It was evident to many including me when the GOP could not come up with someone better than McCain I wrote that under the circumstances his choice of Sarah Palin was the wisest thing he could do. Having thrown away any chance of winning the election, and it becoming blatantly obvious there were evil forces at work to bring a nonentity like Hussein out of obscurity and thrust him into the limelight by those like Soros, ACORN, the ACLU, racist Oprah, and the MSM for the most part hating on Sarah making her the focus of their vitriol it was the Devil’s game throughout. But Devil or not, Hussein is fast becoming America’s worst nightmare while Sarah is becoming increasingly popular and getting all the press. That the press she is getting speaks volumes about her enemies, including the sexual orientation of some who hate her for being a real woman speaking her mind, she continues to prove the wisest choice McCain could have made, albeit unwittingly on his part.

No, she is not a viable candidate for President at this time and she may never be; but it is blatantly obvious that all the vitriol being spewed out against her is forcing other issues into debate; issues the backers and worshippers of Hussein would rather not discuss or brought out into the open. Hussein continues to be a puppet of the evil forces working against America and the attacks against We the People, our very freedoms as legitimate American citizens are becoming increasingly transparent. But when you consider all the really bad things in Hussein’s background like his birth certificate and Jeremiah Wright being brushed aside, the lack of Congressional oversight for his supporters like ACORN you know his handlers are not going to settle for anything less than a Hitler/Goebbels control of the media. For the time being, those like Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh are allowed a forum because these globalists like Soros backing Hussein want to give the illusion that we still have a free press and freedom of speech. But to repeat; I believe the seed of America’s destruction was sown in slavery for the sake of profits, much like “Press one for English,” and I continue to see America as Babylon of Revelation.

Consider the early doctored photo of Sarah Palin in a bathing suit holding a Crosman pump pellet rifle. Who but a pervert would have her holding a pellet gun only useful for killing gophers, rats, and ground squirrels rather than a large bore rifle such as that used to shoot a moose? Many people did not catch on to that pervert trick; but I’m very familiar with the tactics used by perverts in their attempts to turn America into a pervert loving nation, along with all the attempts to foil any opposition to open borders and slave labor. All of these things are a perversion of what America used to represent, the fatal flaw of not rejecting slavery by our Constitution aside and we have lost anything like the moral compass Sarah Palin represents. And the servants of Satan continue to demonize anyone believing the Bible has great value in their lives.

In the book of Judges God had Jael and Deborah to do the work when men were failing in their duties. The book of Esther emphasizes this point. There are several instances of God having women do the work when a man worthy of the name could not be found. The only real fault I find with Sarah Palin is that she has stepped into a role which God did not intend for women from my Biblical point of view. But if a real man cannot be found with the backbone to confront the Evil One and his attacks on those of us who hold the Bible as having great value in our lives, then it would not surprise me if God will have a woman do the job; and that to the shame of men.

    A close friend has died of breast cancer; but the way in which she handled the disease has been an inspiration to many others and me. She has, in fact, told her story in a pamphlet that is used by many oncologists to help their patients. A truly remarkable woman!

    The catastrophic suddenness of the death of a loved one may precipitate a loss of hope. The sudden and unexpected betrayal of someone's love and trust in a mate is not unlike such a death and is always accompanied with a loss of hope through the grief of betrayal and the accompanying loneliness.

    Granted most people live through the psychosis of grief, the torment and agony of such betrayal, but the psychic pain, while dulled with time, is always there, always ready to rear its ugly head in some familiar setting of remembrance, through some melody heard, through some chance remark or expression. And, there will always be the nightmares.

    The Psalmist asks the question of God: “Why do the wicked prosper, why do they feel no pain or grief?” Simple: They are the betrayers, and betrayers of love and trust never have a conscience with which to contend. It is that tender conscience that separates the sheep from the goats. Those with a conscience simply cannot do as those that betray. They cannot even return evil for evil. Such a tender conscience both grieves and hates. Yes, hatred can be properly directed at the seducer of a faithless mate; but that tender conscience does not take a gun and go after either one of their betrayers.

    My own studies in Human Behavior have led me to some very interesting speculations on this subject. I call these “speculations” because of the paucity of empirical data. No, we don't lack examples, but examples are not proofs. It is my contention, however, that a database could be built with mathematical precision that could predict human behavior, analyze it and help people with emotional problems and things like addiction. But the database would have to be immense. It is unlikely that the necessary funds for such a study would be forthcoming unless the bottom line should have an economic pay-off. That's reality.

    Certainly there are broad parameters of predictability; people would rather be rich than poor, good looking rather than ugly, etc. Neither does such a study have to deal with stupid questions. What's a stupid question you ask? I'll give you an example. A woman asked me once why older men preferred younger women? Now either this woman was somewhat short in the think department or she hadn't really given the question serious thought. In her case, however, knowing the woman reasonably well, I know it had a lot of sour grapes to it. She was well past the age of attracting a desirable man and she knew it.

    Her coping mechanism was to put down all men as silly if they preferred younger women. She does have a point; men have been just that silly about women all through the history of humankind and that isn't ever going to change. However, her remark carried not a little of the truism of a woman scorned; hell indeed hath no such fury.

    Consequently, women had better learn to value themselves as persons in their own right. It wouldn't be a bad idea either if women would give some thought to those ancient concepts of virtue and fidelity. Unhappily, even tragically, too many seem intent on proving Solomon right: “A virtuous woman who can find for her price is far above rubies ... one man among a thousand I have found but never a woman.” Talk about a dismal outlook.

    But what does lead to betrayal, what causes the loss of so much in people's lives, where does love go to die? After the excitement of the chase, why does boredom set in rather than a mutually satisfying give and take, a nurturing and maturing relationship? What leads some to having to constantly prove they are still desirable to the opposite sex? And, of utmost importance, what leads to the contentment of having just that one other person in your life? Why do some have to have constant, even impossible, assurances of love and desirability? Ah, the perversity of both men and women in seeking happiness!

    Women seem to need far more than men do of the constant assurances of love. They need, even demand, attention. Since the poet, the writer, lives in his head, he is most often given to introspection and meditation. This is a solitary man. Women in general cannot seem to abide a solitary man. They feel ignored.

    What, exactly, is at work in the mind of someone who rips out gardens and flowers at 3 a.m.? Why does music suddenly become a curse? Why do some have to relocate to get away from familiar places, even giving up homes in order to relieve the suffering of remembrances? The betrayal of love and trust often causes otherwise bizarre behavior.

    To explore grief is not an easy task. It is the dark side of love. I'll never forget the friend who asked me how I could endure listening to so many people's problems? There is no ready answer to such a question. Whatever the cause, the poet deals with life in the raw and makes the mistakes that come with trying to deal with it. It is always the hope of the poet that in painting memorable word pictures of life some will find cause for hope, that the ideals of purity, romance and beauty will survive the onslaught of all the ugliness of the realities with which we have to contend in our daily lives.

    There was the woman for whom I would place a rose from our garden on her nightstand as an expression of my love and appreciation for her. But such indicators of my feelings for her were never enough to counter her concerns for more practical considerations. And, in the beginning, she seemed to have the same appreciation for the stars at night, for discussions of romance, love and poetry.

    Our lives seem to be caught up in the practical considerations and circumstances of getting a living. In the fresh bloom of love, our hearts do turn to the things of beauty and they are real. We seem to give our hearts to those things of lasting value and the priorities seem to be ordered properly. Then, little by little, those practical, incessant demands seem to gain the ascendancy.

    I believe it is their nature that women have to be more practical than men. In our perverse culture where a woman's value is predicated on her youth and attractiveness, a woman better have her wits about her and make the best deal she can while she still has something of value to exchange. Pity the poor girl who exchanges her youth and beauty for a bum! Therefore it should come as no surprise that men can afford to be more extravagant in the areas of love and romance; that men can be the poets and artists and leave off undue concern for many of the practicalities that women have to consider.

    So it was that my lady, as others, seemed to lose, little by little, any appreciation for the things of real beauty and romance. There simply wasn't time in her busy schedule for such relatively unimportant things. But the curse of the poet remained upon me. Such things as the stars and the beauty of God's creation, of the animals, birds and flowers, rocks and trees, the vistas of sea, mountains and desert, the enchantment of the ideals of beauty and the expressiveness of the language of love, still move in me and will not be silenced. Such things remain the best of the child within me, the best of what makes a real man and will never give way to more practical considerations.

