Sam Heath - samheath's Blog - Bakersfield.com

The Weedpatch Gazette

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 13:40:30 PST

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.”

The Weedpatch Gazette

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 10:34:29 PST

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.

The Weedpatch Gazette

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 12:13:36 PST

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!

The Weedpatch Gazette

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 13:51:25 PST

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.

The Weedpatch Gazette

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 13:48:09 PDT

World leaders including our own parade across our TV screens acting out a charade because each is determined to get their piece of the action no matter that taken together they seem determined to destroy the earth in the process. To me, it’s the Devil’s work no matter the face of the various players in this “Dance Macabre.” Much of the Bible and Shakespeare together with other worthies have tried to describe and warn, often citing the foolishness of men believing they are immortal while seeking wealth and power, but they all die in the end no matter the degree of “success” they may achieve while they lived. Far better to live simply and want little, thereby escaping the sword hanging over the heads of the greedy of whatever persuasion; but alas, the innocent pay the price of such greed as well because trade, profits, is a curse to all in the end. It was for this reason Jesus cautioned “The love of money is the root of every kind of evil.”

But to paraphrase Thoreau, while economics (as with government and politicians) may admit of much levity it is not so easily disposed of. We must have bread or we perish; the problem is one endemic to our species that for some like “Rocko” in “Key Largo” what they want is more, and the more they get they are never satisfied with what they have but are always wanting more and more ad infinitum. It is small wonder the myth found credence with some that Alexander the Great died of a broken heart because he had no more nations to conquer. There is a truth behind the myth that is descriptive of too many men, and this kind continues no matter how many stories and films like “Citizen Kane” end with the moral of “Rosebud.”

My job is writing, and parts of the job I enjoy and some parts I don’t; the part I don’t enjoy is following my namesake’s path as a prophet. I’m not so sure that Samuel enjoyed his work either; but unlike him my role as prophet is to “tell forth” rather than “foretell.” I have a Bible, and have no need of visions or God talking to me directly. The Spirit of God enlightens me as it does all of His children; and by God’s Spirit I believe what He has to say to us in the Bible, especially concerning the End of the Age, a time in which I believe we now live.

God will not be mocked and He will not always withhold His anger. America as a nation has mocked and forsaken God, and we are ripe for His wrath in judgment. This is my job as the prophet Samuel; telling forth and telling it like it is. The prophet Ezekiel was sternly told by God to prophecy (warn) both the wicked and the righteous of God’s judgment and if he failed to do so, their blood would be upon him in judgment. This is the position I have taken in so much of my preaching and writing over a lifetime. But neither Samuel nor Ezekiel was to be held responsible if the people refused to listen and because they refused to listen the ancient nation of Israel was destroyed and only the Jews remain of the original twelve tribes of Israel.

When his disciples asked Jesus what was in it for them by following him, he promised them much in the hereafter; but he also sounded the alarm about how this world would treat them if they continued to follow him. But alas, the movement that was started by Jesus as with many others eventually fell into such disarray it no longer resembled the “church” he spoke of but became fractured and divided along many, and sometimes murderous lines. But no matter the many cathedrals and Hollywood wannabes, the simplicity of the true Gospel remains that those who love are born of God and the whole of the Law and the Prophets is summed up by loving God and others as yourself. That this obviously does not include the wicked is pointed out in the Bible that Christians were to demonstrate their love of God by the love they had for one another, the children of God. And these are not just among those that go by the label of “Christian” but are found among all the nations of the world no matter how they may differ in their beliefs. So I will warn the wicked, those that are perverts, those that sell out to the Devil for power and wealth, those that abuse women and children, but I am not commanded to love them. Let them first forsake their wickedness; turn to God and repent, make restitution, confess and pay for their sins even at the cost of their own lives and perhaps find forgiveness from God and love from me. That I have been witness to this change in the hearts of some gives me hope for others to turn to God

So, this not a part of the job I enjoy; but I realize the somber importance of this part of the job. Jonah tried to run away and hide from God, believing that if he prophesied against those dwelling in Nineveh they might repent and God would go soft and forgive them. But Jonah should have been a lesson to those disciples that asked Jesus if they should call down fire from heaven to destroy their enemies and Jesus rebuked them saying they didn’t know the Spirit they were supposed to represent. But, like Jonah they would soon find this out for themselves and learn the truth of the words of Jesus that not everyone calling out “Lord, lord, haven’t we done all these wonderful things for you” only to be answered by God: “Depart from me; I never knew you.”

