Hell of a Guy
Chance favors the prepared mind - Louis Pasteur

Friday, May 30, 2008

A Simple Guy’s View of Life’s End


A few months ago I promised not to write about sad things; I said this website was for entertainment and happy stuff.  This may bend the rules a bit, but I really don’t mean for it to do so.

I have a loved one who has decided to no longer submit to a harsh cancer treatment, but rather to allow her fate to “God’s will.”  The whole family supports the decision, though we pray for a miracle to remove the cancer that may take life from someone way too young.

I don’t look at myself as being overly smart or with intelligence greater than anyone else.  I am not a learned man; I do not possess a college degree.  I am just a regular guy with a new view on life, God, and what is next.

For most of my adult life I have been on a search for God.  I accepted God’s existence when I did the nonreligious-based workshops in Dallas; however, I could not define what God is or meant to me.  Still, it was truly a tremendous epiphany for me.  My “God” search began when I was a teenager and ended just short of my 61st birthday.

“I tried to find him on the Christian cross, but he was not there; I went to the Temple of the Hindus and to the old pagodas, but I could not find a trace of Him anywhere.

“I searched on the mountains and in the valleys but neither in the heights nor in the depths was I able to find Him.  I went to the Caaba in Mecca, but He was not there either.

“I questioned the scholars and the philosophers but he was beyond their understanding.

“I then looked into my heart and it was there He dwelled that I saw Him; He was nowhere else to be found.”  Jelaluddin Rumi


Last Father’s Day my daughter gave me “Conversations with God” by Neale Donald Walsch.  As I read it I found the God I was looking for all those years.  Many of you may not see or find what I found when I read this book, but I encourage you to read it anyway.

My God does not judge, He only observes.  My God gave you and me “free will,” and will not punish you or me for using the gift He gave to us.  My God wants me to be the “The grandest version of the greatest vision I have ever had of Who I Truly Am.”  And, I believe this to be true.  I now have a personal, one-on-one relationship with God, and I love it.  God speaks to me.  Okay?

Death is just a phase of our total existence.  The lifetime in the body that our spirit resides in is but a mere speck of time compared to the forever-ness of the life of our Soul.  Notice “our Soul.”  There is but one Soul and it is the Soul of God, and our spirit is merely an “individuation of the Soul of God.”  When a body has served the intended purpose of the spirit the spirit moves on, exactly as it is supposed to do and always has.  Its will is God’s will.  Simple as that!!!  Don’t agree?  Afraid not to believe in a Judgment Day?  That’s okay.  It’s still called free will.  Death of the body is not death of the spirit.  The spirit has no lifetime, it just is. 

I am not afraid of death.  I am not afraid to die.  I now know my spirit will live on and perhaps I will get to do this all again – if I choose.

And that is all I have to say about that…


Monday, May 19, 2008

Leaving Chicago…


Written this past Friday:

It is a perfectly gorgeous day here in Chicago, The Windy City.  There is an almost cloudless blue sky above the airport and the sun is gloriously warm as it lights up this day, there is no wind today.  I am on my way home; lord willing and the creek don’t rise.

If you are a regular reader here you may recall the last time I attempted to depart this city.  That experience began at 2pm on August 23rd, 2007 as I boarded a United Airline’s airplane that was to take me to Dulles airport outside of Washington, DC – a two-hour trip.  What was supposed to happen did not, and I didn’t get back to the Farm until 4am Saturday morning after experiencing several twists and turns, beginning with sitting in th epalnce on the tarmac for six hours.  I like to think of it as the Flight from Hell.  Needless to say, I am a tad nervous but not quite as much since the plane I am to take out of here today just pulled into the gate.  Fingers crossed and prayerful, I now await my fate with a hopeful smile on my face. (Imagine me grinning from ear to ear.) 

You probably know I accept everything that happens to me to be under my control.  I am fully responsible for what happens to me in my life.  So, this aircraft will lift off the ground exactly as it should at an hour that will get me into Dulles at the exact time my flight itinerary says it will be there – 1:52pm eastern standard time.  I also fully accept what happened to me the last time I made this trip as so totally my fault – I really sucked that day.  Today I don’t suck.

And that is all I have to say about that…

PS:  The flight arrived fifteen minutes early at Dulles.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Was it War?  I Lot of Bombs Were Dropped…


I am in Chicago; a place where you could not pay me enough to live.  Traffic here is always at a standstill.  Some of the people I ran into are beyond rude and crass.  The last statement was set in concrete and etched in stone this evening at a less-than-good restaurant called La Hacienda De Los Fernandez in Addison, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago.

The story:  I was looking for a place to eat my supper.  The road my hotel is on, Lake Street, didn’t show me a lot of choices, given to my non-meat eating proclivities, though I refuse to classify myself as a vegetarian any longer.  I decided on Mexican, even though my choice (La Hacienda) turned out to be more Tex-Mex than Mexican, and I think the quality of the food probably added to my decision this particular restaurant sucks.  I had spinach enchiladas but began the meal with a Negra Modela and some chips and salsa.  Salsa good, chips bad; beer okay, but not great – wimpy, enchiladas – yuck!  Boo! 

Across the three-sided bar from me were three guys with “f-bomb” syndrome.  You know the type. They cannot go more than three or four indecipherable syllables without dropping a bomb.  These particular goofballs could hardly make it beyond two syllables before uttering a “fuck,” which was totally understandable on my side of the bar, maybe twenty-five feet away, and could probably be heard outside of the bar in the restaurant area.  The boys were very loud, in addition to being vulgar, and, surprisingly, no one came to let them know they were perhaps a little beyond a modicum of decorum.  These guys were very “working class,” most assuredly “Hillary” people, and so helped me form this postulate. 

“The amount of times one uses the word ‘fuck’ in any given sentence is in direct reverse proportion to the IQ level of the utterer.”  For those of you in the Chicago area this simply means, the more “fucks” one utters the lower the IQ.

And that is all I have to say about that…

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Why is English Difficult????...


I didn’t write this but I sure got a kick out of it.

This is very clever! No wonder people who are trying to learn English become so confused - I guess we just take it for granted as we grow up with learning the idiosyncrasies of the English language. Have fun reading through it.
Can you read these right the first time?
1) The bandage was wound around the wound.
2) The farm was used to produce produce .
3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
4) We must polish the Polish furniture.
5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.
6) The soldier decided to desert after dessert in the desert.
7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present ..
8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.
9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
10) I did not object to the object.
11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row .
13) They were too close to the door to close it.
14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.
15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.
16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.
18) Upon seeing the tear in the painting, I shed a tear.
19) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.
20) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?
Let’s face it - English is a crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant, nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple.
English muffins weren’t invented in England nor French fries in France.
Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren’t sweet, are meat.
We take English for granted, but if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea, nor is it a pig. And why is it that writers write but fingers don’t fing, grocers don’t groce and hammers don’t ham?
One goose, two geese. So one moose, two meese? One index, two indices? If teachers taught, why didn’t preachers praught? Doesn’t it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend? If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?
Sometimes I think all the English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane. In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital, ship by truck and send cargo by ship, have noses that run and feet that smell?
How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?
You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill-in a form by filling it out, and in which an alarm goes off by going on.
English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible.
P.S. - Why doesn’t Buick rhyme with quick?