    I remember well another woman I loved deeply telling me once, “Love isn't enough!” Some years have passed since that unforgettable night. I wonder, now that she faces 50, whether she might have reconsidered? Of course love isn't enough if it isn't accompanied, like faith, with the requisite works. But I was never a man who failed to provide those things that are essential for maintaining life such as food, clothing, shelter and transportation. I have always, for example, made sure the women I have known and loved always had better cars than I was willing to drive.

    I am not so impractical that the considerations of getting a living are ignored. My own life is a testimony to my work ethic and I will always heed the injunction: If any not work, neither should he eat! But, gentle reader, how much is enough? As Thoreau pointed out, a man is rich in accordance with those things he can afford to leave alone. I think most people would profit from wanting less. Certainly lives would suffer less stress if the creed “He that has the most toys when he dies, wins” was not the goal of our society.

    The question remains, can love and romance survive the necessities of dirty laundry and dishes, of working on the car or mowing the lawn, of getting a living? I say YES! in the face of all the odds against me. Hence the appellation thrown against me by one of the women I have loved: A man without common sense.

    I have been described, however, by some women as a kind and gentle man, a nice man, even a very special man. That is high and humbling praise. If there be any truth to such praise, it comes by virtue of the fact that I have been blessed by daughters who taught me the softer and gentler facts about women. I wish I could say I have learned such things from the other women in my life; but I cannot.

    As a writer, I often intrude myself into areas where angels fear, not so much out of any death wish, but primarily out of curiosity. Along with the curse of solitude, I am cursed with an inordinate curiosity about many things, often quite diverse. For this reason, I found myself in the bars as a non-drinker for example, doing the research for this book.

    I’ve returned to Bakersfield for a short stay. Now that I'm in the big city, I am checking out the local churches (and the local bars). One large church advertised a Singles Ministry. I certainly qualify so I went.

    Well, the people were all exceptionally nice and friendly and certainly made me feel welcome. But as I sat and endured the sermonette I couldn't shake the impulse to cry out: Where's the reality of what Jesus is all about here? In other words, a nice group of people was sitting listening to the same old thing you hear virtually every Sunday in both Sunday school and Church. The word “dynamic” did not exactly come to mind, but the word “boring” most certainly did. I had to comment to one of the nice fellows after surviving the meeting that it only confirmed my own theological observation that if the churches could only make Heaven half as exciting as Hell they would be doing a thriving business. He was not amused.

    But as I sat there, I remembered that I too was once one of these people; satisfied with comfortable religious beliefs, dogmas, that allowed an easy mind if you didn't ask the hard questions. Unhappily I did begin, finally, to ask such questions of God and I haven't had an easy time of it since.

    There was a moment during the harangue from the speaker where I found myself fervently wishing that I had opted to go to the Cadillac Ranch out at Marin instead. Well, I thought, if this finishes in time, I could still make it out to a place where the people were actually alive, some actually enjoying themselves rather than pretending to as a religious exercise. But, it wasn't to be.

    The time was redeemed in some fashion by my being able to actually discuss some of my views with a few people before I left. These are nice people. Nothing I have said should be construed otherwise. They are caring, concerned and trying to find answers to their own loneliness in a manner that fits their own beliefs and faith. I heartily commend them for this.

    It is, I suppose, the oppressive insular attitude I meet with in the churches. These folks just don't seem to know there is a war going on for the hearts and minds of our children, our future as a nation. And if they are aware of it, they seem ill suited to do battle in the Devil's arena. Religion is the protective shield they have built to insulate themselves from all the ugliness about them. God help such warriors if I were allowed another pulpit from which to tell them of the realities outside their comfortable pews!

    Harsh as such criticism is, let me be the first to confess that I would willingly re-join them in shutting out all that ugliness if I only could. How fervently I wish I had never intruded myself into the World, how I wish the questions had never begun to be asked that led to my alienation from my brethren. I feel like Paul who could have wished himself accursed for the sake of his own brethren according to the flesh, the Jews, if they could only be made to see the light.

    But all the wishing in the world won't change what I know and what I have learned and experienced in my own pilgrimage through this vale of tears. How I wish I could get those brethren to listen and understand. But I'm damaged goods and, like the Publican, no matter how low I bow my head and beat my breast crying out to God: Be merciful to me, a sinner!, the wicked, the seducers, the liars still prosper and those with a tender conscience still grieve alone. And I can't shake the belief like that of Emerson that if the churches were really doing the job God called them to, it wouldn't be this way.

    Well, I'll be going to the Cadillac Ranch another time and mixing it up with the rest of the sinners. The music will play, I'll dance with the women and some will provide me the stories I write. I'll find the real poetry of life in an accurate recounting of real people and real events. At least it will be lacking the stench of hypocrisy.

    I'll be with those who certainly understand the subject of sin, and often show a more sincere sensitivity to their own sins than those attending the churches. Could this be the reason Jesus said the prostitutes and tax collectors stood a better chance of Heaven than the professional religionists of His time? My mother used to say, “If the churches were as friendly as the bars they would be crowded.” I credit my mother being correct about this (From my book: “Birds With Broken Wings”).

Death of a Beagle:

Mr. Cavendish was very anxious to pick up his pet beagle, Merl, from obedience school. It wasn’t that Merl was really disobedient, but he had acquired a few bad habits and Mr. Cavendish, being such a gentle person, just couldn’t bring himself to properly discipline his little friend. So, enrolling him in obedience school seemed the best solution.

Entering the school’s office he was greeted by the headmaster, Doctor Diabole.

With a warm handshake, the good Doctor bid Mr. Cavendish welcome and invited him to take a seat.

“Well, now, Mr. Cavendish, how very kind of you to drop in; I assume you’re here to inquire about Merl?”

“Why yes, of course, Doctor Diabole. I know I should have called before coming by, but I have been very anxious to see Merl and I had hoped he would be ready by now for me to take home. It has been very lonely for me without him and I’m certain he misses me as well.”

With a polite soft and delicate cough Doctor Diabole cleared his throat, and averting his eyes from Mr. Cavendish slowly folded his hands on his desk, and with bowed head as though reluctant to speak replied, “Ah, my dear Mr. Cavendish I’m afraid I have some unfortunate news.”

“What is it Doctor, Merl isn’t sick is he?”

“No, no, nothing of the sort. As a matter of fact Merl is dead.”

Mr. Cavendish was stunned! What? Merl dead? How did it happen? He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Merl dead?

Attempting to comprehend the magnitude what he had just heard, tears suddenly filled his eyes and Mr. Cavendish struggled to control himself… his Merl, dead? It simply could not be true! He could not be hearing Doctor Diabole correctly! There must be some terrible mistake!

Doctor Diabole arose, and stepping out from behind his desk went over and put a comforting arm around the shoulders of the sobbing Mr. Cavendish.

“My dear sir, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but Merl proved incorrigible. In fact, he consistently failed an essential course on properly piddling. You know, of course, how a rolled up newspaper is used to gently correct a dog?”

“Yes, I know,” Mr. Cavendish replied with an effort past the lump in his throat all the while wiping his eyes with his handkerchief.

“Well,” Doctor Diabole continued, “Merl just didn’t respond well to such a training technique utilizing a newspaper. So I was forced to apply sterner measures with a whip. But even this proved insufficient and finally left me no choice but to beat him with a baseball bat.”

“WHAT!” Mr. Cavendish roared, jerking up from his chair.

“Now, now, Mr. Cavendish, I understand your concern, I truly do, but really, we simply cannot have dogs piddling just anywhere, now can we?”

“But, but, beating Merl to death with a baseball bat! You can’t possibly be serious! This is some kind of sick joke, right?”

“Not at all, sir. But you do have the option of having Merl stuffed and mounted quite attractively in a pose of your choosing, or we can simply give you his pelt.”

“Stuff Merl! Give me his pelt! Are you insane!?”

“Please calm yourself Mr. Cavendish. We here at the Kind and Gentle School of Obedience are not savages; we are not insensitive to owners such as you. But surely you must realize that the school’s reputation is at stake. We simply cannot be viewed as not taking our responsibility seriously. Nor, may I be so candid as to suggest that you, as Merl’s owner, would surely not wish it to be known you owned a dog that was so cloddish he couldn’t learn to piddle properly, now would you?

“You! You! ...!”

“Please now Mr. Cavendish, I do urge you again to calm yourself and try to put yourself in my position. Now beating Merl to death has to be put in its proper perspective. I’m sure you will, upon calm reflection, come to see the wisdom of my action. Your agitation is understandable, but do be civilized my dear man. After all, didn’t your parents beat you when they were lovingly trying to teach you to piddle properly?”

“No! They most certainly did not!” Mr. Cavendish shouted.