I believe God must be allowing for the wide gulf that separates me from the fellowship of many of His children that belong to one kind of orthodox religion or another; the reason I believe this is because I’m still alive. Some accuse me of making a god in my image, but my reply is that God made me in His; that I’m far from perfect as a child of God comes with the territory we all occupy, that of being frail mortal beings subject to temptations and failures and only perfect in God’s way of seeing perfection just as any parent does of their child. Neither is God perfect by the definition of men, but by His own definition.

Awakening this morning to such a beautiful day, the sun once more streaming through my windows and the cat purring once more in my lap I hoped the job for today would be writing of something soft, a warm and fuzzy story to lift my own spirits along with others. Didn’t turn out that way; and so I can’t help but commiserate with Jonah all the while having to remind myself of God’s stern warning to Ezekiel.

We can’t seem to get away from all the bad news inundating us; we are trying to swim in such murky waters of evil on every side but floundering in the attempt. I’m just like that old Israelite crying out to God “Tell us something good!” But the bad news just keeps hammering us, and God has laid it on my heart to do the part of the job I don’t enjoy by reminding people there is such a thing as sin, there is a soul to lose or save, there is a judgment of God coming on America and the nations of the world. Perhaps God will relent and allow me to do that part of the job I enjoy next time I sit down with the cat in my lap to write. I fervently hope so. In the meantime, the world may be going to hell but you don’t have to. In the meantime, I’m here to remind you (prophecy) that while the world may be going to hell you don’t have to.

The Weedpatch Gazette

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 14:03:04 PDT

Can anyone point me to a really sincere pumpkin patch where, like Linus, I can await the rising of the Great Pumpkin at midnight? Charles Schulz and his “Peanuts” became an instant favorite of mine, as did Walt Kelly from the first appearance of “Pogo” and I have cited them many times over the year’s right along with men like Emerson and Thoreau for their wisdom. It isn’t that Emerson and Thoreau were lacking in humor, but Kelly and Schulz made it an art form that appealed to both children and adults. Neither was ever malicious in their use of humor, but made us laugh at the many parallels we would find by both of them poking fun at religiosity and the chicanery of politicians.

Humor, I believe, is a gift of God. It is for this reason I believe God has a sense of humor despite it not exactly being a strong suit in the Bible, and neither Jews nor Christians seem willing to give God credit for a sense of humor. Will Rogers was one of America’s greatest humorists, but it is Sam Clemens the world considers the greatest humorist our nation ever produced. However, Sam had a penchant for the mean streak in some of his humor and had become quite egotistical, this leading to his belittling and poking fun at some of the greatest thinkers and writers of the time. That he was actually jealous and envious of their reputation and public status was transparent and he was properly chastised for this. But his ego has never prevented my reading and enjoying the many good books by Clemens nor does his ego get in the way of my appreciating Thoreau and his writings. I have always appreciated and entered into Sam’s sorrows for the many grievous things he suffered to the point of once contemplating suicide and saying he considered death to be the only pure, unalloyed gift of God.

Clemens would be the first to point out that the best of humor always has a moral basis; and it is that morality of the humorist I look to when contemplating any work of humor. Clemens was a moral man, as were Schulz and Kelly. But not everyone would agree with my interpretation of their morality. While few would disagree about the morality of Schulz, that of Clemens and Kelly might be called into question; but not by my standard of morality. For this reason I can believe God was pleased and amused by Schulz’s Great Pumpkin, a poking of fun at those that suffer under the tyranny of their religious beliefs. But I also believe God enjoyed much of the humor of both Clemens and Kelly as well.

