homogenize" these furies into some bland "none of the above" hybrid, Moe is demanding thereby an "impersonal (arbitrary) justice" teamed pointlessly, with a "sentimental (cruel) mercy", founded squarely upon the blockhead platform of works-righteousness. And just coincidentally, Moe is supervising this mess? Predictable results please? Murder, deceit, poverty, chaos and all the other "glories" of the muslimized world; are plainly the product. Meanwhile, the new thing in earth (all in pursuit of the Son!) yields humility, friendly generosity, peaceful law abiding souls. There is no "abstract justice" any more than there is an abstractable "love". Even The Father Almighty "pursues" the Son! Abstracted justice knows nothing of a son crushed, nor brought back home after a long journey. An abstract kindness (should such even exist), is blind and deaf to the dead-One standing up again, it knows no grief, and is completely blind to loss. 

  Pursue wealth, find a hard hearted poverty of soul. Pursue the Son, find the Treasure surpassing the value of all worlds combined. Pursue unity, find that stubborn loneliness haunting the heart. Pursue The One, find an embrace, fierce, proud of you and "unnaturally glad" at your return!

  He is perpetually "higher" than we are able to aim, and aim at Him; we do! Let's face it, He is just "letting us find Him". He's being nice, but for Another's sake. In Genesis, the God fashions a "wife" for "His son"(Adam). Yes, she brings him grief, and also, and also through her; the Promised One is sent, she's "worth it". For His True Son, He fashions a Wife, now fancy that! 

  She is the new thing in earth too, and yes; you are welcome "here"!