“Come, come now, my dear Mr. Cavendish it’s perfectly permissible and quite understandable to indulge in some fantasy, but for the sake of sound mental health it does no good to continue in denial and pretend such a thing didn’t happen. After all, I came to see the beatings my parents gave me were out of their purest love for me. Denial is very harmful, damage to the psyche and all that, you know. It would be far better to simply admit the truth of the matter rather than continue in such denial. Most harmful, you know, to a well-adjusted and healthy mind toward such things.”

“You sadistic fiend! My parents never beat me to get me to piddle properly and how dare you even suggest such a thing!”

“Oh, dear, I simply cannot deal with you about this issue if you continue in this hysterical vein, Mr. Cavendish. Perhaps it would be better if you simply left Merl’s final disposition to me. The choice of the pelt in your case, I would imagine. Yes, that would be best, I’m quite certain. I assure you that once you have Merl’s pelt in your hands you’ll feel much, much better and be able to put all this in its proper perspective. In time you’ll come to appreciate the wisdom of my action and the fortuitousness of no longer having to bear the disgrace of being the owner of such a shameless and incorrigible animal. Now my professional recommendation is a nice hot tub, a cup of tea and a good book. You’ll feel much, much better, I can assure you.”

Now being struck dumb and utterly incapacitated by his profound grief, without another word Mr. Cavendish allowed Doctor Diabole to quietly and gently usher him out the door.

Postscript: Oakland, California: A man, Damon Valrey, 25, was charged with murder for beating a toddler, Dante Jones, 2, to death because the boy was having problems with potty training. The little boy’s body showed signs of previous abuse including burns from scalding water.

Among my forest companions, I love our Valley Quail; their chuckling and calling to one another are music, like that of a breeze soughing through pine needles, I came to love as a boy and has never lost its charm for me. But one time a “kamikaze” quail went right through a living room window killing itself, breaking out the glass and sounding like a bomb going off that really got my attention, and what a mess to clean up.

Accommodation to Nature is a necessity when you live in the Kern River Valley, and especially when you live as I do in a small cottage in the country. Some of the most beautiful of my forest companions around the place are the large grey tree squirrels. But these can present a problem when you have a big pine tree growing next to your house. These squirrels get busy on the pinecones and bombard the roof; one large pinecone actually punched a hole through both my roof and ceiling. It sounded, like the quail through my window, as though a bomb had exploded in my living room. If you are familiar with the “digger pine” you know some of their cones can be quite large and heavy, and a fresh cone dropping from the height of this very tall tree could actually kill someone. So one of the necessary chores I face with which city dwellers have no problem is keeping the flat portions of my roof swept clear of pinecones, pine needles and keeping the roof patched. But while I used to build houses I am no longer able to climb the ladder and do this simple chore and have to depend on others to do it. Fortunately over the years living here I do have good people to call upon when I need repairs to the house or well and the various things that go into keeping the place habitable.

Lacking a family any longer I came to depend on attending angels including both those seen and unseen, but at my age I need “angels” that can engage and share moaning, bitching, and complaining in general as well as those with whom I enjoy sharing some of the more delightful aspects of life and my gratitude for all God has done for me including the indispensible friends that help me keep on keeping on. But dry macular degeneration has cost me the sight of my left eye and the right is deteriorating so they know my time of writing is drawing to a close. This is not intended to elicit sympathy, but as explanation for why the occasional typo may occur in what little writing I am now able to do.

With Thanksgiving and Christmas coming on the lack of family makes these “holidays” a melancholy time at best as those in my situation readily sympathize. For the most part, over the past few years I have “gone into hibernation” during the holidays apart from the few friends who visit; the holidays are something to “just get through” and wait for things to return to normal everyday concerns. But putting things in perspective, my personal problems pale when compared to what Americans as a whole have to face with no prospect of future improvement.

Wherever we turn there seems to be little but confusion and bad news for America, no leadership worthy of being called such, and the devil you knew grows more popular while contending with the devil you don’t know. In the case of the elderly, I have come to know personally the dictum put in place by greed and ineptitude on the part of our “healthcare” situation in America. We elderly are expected to simply “go home and die.” Even as I write I am still waiting for paperwork to be “processed” before I can get attention to a life-threatening physical problem. A dear friend went through three months of such before receiving needed attention. She certainly affirmed what I have just written when it comes to our medical system with its interminable paperwork and test after test wearing you down: “They expect you to give up and just go home and die.”

America’s empty and spineless suit of a President is in the Devil’s pocket and dances to the tune of his global masters like Soros. When you think about the fact that the hundreds of billions spent by Hussein and his cohorts in Congress to make the rich even richer could have put thousands of dollars directly into the pockets of the Great Unwashed it makes us angry; but our anger has no force; we are no longer a nation but a bunch of petty states divided by race, languages, cultures, special interests, and as a result the Great Unwashed pose no real threat to our rulers. The Devil allows the voices of those like Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh because the Evil One knows it lulls people into a sense of hope something will be done to put America back on the right path; but it isn’t going to happen.

I’ve lived in Norman Rockwell’s America, a nation where doctors actually made house calls. There is no disputing the fact that a doctor in the house can’t take the place of what is available in a hospital; but medical services are now enormous big businesses as well as providing full time employment to multiplied thousands of lawyers.

I was born into an America that was a once proud nation and the envy of the world; now I have lived long enough to see that America destroyed through unbounded greed and avarice leading us on the path to becoming a third world debtor nation to the global masters calling all the shots, not seeming to realize they may be fulfilling their place in God’s plans to bring our nation into judgment.

It is easy to dismiss those like me that believe in God and believe He is going to have the last word; it is increasingly easy for the servants of Satan to ridicule us, satirize us and make us appear foolish. But this is what God’s children have been told to expect in the End Time because it is during this period of the old earth in which the Devil knowing his end is certain and near will, like Hitler attempted to do with Germany, become increasingly destructive. But God has promised there will be a new earth in which righteousness will prevail and all tears will be wiped away. I hold on to that promise.

Do you remember how the children were so upset in “The King and I” when their teacher showed them a map and Siam appeared so tiny? Siam should have appeared much, much larger because this was how the children were taught to believe. To these children, that map was an insult to Siam. While winners write the history of wars, the universities of America teach a revisionist history that would have it we should apologize to Japan for those two atomic bombs; notwithstanding the fact that those two bombs saved millions of American and Japanese lives had we been forced to invade Japan. It’s a moot point now that WWII should never have even happened; and we live with the consequences. But the children of Japan are taught a revisionist history, much as those children in Siam that would make America the villain for the war and gloss over the reasons Japan invited its own destruction. Russia, China, Arab nations, etc. have their own revisionist histories to fit the changes in leadership.

It is not surprising that Hussein would dodge the question by a Japanese reporter whether he thought America was right in dropping those two atomic bombs. Hussein is a product of our universities and their revisionist histories, and that reporter was probably the result of Japan’s revisionist history that glosses over details like the treachery of Japan in attacking us, the Rape of Nanking, and the Bataan Death March.

But look at a world map and try to appreciate how tiny Israel could be of such monumental importance on the world scene? How is it possible that so many nations call this tiny bit of geography the greatest threat to world peace? To qualify for such a distinction one would think like those Siamese children it should be much, much bigger!

Well, Israel’s “size” is not based on the space it occupies but on religion and politics. It is believed for good reason that had it not been for God’s covenant with Abraham Jews would have disappeared from the world scene centuries ago. And were it not for America, the new Israel would never have become a nation or have survived thereafter. However, God had promised a remnant of the Israelites would remain to the End; and that remnant would be all-important for God’s plans in the End Time.

It is nothing but sophistry to attempt to explain the survival of Jews to this day and Israel to be reborn apart from the Bible. But so many have a hatred for the Bible they are unwilling to attribute any truth to it. Certainly Muslims want nothing to do with the fact Ishmael was born of a handmaiden and Isaac was born the legitimate son and as such was to inherit the promises made of God to Abraham. Muslims have an enormous amount of revisionist history in order to make their religion legitimate, but the Bible tells a different story. So, Mohammad had to have his own “Bible,” the literary abortion known as the Koran. Much of my own system of belief is based on the Bible, but I don’t worship a book and I know the damage done by those that worship a book whether the Bible or the Koran.

Jesus accused the religious leaders of his time of being “book-worshippers” that had done much damage by leaving off the most important teachings of their Bible, the teachings that culminated in “To love God and your neighbor as yourself is all the Law and the Prophets.” No matter what the religion, if this is not its goal it is false.