It is difficult to find a whole lot of good humor or things to laugh about these days. My own best source of humor remains me because of so many dumb things I have done. It really is true for the most part that looking back at these brings on the laughter though it wasn’t funny at the time. My maternal grandfather, grandad, was a great humorist and had a great sense of humor which I believe I inherited from him. But he was as ready with his fists as he was with a funny story; and living in Southeast Bakersfield (Little Oklahoma) required him to use both and he was just as quick to laugh at himself as I am.

And there it is; if you can’t laugh at yourself you are taking yourself too seriously. Since I have always been quick to laugh at myself, I don’t worry about taking myself too seriously; but some of the subjects I write about are quite serious, even somber and do not admit of humor. As a child advocate and writing of so many abuses of women and children does not admit of much in the way of humor. I would laugh at the antics of politicians like “Hussein” if it were not for the fact that they seem intent on enslaving all of us for their own gain.

But to write of politicians and their chicanery is no fun at all. It is coming up on Halloween and I really enjoy this holiday; right now the sun is streaming through the windows here where I write, the cat is snug in my lap purring away so no matter what your beliefs I still say: Happy Halloween!

The Weedpatch Gazette

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 13:35:41 PDT

A fellow told me one time if the preacher’s sermon didn’t “pinch his toes a little” he didn’t think the preacher was doing his job. “Well, if the preacher is really doing his job,” I replied, “and you believe your toes need pinching there is probably more than your toes that need a drubbing.” And so it is that I continue to believe God’s true prophets do not wear soft clothing and live in kings’ palaces. And this is the problem I have with today’s “prophets” whether they stand in a pulpit or do their “preaching” through radio, print, or the MSM; and this includes the FOX news channel, not just TBN.

For example, I personally like Glenn Beck and sometimes tune in to his “preaching.” He equates with me as a kind of Billy Sunday preaching about the evil of booze. As Billy often preached, “Booze has its place; but its place is in hell!” Because of his great popularity at the time, Billy provided great impetus to the Volstead Act being passed; insane as it proved to be. But then there were the unintended consequences of ushering in organized crime. Hollywood certainly profited greatly from films that were made resulting from the insanity of Congress, and after it was far too late to undo the damage Prohibition was repealed.

Knowing history and human nature, I am all for the legalization of marijuana and prostitution; follow the money and you will find that if politicians didn’t profit from making weed and prostitution illegal (politicians give working girls a bad name and exercise a “privilege” of sex denied ordinary citizens) they would act to legalize these. But as with our open borders, if politicians didn’t profit from illegal aliens our borders would be secured. If corporations didn’t profit from “Press one for English” there would be no such thing in America. And so it goes; as Thoreau so well said, trade (profit) curses all it touches though it be trading in messages from heaven. It was in the interest of profits that our Founding Fathers refused to abolish slavery by our Constitution. Wars, even our own Revolution and Lincoln’s War, WWI, WWII, Korea, Vietnam, and the wars now ongoing are fought for profits and benefit only the wealthy and powerful. In the end, the words of Jesus ring so very true: “What does it profit if you gain the whole world and lose your own soul,” and what is true for the individual may be true for a nation. In my opinion America as a nation now exists without a soul, as some Russian poets have accused.

When Satan accused Job of serving God for profit, the Evil One was given permission to put Job to the test. I have to wonder how our modern age “prophets” preaching from either their Hollywood cathedrals of TBN or from the MSM like FOX would stand up to such testing; not very well I would guess. The real prophets of God do not wear soft clothing or live in kings’ palaces. It isn’t that their “preaching” does not pinch toes, but the whole of America needs saving that can only come from genuine repentance, contrition, restitution and the leaders in government, churches, and the MSM wearing sackcloth and ashes; and not many are going to give up what Satan has to offer in exchange for what America really needs from its leaders. It is a given to me that Obama is a servant of Satan as with all those in Congress; that politicians as a species are on the Devil’s payroll.

I’m not opposed to prosperity for an individual or a nation, but am always aware of the words of Jesus of the great difficulty for the rich to enter heaven. The chasing after money, the gaining of wealth puts one at great risk of their soul because very few can handle wealth for the good of others and to the glory of God. To live simply and owe no one money remains good advice. But “Neither a borrower nor a lender be” has long passed into history.