My own accusation against those that make wars is that they are invariably for profit; and as a result the innocent suffer, sometimes millions of them. We do not belong in Iraq or Afghanistan. As I said of our past President I say of our new one: “Impeach Obama and bring our troops home!” But I know such a thing is patently implausible; America seems on a path of self-immolation and Hussein seems determined to hasten the day. America does have a destiny to fulfill, but I fear it will be that of self-destruction leading to the kind of Biblical globalization leading to Armageddon in which the tiny nation of Israel will play a key role.

Paul Wendkos, the director of “Gidget” has died. Sandra Dee passed away in 2005. According to her son, Sandra Dee was only sixteen when she married Bobby Darin. They were, as her son Dodd pointed out by the title of the book about his mother: “Dream Lovers.” And so it appeared to many of us back in 1959 when Gidget was released; we wanted to believe the dream onscreen would mean a happy ending, however things did not turn out that way and the couple divorced in 1967. But I will always be in Gidget’s debt for the dream as I describe it in a chapter of my book “Birds With Broken Wings:”

    My mind often goes off into the memories of my life on the old mining claim. I have just remembered the time my grandfather and I tried out a few sticks of more powerful dynamite than we had been using to do the assessment work on the old claim. The 20% we were used to working with seemed a little tame for the work so grandad picked up some 40%. Having star-drilled the corners of the pit, we split a couple of sticks and inserted the blasting caps. Placing a couple more sticks on top and stringing the wire, we tamped them in place and got back away before letting loose.

    Now there was a convenient large, granite boulder we were used to crouching behind during the previous operations, and we assumed our positions. Grandad hit the detonator. The blast was horrific; huge chunks of material the size of watermelons shot over our heads like cannonballs! There was, obviously, a very real distinction of difference between the 20% and 40%.

    Surviving surprises of this nature has seemed to be my lot through life. I'm not at all sure why. Most of the time it hasn't been through any conscious cooperation of mine; quite the contrary as my friends can testify.

    So, as with my surviving my motorcycle accident, the Mojave Green missing its strike, the Canadian Ross rifle exploding, being shot at and cut and so many other similar incidents, shrapnel in my leg and the various scars top to bottom (though a quiet man, I'm more than a little acquainted with violence and could never back down from a bully either in a person or an evil system of government), I have been forced to the conclusion that my time is in God's hands and I'm not leaving off cumbering the earth until He decides to call it quits.

    For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow. Ecclesiastes 1:18. It would seem The Preacher knew whereof he spoke. There is such a thing as knowing too much. I wish I could return to the simpler life of comfortable dogmas and beliefs before I began asking the hard questions of God. But I did start asking and it hasn't been easy since.

    Yes DR, as you agreed in a note to me, there is a need to take time out to feed the squirrels, to take time out for the simpler things and get the taste out of our mouths of having to deal with so much evil all about us. But, as you also agreed with me in response to my once saying “I think I have lived too long and I know too much,” the battle rages and we are entered into the labors of those who have gone before. There is no rest from vigilance for the sake of liberty.

    As I try to make a finish of this chapter, there are many questions left unresolved in my mind. I certainly don't presume that I will find the most crucial answers to the most important of them alone. It will take Americans working together to do this. But this chapter is really an epilogue, and as such doesn't have a real ending nor did I really expect it to. There is just too much to the story, and I am apparently, rightly or wrongly, going to keep on keeping on. I know there is a job to do and by God's grace I’ll persevere. As I shared with a loved one recently, I'm tenacious and keep working for the day and hoping in tomorrow’s.

    I miss the pictures. No matter how welcome I am in the homes of friends, the pictures of their families, their children, are a haunting reminder of the cost of doing battle in this arena in which I have found myself. How I long to have a place where the evidence of family, my family, my children, is displayed. But for over ten long years at the time of this writing this hasn't been the case. Will it ever be? I have no way of knowing, but the loss never stops hurting.

    Count yourself blessed if you have such a place, such a family. Take it from one who knows, it is worth all you can give to it; it is precious beyond words, and Caesar will continue to do his best to destroy this most precious resource, our families and children. Remember: Our Children Do Not Belong To Caesar!

    Perhaps it is just as well that I am writing this in the old South Bay under the influence of so many memories of Camelot and my life among the Lotus-Eaters of long ago, of a time when all things were possible. The gentle reminders of what things are supposed to be in hope of a future for our children flood my mind here as nowhere else.

    The mental picture forms from Life Goes On of Becca and that boy on the beach, silhouetted against a blood-burst sunset, knowing they have shared the very best of what love has to offer in the midst of the tragedy that will prevent their ever marrying and having a family. Our children face an uncertain future filled with evils I never had to face as a child and young adult.

    But it is the responsibility of my generation to fix the mess we allowed that has betrayed our children of the hope of the American Dream. We must rebuild the Ancient Landmarks and provide, once more, the fertile soil from which the artists, poets, musicians, writers, philosophers of future civilization, a kinder and gentler civilization, can come forth. No nation that fails to cherish its young has a future as a nation. Nor does it deserve one!

I wonder how many of you remember the movie Gidget? It came out in 1959 starring Sandra Dee, James Darren, Cliff Robertson, with the Four Preps, Darren and Morris Stoloff doing the music. Having lived the life of the Lotus-Eaters with the music of Camelot and clean, uncrowded beaches with no graffiti in sight where the movie was made, it was my era and my life during the late fifties and early sixties.

    Leaving the wilderness of the Sequoia National Forest and my life among the birds and animals on the mining claim, I found myself in Redondo Beach and soon made myself familiar with Hermosa, Manhattan Beach, Santa Monica, Venice and Malibu. The transition was eased by the music that I continued to play and sing; music as common to me in the wilderness as it was in Camelot. The kids at Mira Costa High School in Manhattan Beach where I attended my senior year and graduated knew and loved the same music so, by continuing to play in the school band and at dances together with my job at Floyd and Gil's Auto Body Shop on Pacific Coast Highway in Redondo, I gained acceptance to this new environment.

    To watch Gidget now is to realize how much our children have lost. Toward the end of the movie, Gidget and her mother look at a motto on Gidget's bedroom wall. It reads: To be a real woman is to bring out the best in a man.

    After all these years, I am surprised to find myself much more in love with Gidget now than I was then. Perhaps it is because in our maturity, having learned and now understanding what is of real value in life neither Gidget nor I will ever really get old. In our minds the ideals of love and romance remain unshakable and hope of the future will never die.

    Gidget, as with Audrey Hepburn and me, did grow up. We learned to love others, to love children. And in learning to love, we never became old. So I watch what is now an old movie and Gidget and I are young once more in the true environment of a Camelot that promoted the best of innocent love and romance, the best of a hope for the future; the Four Preps together with Morris Stoloff always provide the music in the background, the sea and shore remain clean and uncrowded, filled with the scent and sound of the kind of magic only the Pacific Ocean and the old South Bay could provide.

    As I write this, I am sadly aware of how few people can truly understand what I am trying to say. It is a tragic loss to our children that they don't even know what they have lost. So I suppose someone has to recall it for them, someone like myself who was there when it was all real, when it was actually happening and Gidget and I were in love and knew it because she, as a real woman, brought out the best in me as a man. She was the poetry, the music and the inspiration that a real woman should be for a real man.

    It is the responsibility of the poet, the maker and raconteur of his age, to never let the magic die but to pass it on to the next generation. It remains the definition of true poetry to be a recounting of the actual, but in a way as to make it memorable. And nothing but a real woman like Gidget can inspire the poet to his best.

    My own poetry is much that of the essayist. As such, it is intensely personal and without the usual devices by which poetry as it should be fell into decline in the universities. The poet and essayist is an intense examiner of his own life. It is through such self-examination; meditative, reflective, studied, that the experiences of his own life lived in conjunction with others becomes remarkable. And so he is compelled, finally, to remark.

    Michel Eyquem de Montaigne (1533-92) is known as the father of the Essai. As he pointed out, he did not set out to make himself a study for books. It just happened. Before Montaigne, it was thought unacceptable to set one's life out in such a personal way for others to read as he did. Before Montaigne this was held strictly the purview of the poet only. Montaigne freed the poet to incorporate the essay, this method being far more liberating to comprehensible expression to the masses of people. In later times, this degenerated to a form that became what is called prose.

    But a good poetic essay is read pen in hand, and touches heart and mind just as a good piece of music sets the mood of tapping your feet and clapping your hands or instills a mood of love and romance to which the heart and mind are moved to respond. It is my hope these essays will affect the reader in such a fashion.

    Along with “Gidget”, we had “Rebel Without a Cause, Picnic” and some of the best Broadway musicals ever made. But things were beginning to get confused. The “Theme From Picnic” or “Moonglow”, Morris Stoloff providing the music for the movie, is one of the most beautiful of compositions. I still thrill to it, especially the McGuire Sisters' version, and always will. But you lose something if you don't visualize Kim Novak and William Holden dancing to the music.

    Literature just before and after the turn of the century was already tending to a realism that exposed many of the evils of the time. Life was not all sweetness and light; of course it never had been. Much as I admire the genius of Faulkner, Tennessee Williams, and some of Arthur Miller, I still hold to the fact that a humanity that can produce such masterpieces of beauty, love and romance like the great musicals and Gidget must have within itself the potential of overcoming evil. Our humankind that can portray Gidget cannot give itself over entirely to cynicism or brutality. Gidget gives me ever renewed hope that she and I, together, can still speak for the children.

    Gidget and I are not naive. We are believers in love, truth and justice. And knowing the best of these, we are able and willing to fight for them. I would have counseled Kim Novak not to run off to William Holden until he had something to offer a wife. I would have told James Dean that he better get his act together and behave responsibly before his little friend or Natalie Wood got hurt.

    But Holden told the truth when he exclaimed to Kim Novak, “I can amount to something with you!” A real woman brings out the best in a man. A real man and woman know that love has responsibility. And it is a responsibility that is gladly embraced. I am not naive. But I know the most powerful force in the universe is love. And I have learned that love is not naive. If the love is real, William Holden and James Dean will get their act together. Gidget will bring out the best in a man.

    Lacking naiveté, I know how this generation would respond to a movie like Gidget. They would laugh at it; that is if they could sit through it. Tragically, they would not understand their laughter. But they have never known a society untouched by the brutality of drugs, immorality and violence, a brutality of life that has made virtue, love and romance quaint anachronisms.

    Certainly when I watch the movie I am transported with Gidget to the magic of that time which I lived and experienced. I don't have to overlook what is now thought to be the ultra-simplicity of it and the lack of technical sophistication and Spielberg special effects.

    But, unlike the young people of today, I also know it wasn't a sham. It was real in its most important parts; real in a way that makes such a tragedy of the lives of our young people today; it was real in making self-discipline, accepting of responsibility and making a life commitment to another, a part of genuine love and romance.

    When Cliff Robertson looks at Sandra Dee and says, “She may be pint-sized, but she's quite a woman,” he knew what it was all about. When James Darren looks at Gidget and tells her she “represents real responsibility for a man,” he knew what it was all about. And Gidget knew what being a real woman was all about when she brought out the best in these two men.

    Neither Gidget nor I would understand it back then. We understand now. But that motto on her bedroom wall had been passed down from her grandmother to her mother and then to Gidget. Grandmother and mother knew, and in time Gidget would come to know and, hopefully, pass it on to her little girl.

    When Moondoggie and Gidget finally face each other as Francis and Jeffrey on the beach, the pledge of their love is enough. All of the commitment to each other in that college pin, the anticipation of what lies ahead for them, is the thrill of a lifetime never to be repeated; and never needed to be repeated. To know real love and romance is a lesson once learned and never to be forgotten.

    The world desperately needs Gidget, the girl for whom the pledge of love was enough, the girl who lives in such a way that it commands the respect of boys who, as men, come to understand the supreme value of what Gidget represents and encourage it.

University-bred political correctness has all but emasculated America as a cohesive force for any good purpose or end. “I have never seen our government, the military, the media, and those enlightened ones on the Left work so hard to avoid even intoning the words ‘Muslim, Islam,’ or ‘terrorism’ in any story relating to Major Nidal Malik Hasan or the shooting rampage at Fort Hood. Instead, the panoply of ideas as to why… include any and everything you can imagine, EXCEPT the possibility that he may have been influenced by the teachings of violence and martyrdom he's been exposed to all of his life in Islam. We have already forgotten a great lesson from our own recent history: it's more important to be 'correct' than 'politically correct.' The Bible warns that a nation that has been given great light from God, and rejects it, will be given a mind, by God, that cannot even think in its own best interest. That's a perfect definition of 'political correctness.' And that's what's happening in America right now…” Hal Lindsey.

Of course I could have chosen other sources than Lindsey to make the point, but his point concerning the Bible is one I share. God will not be mocked, and any nation that rejects God as America has done cannot expect anything but the rejection and judgment of God (however defined) in return. Those who know me well recognize the wide latitude I grant others to believe as they will; but when religion becomes a cloak for torture, murder, and atrocities all civilized people should come together and recognize such things and the motives of the monsters doing these things and bring them into the light of day. God has been shamed and mocked throughout human history by many a religious group and devotee claiming His name as the reason for their heinous actions; but invariably the children of God throughout the world will be known for their love of one another, not attempting to justify torture and murder in His name; nor are they known by trying to shove their brand of “truth” or “gospel” down the throats of others through force of any kind against another’s will.

If love is the guiding force in your life you are a child of God no matter how you define your belief system, no matter how you define God in your life. I can say that with the assurance of what I believe to be a divine truth: God is love; and all who love are born of God. But in all families there is room for both love and allowance for a wide diversity for the individual members of the family; in my opinion this is no less true of the Family of God. But no child of God is going to purposely commit atrocities of any kind.

Animals have no problem with political correctness; all creatures great and small have their own cognitive domains and pecking orders leading to their survival though it means nature is red in tooth and claw. But here we are, human beings capable of articulate speech and can’t get it right in attempts to stop killing one another through unremitting wars of one kind or another. But if animals had articulate speech like that of humans what do you suppose your dog or cat might have to say to you?

In respect to an article “Why chimps can’t talk” researchers are trying to see if it may be a genetic problem. However, to quote from the article: “While finding the molecular differences is good, it is too early and unclear to weigh what it means for language and cognitive evolution,’ said Marc Hauser, a professor of human evolutionary biology at Harvard University. ‘I would be extremely skeptical about drawing inferences,’ Hauser wrote in an e-mail. And the key question is not how, but ‘why did we get language,’ said Derek Bickerton, a linguistics professor at the University of Hawaii. He wrote the book ‘Adam's Tongue: How Humans Made Language, How Language Made Humans.’ ‘Just because humans developed the ability for language, that doesn't mean it would happen automatically,’ Bickerton said. ‘Every other species gets along just fine without it,’ Bickerton wrote in an e-mail. ‘We must have had some need that other species didn't have.’ “

Well of course human beings had some need that other species didn’t have. Chimps, dogs, and cats were not likely to develop the means of a nuclear holocaust; that was left up to us humans because we not only had the proper physical requirements but sophisticated articulate speech and the means of conveying complex and abstract thoughts and mathematics through writing. Chimps were never designed to produce a Newton or a Shakespeare; this has been the domain of Modern Man, a very new arrival among living creatures upon the scene of world history. Other creatures may be traced back millions of years, but our distinct species capable of creating actual civilization with all the accouterments of the arts and sciences is a scant few thousand years old and no “missing link” has been found to our very young and unique species. But at the rate we seem determined to follow a path of self-annihilation this “infant life-form” that is us brings to mind the old saying “Here today, gone tomorrow.”

Those that dedicate their lives to the arts and sciences deserve our admiration and I applaud the many discoveries being made daily in the sciences especially. But Life and Death remain the mysteries they have ever been, and the uneven distribution of the results and benefits of science globally would seem to mark our species nearly as psychotic as the recent Muslim fanatic that gunned down all those innocent people at Fort Hood. The only explanation for this uneven distribution of the results and benefits of our science in modern nations is profits. And why should money be wasted on unproductive mouths led of tyrants and despots that choose to live in the Stone Age rather than practice the most rudimentary thing of birth control among savage nations that would only be money down a rat hole? By not practicing birth control particularly among unproductive mouths and inviting in all the barbarians from Mexico for the sake of slave labor and forcing university-bred political correctness down all our throats the leadership of our nation seems committed to creating as much misery as possible. But following the money leads me to the conclusion a much bigger game is afoot than our nation imploding, a game of globalization bent on enslaving all Americans. After all, neither Stalin nor Hitler were unique in their thinking, only in the extent to which they were successful in carrying out their evil thoughts.

In “The Godfather” one of the Don’s insisted the drug trade be kept away from the schools but it “was alright among the coloreds because they’re animals anyway.” While civilized people gasp at such  blatantly rank and ugly discrimination how is it that we have come this far in America from when I was a high school teacher in Watts during the 60s warning that what was happening with drugs there would soon spread to the “lily-white” communities throughout America.