Not a lot is said in the Bible about how the Israelites became slaves in Egypt apart from the passage concerning a Pharaoh that “knew not Joseph” and demanded more from the tribes of Israel than those before him. The Israelites had it made in Egypt, but became victims of prosperity and as such a threat to the Egyptians. It was their very prosperity that caused Egyptian rulers to start enslaving the Israelites. There was no 400 years of bondage, it was not an overnight event that cast the Israelites into slavery; it was a process of time that eventuated into them becoming a threat to Egypt much in the way of Hitler’s perception of Jews, the last remaining “tribe of Israel.” But God would keep His promise to Abraham and this “remnant” would remain as a testimony to the faithfulness of God rather than the faithfulness of the Jews.

God did not deliver the Israelites because of their faithfulness to Him; but as a witness to God’s own faithfulness in keeping His word to Abraham. The Jews remain a miraculous testimony and witness to the faithfulness of God, a Chosen People not because of any exceptional goodness in them but for a testimony to the world that God keeps His promises despite the way people fail Him. According to Jesus, not many are going to be saved out of this world system and a world that is Satan’s domain, and will remain so until God acts upon His decision of the day and hour when Satan’s reign will be ended as foretold in the book of Revelation.

In the meantime, I listen to Glenn Beck, Lou Dobbs and others realizing they may be sincere in what they are preaching and are pinching toes. But I suffer no delusion that such preaching will turn America onto the path of righteousness or call our nation and its leaders to repentance in sackcloth and ashes. Those like Glenn and Lou have a bully pulpit but I remind myself that unlike America, Satan is not divided against himself. By all means, let’s hear our modern day prophets pinch toes wherever they can; but it isn’t going to save our nation. The dark forces at work are not confined to secret meetings in Copenhagen or the White House; they pay the salaries of those like Glenn Beck, Lou Dobbs, and Rush Limbaugh ever as much as university professors and those of the ACLU that are blatant enemies of America.

It was as a high school teacher in Watts that I discovered welfare was a way for “the establishment” with their hired guns, politicians, “to pay those people off for keeping their place” so long as they did not intrude into places where they were not welcome; places like Malibu, Beverly Hills, and Rodeo Drive. Now, Obama and Company sit on old Pharaoh’s throne and seem determined to make slaves of all of us, and eventually Americans will be reduced to the plight of those ancient Israelites and commanded to make bricks without straw. But I won’t be looking for some “Moses” from the MSM to deliver us from bondage. Only God will be able to do that, and I don’t believe America will fare any better than did ancient Israel after rejecting God and demanding a king to rule over them. And while modern Israel is a miraculous witness to God’s faithfulness to His promise to Abraham the only “friend” that tiny nation has, surrounded by enemy nations, is America.

The Weedpatch Gazette

Sat, 24 Oct 2009 18:49:25 PDT

It’s hard to beat graveyards, morgues, and mortuaries for “spooky.” Years ago when I was an undergraduate a friend and his wife were offered an apartment over a mortuary if they would perform cleaning chores and nighttime services like taking phone calls. Needing the financial help while attending college they took the job; but among their several duties there was having to turn off all the lights in the mortuary before ascending the stairs to the apartment for the night. Being the gentleman that he was (and his wife refusing), it fell to him to perform this task. There would usually be a body in one of the “slumber rooms” for viewing by relatives and friends of the deceased, and a floor lamp discreetly placed behind the open casket would be turned on for the benefit of such evening visitors. The doors of the mortuary were closed and locked by 9 p.m. which left my friend all alone to turn off the lights.

He once told me that one of the most difficult parts of his job was reaching over a dead body to turn off that last light and in the sudden resulting darkness keep from running as fast as he possibly could up the stairs to get into the apartment above and shut and lock the door. At that, it took his wife and him some “getting used to” sleeping over the caskets and dead bodies down below them. And, of course, there was the place where the embalmer (canoe maker) did his work, and the fellow would often engage my friend in detailed descriptions of his “art”

Whenever I would visit my friends at the mortuary, I always wanted to be shown the latest models of caskets. These ranged from the “black box,” of pine covered with such thin black fabric you could actually see the knotholes in the wood, hinges made of the cheapest sheet metal and the screw-heads holding the box together showing plainly. Mortuaries are usually required to handle bodies of the indigent, and the black box was made to the minimum requirements. Instead of a mattress, excelsior was used and the box was do shallow I did not doubt the lid would be resting upon the nose of the occupant. Opposed to the box were the top of the line models, some of them very costly.