According to the Bible the Adam was a special creation of the gods into which God breathed His own Spirit of Life; and it was a different spirit of life than that of all other creatures in that the Adam became a living soul; it was a “spark of divinity” as with articulate and sophisticated speech not given to other living creatures; it is a “fire of life” as Emerson phrased it and not given other creatures that we carry about in these mortal bodies unique in being able to think and do far beyond any other living creatures. But because of The Fall, the first act of “war” was committed by Cain against Abel; and humankind has been plagued by wars and violence ever since. And it is obvious that barbarians as well as those considering themselves “civilized” commit acts of atrocity and yet the world will never know peace so long as people commit to wars whether the motives be religion, politics, or greed.

So it is that I continue to place my faith and trust in God rather than men. To those that cling to the idea that our species will somehow miraculously survive in the face of the history of our species being contrary to such hope I can only say: Good luck.

“Filthy lucre” and “Money laundering” has taken on new meaning what with so much money smeared with cocaine dust and the results of where bills are deposited for topless pole dancers, and let’s not forget the hazards of Swine Flu. I expect a commercial offering money laundering machines at any time shouting out of your TV: “Keep your money clean for the sake of your children! But wait; there’s more; order now and get not one; but we’ll ship a second one free!” Of course the reason such a thing has not been offered may be that these kinds of commercials offering junk are already being used by the shill corporations set up by drug lords for the purpose of money laundering and tax write-offs and don’t want to draw this kind of attention to them.

And perhaps “We the Great Unwashed” actually deserve to be using literally dirty money seeing that “Hussein” and Congress are our duly elected rulers. However, there is some hope since we “little people” as per Leona Helmsley’s observation are virtually guaranteed to have increasingly less of that dirty folding green in our pockets as the organized robbery and tyranny of government threatens to overwhelm us.

Bible scholars have long puzzled why such an important nation as America is not mentioned in the Bible. I believe it is in Revelation chapters seventeen and eighteen. America’s leadership has maxed out the “credit card” far into the future and other nations like China are fully aware of this. What we are not hearing is the very small blip on the screen of history America actually represents as a “superpower.” It was not until after WWII that we emerged fully equipped to gain this status; and have retained it for only a little over sixty years. Should we suddenly suffer economic, weather, asteroid, Yellowstone volcano, SoCal slipping into the Pacific, a horrendous pandemic or any truly catastrophic event as described in Revelation it would throw us (in one hour: Revelation 18:19) into third world status. Should any such thing happen suddenly in the near future America would only be a footnote in future history books should there be any future in which to write such books. But if I am correct in seeing America as “That Great City, Babylon” of the book of Revelation as opposed to “the great city Jerusalem” of Revelation 11:8 our demise as a superpower and the only friend of Israel would play a key role in the nations of the world coming together against that tiny nation, which is considered by most nations at present the greatest obstacle to world peace, and resulting in Armageddon of the End Time.

America having begun rooted and grounded in the Bible has turned its back on God and is ripe for the judgment of God. But to repeat what I have said many times, the seed of our destruction was sown by the failure of the Founding Fathers to abolish slavery by our Constitution for the sake of profits. And as profits continued to rule in America’s leadership resulting in the needless 600,000 casualties of Lincoln’s War and unremitting wars to follow and still ongoing a profits-driven America is facing the catastrophic judgment of God that I believe I foresee in Revelation! But this seems altogether appropriate as America descends into hell like the rich man of the Bible. Despite all the warnings about the lust for riches and extravagant living America became the richest and most powerful nation the world has seen; and in the process has lost its love of God and its soul.

Now all of this might easily be discounted as the ravings of a mad man except for the fact that even discounting God in the process the experts around the world are forecasting the demise of America and acting accordingly. I have no doubts about a global conspiracy of evil being a satanic process well underway; but if you follow the money you can discover conspiracy or not, God and Satan or not America cannot possibly survive the coming economic holocaust our “leadership” is committed to that will enslave the “little people” and benefit only the wealthy and powerful.

In conversation this morning with my eldest son Daniel about the problems plaguing the Large Hadron Collider it occurred to me what they need is an exorcist like the witch doctor in “Operation Petticoat.” As fantastic as some of the speculations concerning the LHC’s problems have been and knowing some of the greatest minds and most powerful people in the world have been devoted to Astrology and the occult it would not surprise me if a few people within CERN are not already in one way or another attempting to “exorcise the demons” plaguing the project. But such things among great minds and powerful, wealthy people are generally accepted as merely idiosyncratic whereas among the Great Unwashed they would be called at best “superstitious nonsense.” Class distinction? Of course; such a thing is a commonplace throughout human history.

Among the self-styled liberal tails trying to wag the dog and given to bullying and labeling all that disagree with them “racists, homophobes,” etc. ad nauseam there is an abundance of evil to be found in those ranks and whining anyone watching FOX NEWS has to be delusional at best. But the worshippers of “Hussein” as Jesus pointed out of all the children of the Devil will have their day before the end comes; and I believe the end of America led of Hussein and his worshippers is coming and the process of our destruction as a once proud and powerful nation is accelerating rapidly. “How long, oh Lord?” those in Revelation cried out. Not long, I believe; and I have quite a bit of company among those who believe the prophecies concerning the End Times. Tragically for America, I continue to see our nation as that Great City, Babylon of Revelation whose destruction comes swiftly, and the portents for America’s end are to be seen everywhere for those who can read the “handwriting on the wall.”

Quite surprisingly the prophet Daniel continued to live under the reign of several of Babylon’s leaders; but he was under the protection of the Lord, and because of this was spared from the wrath and plots against him. It would appear from Scripture even those wanting him dead were restrained because they knew he was under the protection of God. Nebuchadnezzar we read had made Daniel “master of the magicians, astrologers, Chaldeans, and soothsayers,” and like Joseph had a “cup of divination.” So when that handwriting appeared on the wall condemning Belshazzar it was Daniel who was called on to interpret it. The interpretation: “God hath numbered thy kingdom and finished it, thou art weighed in the balance, and are found wanting. Thy kingdom is divided, and given to the Medes and Persians.” Right after this we read: “In that night was Belshazzar the king of the Chaldeans slain.” That the king had greatly honored Daniel for his reading and interpreting the handwriting on the wall did not save Belshazzar and his kingdom from the judgment of God in that same night of Daniel’s interpretation. That Great City, Babylon, had been destroyed quickly; or as prophesied in Revelation of that Great City in the future: “For in one hour is she made desolate.”

China no longer buying our treasury bonds is a portent, becoming a fractured and divided nation is a portent, “Press one for English,” the various minority tails wagging the dog, the determination by the tyranny of government to make all of us slaves to the dole, the blatant attempt to kick God out of our history and founding as a nation and throughout America today, all are portents, all are the handwriting on the wall prophetic of our own destruction. Here a little there a little and soon the camel is in the tent.

While it is true as Tevye pointed out in “Fiddler on the Roof” that if you have wealth people generally accord you wisdom and you are seated in places of honor. But God prizes genuine humility; that this seems to be wanting among those of great wealth and power comes with the Devil’s territory. It is a curiosity of human history that the wealthy and powerful are often found “consorting with familiar spirits” and devotees of things like Astrology; but then when anyone acquires great wealth and power they become increasingly aware of their mortality and lacking anyone they can trust often turn to the supernatural.

Given our many enemies including Hussein I don’t believe God thinks America is “too big to fail.” Unhappily, I don’t expect to see those at CERN trotting out a witch doctor as per that hilarious scene in the film with Cary Grant and Tony Curtis, but I do believe some of them are resorting to witch doctors and the occult of some kind. The LHC is enormously complex, and to be compared with America in that respect. Our problems as a nation are enormously complex, but unlike CERN we don’t have scientists calling the shots; look at what we have for a government and you don’t know whether to laugh at the clowns or mourn for our coming demise.

When I learned the Large Hadron Collider had to contend with a bird having dropped a piece of bread in the works halting the operation I immediately thought of the ravens feeding Elijah: I Kings 17:6: “And the ravens brought him bread and flesh in the morning, and bread and flesh in the evening; and he drank of the brook.”