On one of my visits the mortuary display room contained a marvelous rosewood casket priced at $3,000, and that was a great deal of money in the early 60’s. It looked so beautiful and comfortable that I asked my friend if I took off my shoes whether he would allow me to climb into the casket and see if it was as comfortable as it looked. He readily agreed, and quickly removing my shoes I got into the casket. As I maneuvered my body in the thing, it was indeed very comfortable but was a little too snug for my shoulders though I knew the legitimate, long-term occupant wasn’t likely to complain. Upon finding the most comfortable position in the casket, I folded my hands over my chest and closed my eyes, imagining being in this beautiful coffin for real. My friend suddenly said, “Stay right there while I go get my camera.” I did as he asked and the picture was taken. I wish I still had the color photo, but alas over the years since it somehow was lost.

We all have a fascination with death, knowing none of us will escape it. But there is no need to be morbid about the subject, and while I enjoy ghost stories I was never a fan of violent programs and films but rather the old black and white movies like Dracula, The Mummy, Wolfman, Frankenstein and the versions by Abbott and Costello though I do enjoy those by Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz.

While the old Apalatea house here that made #6 on This Old House list of most haunted sites in America, perhaps ghosts and spirits are found around Minter Field? I have many memories of that place having lived there following WWII when the base was open to returning veterans with families; and among my most indelible memories of the place is our coming across the Base Morgue. The following is an excerpt about the base from my novel “Donnie and Jean, an angel’s story.”

Thinking of Minter Field brought back many memories, including something that was familiar about my feeling in this neighborhood. Minter Field had been very interesting in many ways. Ronnie and I had several other children our age with whom to play and we loved exploring the huge complex of the base. One especially wonderful discovery was a tall tower that had been used to train pilots in bailing out of disabled aircraft.

Mounted on the top of the tower was the cockpit section from the fuselage of a fighter. An apparatus with a parachute harness was swung over the cockpit. You could put on the harness and jump out just like you were bailing out of a real fighter. But I was the only one who tried it out. I don't know why the other kids were afraid of it because it was a real thrill.

There were colorful and detailed posters of various aircraft in the flight tower and the base headquarters. One showed the field of fire for the guns of B-17s, Flying Fortresses. That was fascinating. It made me wonder how any enemy plane could get through such a withering field of fire? But I knew many had. The floor of the base headquarters had a huge American star, the emblem of Army Air Corps aircraft, inlaid in the linoleum and outlined with thin gold-colored metal strips. It was beautiful.

We would inspect the numerous, now empty barracks on the field. It was interesting to see stainless steel mirrors in the bathrooms. Of great interest were the numerous posters of various kinds. Among the usual warnings like The Slip of a Lip Can Sink a Ship, one that held all us boys spellbound warned about venereal disease and the proper use of condoms. None of us had ever seen such material before. Especially not right out in the open like these posters. Most of us didn't know anything about a condom until then.

Another thing that contributed to the excitement of living on the base was shooting jackrabbits, which were plentifully abundant around the abandoned airstrips. Many of the returned veterans had military rifles, some of which were Japanese and German souvenir weapons. Some nights, our step-dad would take me along when he and some of the other vets went shooting. For some reason, Ronnie didn't want to come along on these excursions. But regardless my experience with grandad’s .410 and .22, I was considered too young at the time to do any of the actual shooting with those high-powered rifles; but it was still exciting. The large bore guns really tore a jackrabbit apart.

I particularly remember one very large old jack being cornered in a revetment. These semi-circular earthen-works dotting the field had been built in order to park and protect aircraft. Caught in the glare of the headlights of the cars, there must have been more than fifty of the rabbits. As the men began shooting at them, this one big jack came bounding out straight at us. One of the men swung his rifle by the barrel like a baseball bat and smacked him with the stock like he was hitting a home run. The old jack had gone sailing off in a spray of blood. I wondered why the man would risk splitting the stock of the rifle just to kill a jackrabbit? But guns and killing were in the blood, it seemed, of many of these men.

I also remembered our coming across the site of a crashed trainer on one of these excursions. It had hit at about a 30-degree angle and buried itself in the earth clear up to the windscreen of the cockpit. I wondered at the time whether the pilot had been able to bail out before the crash? It was obvious no one could have survived such an impact. Had the pilot been an instructor with a cadet? If so, had they both gotten out okay?

Once while exploring our surroundings, we had come upon a large building with a sign proclaiming it to be the Base Hospital. Ronnie and I, together with three other kids, got inside and began to wander throughout the building.

Then we saw it; double glass doors with black lettering: Morgue.

That one word held us all spellbound. A morgue! That was for dead bodies! Wow!

One of the kids, I don't remember which, exclaimed, “Hey, I'm not about to go in there!”

But the thought of going into such a place fascinated me. I'd only seen morgues in the movies. And here was a chance to see one for real! Ronnie was tugging on my sleeve and exclaiming, “Donnie, don't go! There might be a dead body left in there! We don't wanna go someplace where they put dead people!”

But I had to see for myself. With the other kids hanging back, I pushed open the doors and entered the dread sanctum. There were a couple of long, metal trays mounted on wheeled frames like hospital gurneys. The trays were indented and had a hole about three inches in diameter in the middle of them. I guessed this hole was to drain the body fluids during an autopsy.

Then I saw the lockers in one wall. They looked just like the ones I had seen in movies. I knew these had to be the cold storage units where they put the dead bodies. Ronnie and one other kid had finally screwed up their courage and joined me. Curiosity had gotten the better of them.

I walked over to the wall with the lockers and opened one of the doors. Sure enough, there was a long, narrow metal tray in it. I pulled it out. Our imaginations were really working in high gear as we thought about the actual purpose of the thing and how many dead bodies may have occupied this particular tray and locker.

Then a strange thought suddenly entered my mind. I wondered what it would be like to crawl on to that tray and have Ronnie push me into that long, dark recess and lock the door? What would it feel like to inhabit such a cold black place, a place of the dead? Several words kept coming to mind: Creepy! Spooky! Morbid! Macabre! But there was no denying the fascination of the idea.

“Hey, Ronnie,” I found myself saying, “how about if I crawl up on the tray and you push me in?”

“No way!” Ronnie nearly shouted.

I knew there was no use arguing. Neither Ronnie nor the other kid was about to cooperate in the experiment. Just looking into that deep, dark tunnel and thinking about its purpose was enough for them, I guess. We all got out of there. It was a real relief to leave that building, no matter its fascination, and get back into the sunshine. I wondered why I should suddenly be thinking about something so spooky now? What on earth had called it to mind?

The Weedpatch Gazette

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 15:55:41 PDT

A recent thread following a post to The Bakersfield Californian blog site reminded me of a politician I knew well telling me he tried to get along with everyone. There was no use in my replying to him that what he really meant was that to do this he had to become a professional liar as that is the only way anyone is going to get along with everybody and the way politicians get elected and stay elected is to continue in league with Satan, the Father of lies. Ordinary citizens often find themselves in the same boat when they try to appear as “liberal” only to eventually be hoisted on their own petard, since they must engage in lying at some point in order for them to “get along with everybody.” For this reason, the Apostle Paul added the caveat that we should try to get along with others peaceably so long as it was possible.

“Batteries not included” might well describe the early hominids that first walked this earth millions of years ago, but never developed a civilization or into Modern Man. It was a scant some 12,000 years ago that Modern Man and civilization suddenly and abruptly appeared upon the screen of history. My belief is that the Genesis account is accurate in the facts of how this happened; that a hierarchy of the heavenly host took counsel and decided “Let us make the Adam in our image and after our likeness.” But it was when God breathed His own Spirit of Life into the Adam that this new creation was born with a living soul and one that may be described as “Batteries Included,” and gives real meaning to the words of Scripture “It is the Spirit that quickens; the flesh profiteth nothing.” Or, to paraphrase Emerson, this body, this mortal clay is only the container and vehicle in which we carry about the fire of life, the real person that lives in these mortal bodies subject to death and decay.