FOXNEWS: November 7, 2009: “The massive machine at the center of the world's biggest scientific experiment has malfunctioned again – derailed by a bit of bread dropped by a bird. The Hadron Collider, buried 100m under the ground near Geneva, Switzerland, is supposed to recreate conditions seen after the Big Bang. Scientist’s hope the $7.3 billion machine will shed light on the event that many scientists believe gave birth to the universe around 14 billion years ago, but the project has suffered a series of setbacks. The latest saw a ‘bit of baguette,’ thought to have been dropped by a bird, fall onto machinery, causing a fault. Sections of the machine, which fires protons round a 17-mile-long tunnel at close to the speed of light in order to smash them in to each other, then overheated. Members of the public who had been looking at data published online noticed the temperature changes and contacted journalists at The Register. They alerted those in charge of the project at the European Organization for Nuclear Research (CERN). According to scientists, had the Collider been in operation at the time it would have shut down automatically, avoiding the damage of last September when a large amount of helium leaked into the tunnel. But the difficulties faced by those working on the project have prompted some members of the scientific community to speculate, in all seriousness, that the machine is sabotaging itself — from the future. The theory is that the particle that physicists hope to produce might be ‘abhorrent to nature,’ so that once created it would work backwards through time to put a stop to whatever created it. However Dr Mike Lamont, who works at the CERN control center, said that the nature of the experiment meant that glitches were inevitable. ‘This thing is so complicated and so big, it's bound to have problems sometimes,’ he said.”

I’m still of the mind the investors in the LHC are looking for an enormous payoff rather than purely adding to scientific knowledge and the project does seem to be “jinxed” so far, at least to those of a mind to consider such a thing plausible. There is no doubt in my mind God knows every sparrow that falls to the ground as Jesus said, and just as He caused the ravens to feed Elijah could cause a bird to interfere with the LHC. However, just as Dr. Lamont stated; a machine of such mind-boggling complexity is fraught with potential problems, and even if these are finally overcome we still don’t know what is going to happen when and if the LHC does fulfill its intended function.

That some are seriously speculating about the possibility of Einstein’s “spooky action (or communication) at a distance” in relation to something (or someone?) from the future sabotaging the LHC at least sustains my continuing to believe there are people of science keeping an open mind to the fantastic. The more that science enables us to peer into atomic structure and our universe the more is discovered that opens the door to speculation about the fantastic. While many are willing to credit Newton with rare genius, they are not so willing to credit his attempts to interpret Scripture or his conviction that Intelligent Design of God was at work in creating the universe and life. But, Alchemy and the Philosopher’s Stone (one possible discovery using the LHC?) are beginning to get the attention of scientists and some are even speculating as I have done about Astrology, knowing as anyone does that the Constellations as per the ancient maps and zodiacs could not be discerned by the naked eye in ancient times any more than they can be today. So, as with many mysteries concerning ancient people and the artifacts declaring they could not have possibly accomplished some of these things without “outside help” of one kind or another I continue to call attention to God putting it in the minds of people like those specially chosen to build the Tabernacle to put it into the minds of others to do His bidding.

On the other hand, I believe the Devil sure has those to do his bidding as well. To paraphrase Thoreau, while God may seem without much company the Devil draws a crowd. And let’s face it; from its infancy the “news” doesn’t make money telling of the good works of good people; it is still the accident drivers slow down to look at, and just as “Hell and destruction are never full; so the eyes of man are never satisfied.”

While I see Intelligent Design the result of the mind of God in all of His creation the mysteries of God are abundant as well. “Who has known the mind of God that he may instruct Him?” As thoughts of the fantastic and speculation about many things flow through my own mind, I am given more and more to wonder at the mysteries of God. But these thoughts and speculations invariably call to mind as well the words from a hymn: “Farther along we’ll know all about it, farther along we’ll understand why.”

There is a scene in the film “Giant” in which after the young upstart has struck oil the observation is made that he should have been killed earlier but “Now he’s too rich to kill.” As Obama came out of obscurity with a following hating Bush (for many a good reason, some of which I amplified in my own writings all during his dreadful administration) together with zombies chanting “Imhotep, Imhotep, Imhotep” voting for the first Negro President in our nation’s history, the flaw of our Founding Father’s not abolishing slavery for the sake of profits making this possible, that statement from the old film with Rock Hudson, Elizabeth Taylor, and James Dean would come to mind.

So we have come full circle from those with the power and wealth that betrayed America; selling out our nation wholesale sending businesses and jobs to foreign nations because of cheap labor (profits); and here comes Imhotep and his chanting zombies in Congress approving unimaginable amounts of taxpayer money into the far future to bail out the wealthy and powerful assuring the rich will become richer and the poor will become poorer because “Now they are too rich to kill;” or to use the political phrase, “Too big to fail.”

It is no longer Norman Rockwell’s America and some would say with much justification it never was, however for those of us raised with the Norman Rockwell ideals of America fairly well intact our memories do recall such an America of which we were the proud citizens and heirs of a Biblical America that saved the world from the Axis Powers. Mine is the last of a generation that lived in such an America but the universities will continue their work of making sure such an America and “The Greatest Generation” will eventually be erased from the history books. Gone from the schools of today the songs like “God Bless America” and all that would glorify America in any way; this America is now “Press one for English” for the sake of profits and perverts openly and without any sense of shame celebrate “Gay Pride” rather than “American Pride” and our schools, universities and colleges graduate illiterates.

The power to tax remains as it ever has the power to destroy, and those behind the scenes holding the purse continue to call the shots; even paying the salaries of those like Rush Limbaugh, Lou Dobbs, and Glenn Beck in order to maintain the illusion of giving a legitimate voice for dissent. The Devil is not divided against himself and knows what he is doing by allowing a few to preach to the choir. But Devil or not, the result is the same; people being deluded they have a voice when it all amounts to a shell game and politicians continue to lie to be elected and lie to stay elected.

A dwindling few of us old timers with vivid memories of WWII and the sacrifices that were made both at home and abroad to win that war and save the world cannot do anything but tell the stories of a seeming “Camelot” and watch helplessly on the sidelines of life while this generation must fend for itself the best it can without any heroes such as I knew as a child or an America that was once a proud nation, once loved and envied, when not hated, by other nations. But I will continue to tell the stories of Camelot because that is part of my job; and what a job of wearisome work it is at times.

America now has a delusional empty suit of a President willing to throw anyone under the bus to whom like Jeremiah Wright he once pledged fealty or disagrees with him leading our nation to disaster while preaching a doctrine of globalization and welfare for everybody “for our own good.” I wouldn’t be surprised if it were discovered the President keeps copies of “Mein Kampf” and “The Prince” on his nightstand as inspiration for what he means by “Change.” Obama would be a perfect example of “The friend of my enemy is my enemy” except that Obama has no friends; only those that he uses and those that use him.

As the players parade across the TV screens of America and the world, the sheer magnitude of potential disasters is far more than my mind can comprehend. I wrote some time past the investment of billions in the Large Hadron Collider had to have another motive than simply increasing our knowledge for the sake of science, but held promise of a huge payoff years in the planning where the discoveries made would result in an ultimate weapon and many billions in profits. I’ve no good reason to change my mind about this. If the “Man of Sin” is to arise from Europe, this might provide him the “Big Stick.” America’s birthright has been sold like that of Esau’s for a “mess of pottage” and our nation may yet prove to be that Great City, Babylon of Revelation as a result with Obama paving the way to bring this about.

Like those Israelites of old that became slaves to Egypt because of their prosperity and having forsaken God and adopted the gods of Egypt, nevertheless there remained a remnant that called out for deliverance and because of His covenant with Abraham God delivered them, though that generation died in the desert wanderings due to the judgment of God against them for continuing in idol worship. Our own enslavement to “The Egyptians” because of our past prosperity and following after false gods is well underway; and only a remnant remains that have true faith in God. But this remnant did not save that generation of Israelites of the Exodus; nor will a remnant of true believers save America.

Of course it is all speculation on my part, just as I write of my ideas concerning angels and demons, ghosts and spirits. But sometimes to use the philosophical expression some things “I believe in my bones.” I can’t prove these things with empirical evidence subject to scientific scrutiny, and I discourage my impulses to be dogmatic about some of these things; nevertheless some I believe in my bones.

Some years ago I was watching a TV series entitled “Life Goes On.” The following is an excerpt from one chapter of my book “Birds With Broken Wings” and I want to share this with others who have not read the book:

    TV Guide lists Life Goes On as #1 among the 10 top shows recommended for Teens. Quote: “Parents that struggle, kids that cope, and believable love.” And it is Kellie Martin, largely, who makes it believable. But such believability is only achieved through the vulnerability of genuinely caring about others; no matter how masterful the actor or actress, this is not something that can be learned as a craft; it is either there or it is not.

    And, so, I fear for Kellie, as I do for Karrie, my remaining little angel, as someone who has that rare and precious gift of really caring. And because of this, they are vulnerable to the evil that men do and those eyes betray their love to those that would take advantage as well as to those who would return that love in kind.

    But to attempt to describe the un-describable? I cannot. I can place flowers on the nightstand of my Lady, I can try, with all my powers, to describe my feelings to her, I can do the thankless and grimy tasks of day-to-day living and punching a clock as expressions of my love, but if those eyes of innocent trust and wonder and unreserved giving like the eyes of Diana, Karen, and Kellie are missing I soon realize, as it continues to play itself out, it is all in vain.

    Damned by an age which despises those like Scott and Cooper, the art of language, hopes, dreams and ideals of true love and true romance, our young people have been cheated of the most precious thing of all: the ability to give and receive pure, unselfish love, love that sacrifices without any sense of sacrifice this having been betrayed and traded for unbridled lust where our young girls are the predominant victims, an age where we are learning, more and more, that our young girls are preyed upon by even those of their own families! How willing I would be to put the rope around the neck of any that would betray the trust of a child in such a fashion! These monstrous bullies, these maimers and cripplers of innocence cannot be human beings! They are beasts; devouring, unclean, predatory, destroying monsters in human guise and should be treated as such!

    As I began to face up to what Kellie had opened in my own soul which I thought had been successfully buried, the question was what to do about it? For several days I struggled with the question. I know nothing and everything about Kellie Martin. It's what I know of genuine love and romance, what I know from her eyes as that of my own daughters that truly counts about Kellie, that makes me fearful for her and all the Kellies she represents. Certainly my girls have been the recipients of the thoughts of their father. But, how many times did I fail to warn those thousands of teenagers I was entrusted with in the schools? Now, having seen Diana's eyes once again in Kellie I had to at least try to do something about it.

    Diana was killed in a motorcycle accident after having been married less than a year. She lay in a coma for several days. My son Daniel, Diana’s brother and I would sit by her side, reading and praying, hoping against hope that she would come out of it. But it wasn't to be. She slipped quietly away from us without ever regaining consciousness.

    Kellie's eyes are those of my daughter Karen's as well. But Karen has been hurt and betrayed so much in her young life, seeking love and fulfillment that she is beginning to lose the open, wonder-filled, pure, honest, trusting elements of these wells and windows of the soul. People who care as much as Diana, Karen, and Kellie can never hide what they really feel; their eyes betray them. I grieve to see in Karen's eyes the increasing knowledge of an evil world of selfish, using and abusing, people.

    Are we now a society for which genuine love and romance are anachronistic, a harking back to simpler times where the search for such was not an exercise in quixotic futility? I will not have it so! Not as long as there are girls like Kellie, not as long as there are daughters like Diana and Karen who can truly love their fathers and evoke the purest love in the universe in the hearts of those fathers!

    I'll never forget the time I took Karen out for our very first grown-up dinner together. She was only seventeen, but she was breathtakingly beautiful! It was nearly impossible to believe this beautiful girl/woman was my own daughter, the little girl I use to tumble with, cuddle, tease and tickle.

    I had made reservations for the dinner at one of the finest restaurants in the area. Every eye in the place was on us. I was bursting with pride that my little girl was pleased to let her daddy show her off, and show her off I did. Now you just can't do this with your sons. A father has an altogether different relationship with sons. As they grow up, they become men in their own right; but those little angels? Never! They will never become women; they will always be Daddy's Little Girl.

    Karrie (she will never be Karen to her dad) couldn't possibly have known the turmoil of my own thoughts as we sat in this fashionable restaurant and I savored every moment of this precious time together. I wanted to capture it forever, indelibly, on my heart and soul, to have it there for recall when the shadows of life began to lengthen, when she would move into her own sphere of living her own life and dad would recede.

    What kind of men are the fathers of all these girls who sell out their dreams of a good man so cheaply? And all these young men who treat girls so shabbily, what are their fathers teaching them? What redeeming note can be sounded for a culture which treats its children in such a fashion, leaving them without their right to dream and hope? (End)

As I contemplate the foregoing written a few years ago and the shadows of my life have grown quite long, I now live with the loss of my other little angel, Karrie. The grief never departs for the loss of both of my little angels; such grief is profound beyond any words as those who have suffered such a loss can testify. The point I want to make here is that today’s America seems to actually hate children. We do not cherish them, and a nation that fails to cherish its young has no future! Nor does it deserve one!

Now that Thanksgiving is coming up I like to share the story of my most memorable dinner celebrating this day of remembrance giving thanks to God by those early colonists and Native Americans. And the particular dinner I’m so fond of remembering had much in common with those early celebrants.

My guns and fishing poles had supplied much of the food during the time my grandparents and I lived on the mining claim here in the Kern River Valley before the lake went in. This particular Thanksgiving morning I took my shotgun and soon bagged six quail. Taking them back to the cabin, I skinned, gutted and washed them thoroughly. My grandmother made a dressing of sage and cornmeal in a cast iron pot and placed the six quail breasts on top of the dressing then put it in the oven of our wood cook stove. She covered the pot just long enough to steep the quail thoroughly then removed the top in order to brown them and form a thin crust on the dressing.

Once the stove had done its job, the quail breasts were a marvelous, golden brown with the tender white meat steeped in the juices from the dressing. With this as the main course complimented with mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob and homemade apple and pumpkin pies it was as good as it was simple. I took special pride in my ability to supply the main ingredient, giving me a sense of self-worth contributing what I could to our family’s welfare and came to appreciate what those early colonists had to thank God for.

It is a pity the great majority of children today will not have the chance I had of living in an environment where the opportunities I was given to think well of myself and develop self-esteem are denied them; opportunities where hunting and fishing are not “sporting events” but contribute to the family welfare as a necessity of life. The six years I spent as a boy living on the mining claim without any indoor plumbing or electricity also provided me the experience I needed to understand what those early colonists faced and preach simplicity in living to others without any illusions about how harsh living such a life can be. While other children dreamed of getting a bicycle, I dreamed of getting a power chainsaw and exploding wedges. I never got them, but I did become the first kid in the valley to have his own car. Being in high school by that time, a car became my priority and it also made it possible for me to become the very first “Junior Custodian” for old Kernville Elementary and earning the first real paycheck of my life: $35 a month; a princely sum for a kid back then that was used to earning a dollar an hour with hammer and saw, pick and shovel when I could find the work.

Back in the old days when jobs were plentiful and it seemed lawyers were fewer children had to do “chores” that were really work; the kind that required sweat and muscle-power. My being raised a generation behind even my own for the most part with kerosene lamps and outhouses I was well equipped for manual labor, and my grandparents were advocates of the Scripture “If any not work, neither shall they eat.” But Biblical morality has little part of the America in which we now live; that America has all but disappeared in which the Bible was still a prominent part of our society having been the primary textbook of America from the very beginning of our nation and children were taught good manners and civilized speech both at home and at school.

Harper Lee understood the “modern” movement of the 30s passed from the universities down to the schools of the time that “innovative designs in teaching” did not include making the schools places where the teaching of parents at home was being encouraged in the schools. So the suggested “compromise” by Atticus to little Scout was she and her father would continue doing as they had always done at home contrary to her teacher and Scout would jump through the hoops of her teacher while at school; the go along to get along routine so many of us have faced at one time or another.

As a teacher beginning in the 60s in Watts I was confronted by this same dismal failure of the schools to educate children and young people. Eventually I came to realize the truth of Harper Lee’s criticism of the universities and schools of her time, and I began to say of America’s schools there could not have been a better system designed for failure had it been done intentionally. The proof of this abounds by the lack of civilized good manners and proper speech all about us.

With Thanksgiving Day coming like an express train at my age (the time does fly now whether I’m having a good time or not) it reminds me of how Norman Rockwell celebrated the day with his Saturday Evening Post cover (November 24, 1951) of the little boy and his grandmother praying over their meal at a table in a restaurant while two young men are watching with curious expressions. I have the book by Fred Bauer published by Guideposts titled “The Faith of America.” Bauer’s book is filled with works by Rockwell including the one mentioned, but when I think of Norman Rockwell’s America I realize I was born into an age where such faith was encouraged by the majority. Now, it seems a minority of the Devil’s followers has created an America celebrating illiteracy, perversion and vulgarity, uncivilized manners and speech, an America Norman Rockwell would not recognize as his America, the nation he showed such gratitude for.

The children of the Devil try to marginalize and even demonize Norman Rockwell and his America, they try to marginalize and demonize me and those like me. But I know the history of America, and I know the Bible and its history. America was a far better nation when Thanksgiving Day had the relevance attached to those early colonists, when the Bible was still the textbook of America and Norman Rockwell’s portraits of his America and mine were not ridiculed but displayed faith and held out hope for a better future.