When my precious angel, Karrie (Karen) was a small child she once asked me; “Daddy, do dogs go to heaven?” It seems from the time she was born Karrie was to be a critter person, loving all creatures great and small just as her sister Diana did. My answer to her at the time was, “Sweetheart, all life returns to God, the Giver of Life.” To this day I cannot improve upon that answer, but can only elaborate upon it; which I have done at some length over the years.

But in the hereafter in the words of Jesus and sex being part of the curse of God on humankind, falling harsher on women than on men, there will be no marrying or giving in marriage but we will be as the angels of God. However, it is probably because of my advanced years that I can begin to believe this to be a blessing of God in the hereafter. As a young man I had other thoughts on the subject and there is no need to elaborate on those since I spell it all out in my book “Birds With Broken Wings” where the curse of sex is treated as a curse, but much of it from a different point of view since I was still chasing women at the time. But it isn’t old age alone that removes sex as being a curse in one’s life; children, while they exhibit an early interest in the subject are said of Jesus to be representative of those that enter the Kingdom of Heaven “for their angels do always behold the face of the Father.” So it is that Jesus told his listeners that unless you became as a little child you cannot enter into the Kingdom of Heaven,” and the harshest condemnation Jesus pronounced was against those that would do harm to a child. From this came my motto: IT SHOULDN’T HURT TO BE A CHILD!

The earliest humans had to deal with the most difficult conditions imaginable, and it isn’t any wonder that after The Fall as other generations began to deal with these conditions they would begin to call on deities of various kinds to help them. Eventually idol worship became commonplace and sex often played a prominent role in such “worship.” In Genesis 4:26 we read that with the birth of Enos, the son of Seth, “then began men to call upon the name of the Lord,” or, using the Lord’s name in worship as modern versions have it; but due to increasing violence as men began worshipping false gods and idols the Lord decided to destroy all of humankind, expressing His regret at creating them. But in sparing Noah, God allowed the violence to continue through Noah’s son, Ham.

In the first chapter of Romans in the New Testament we read that while men knew God in old times, they quickly turned to worshipping creatures more than the Creator and God gave them up to every manner of uncleanness. For this reason God finally chose Abram, later to be known as Abraham to call out a people that would follow the Lord and refuse to worship idols. At that, the only tribe left of the Israelites would be the Jews, the Chosen People who would become People of the Book and hated of all nations. But Jesus would change all this, pronouncing there would no longer be children of God found among just the Jews, but in all nations of the world. The Gospel does not discriminate, but is open to all who believe and put their faith in God as did Abraham.

But it still comes down to this; a child of God is not given to the worship of idols, and does not make an idol representative of God. The love of God, our belief and faith in God is proven among his children by their love for one another, not their love for the children of the Devil. And this is where politicians find their role in the scheme of things, lying by professing their “love” for everybody all the while practicing deceit of every kind in order to be elected and stay elected. And this practice of deceit and hypocrisy in order to “get along with everybody” is not confined to politicians. It is well said that a person’s character may not only be discerned by who their friends are, but by who their enemies are as well.

“This week on 'The Hal Lindsey Report': On this week's edition of ‘The Hal Lindsey Report’: the world's 17 largest economies held a meeting in London last week. Not coincidentally, these are the nations identified by the UN as the world's greatest producers of greenhouse gases. They were there to hold 'confidential' discussions as a precursor to the upcoming United Nations Climate Change Conference in Copenhagen in early December. It's interesting to note that the participants in the ‘Major Economies Forum’ were asked not to discuss the proceedings publicly. I wonder what they discussed that would be so controversial?”

I don’t have to be a fan of Hal Lindsey in order to benefit from some of his insights, just as I make a practice of listening to civilized discussion by opponents of some of my views and beliefs in many matters. But having read the full text of his report, I do find reason for concern that there may well be a global conspiracy leading America into the trap that Obama seems almost destined to fall into and drag America down with him. Whether or not, Obama still appears to me as an empty suit without a soul and determined to do the will of Satan in destroying us as a nation, bolstering my own opinion that the seed of America’s destruction was sown in slavery. For this and many other reasons, I still see America as “That Great City; Babylon” of Revelation.

The Weedpatch Gazette

Thu, 22 Oct 2009 12:03:25 PDT

Witches and conjurors, hexes and spells, gods and goddesses, magic, myths and legends are as old as humankind, and I for one would be the poorer without such things giving full rein to my own imagination and need to believe in things supernatural. What animates life and departs with death is without scientific explanation and remains the great mystery it has been from the beginning and we are fortunate to have an imagination, a characteristic of divinity that can entertain thoughts that facts lie behind much of what is passed on through myths and legends. I consider myself very fortunate to be able to allow myself speculation about all things paranormal and supernatural without hindrance by any orthodoxy that invariably fall victim to the common curse of confusing beliefs with factual knowledge. Over the years my beliefs eventually became amenable to change by new facts and knowledge, and these serve to expand my imagination and speculations accordingly.

We know the brutal conditions some people face in other countries; we see the starving children and adults and understand this world has been inhospitable and harsh for the most part throughout human history for those that have to depend on the weather, for example, to stay alive. I was born and raised among Dust Bowl migrants and heard the stories of Steinbeck’s “Grapes of Wrath” first hand from those that were devastated by that dreadful lack of rain they depended on for their crops. History is replete with examples of changes in weather patterns that have proved to be catastrophic for entire societies resulting in death or forced migration. With world-wide instant media we are made aware of how our species is depleting natural resources at a enormous rate, and I doubt a population of nearly 7 billion can be sustained. This together with unpredictable weather patterns naturally gives rise to apocalyptic scenarios.

War has been an unrelenting and horrid saga of cruelty and brutality of our species since the beginning with no end in sight. Now we are being told to brace for a pandemic of influenza, the problem being that we never know when we are being told the truth by any agency of government having been lied to so many times and no one in government from the President on down is to be trusted to tell us the truth since they all lie to get elected and continue lying to stay elected. And I credit Satan with being, as Jesus pointed out, the “Father of lies” since he was a liar from the very beginning.

The wonderful thing about myths and legends is that they are not meant as lies; they are stories, and the best storytellers were held in the highest esteem among the various cultures. The original word “Poet” meant “Maker,” and as such the ancient poets were our first historians. But to make a story based on facts memorable for the sake of passing on to other generations the early poets would embellish the facts not as lies but simply to make the facts unforgettable. It is only to be expected that without writing and relying on oral stories alone, the facts behind the myths and legends would become obfuscated or lost over a long period of time. Perhaps there was a “Homer” and perhaps Plato wrote a factual account of Atlantis; we simply do not know. But the myths and legends remain entrancing areas of continued speculation and scholarly studies.

Now we live in the modern world of computers and instant communications world-wide, we are literally drowning in a sea of both information and lies. Some blog sites like that of The Bakersfield Californian are open to “unclean spirits” that thrive on lies and insults, some are called “trolls,” and some are obviously cowards hiding behind their computers and are not happy unless they can attempt to make themselves appear important by demonizing others; one of the characteristics of the unclean spirits that seem to posses politicians. Since its beginning in 2006 I have become a favorite of those possessed by unclean spirits attempting to silence me on that Bakersfield Californian blog by unrelenting insults. For this reason, I do not comment on posts on that blog or any others where such insults are allowed a pass by the poster. But the Devil takes care of his own; as conditions worsen for America I expect those possessed of unclean spirits to multiply throughout the land and world-wide.

Control of a nation’s media is all-important to tyrants and despots and Hitler is a prime example of Satan and his unclean spirits taking over an entire nation by this work of the Devil. Now, it would appear those same unclean spirits are harder at work than ever right here in America, Obama and Company being at the forefront of this work of Satan in order to bring about the New World Order by subduing all dissenting voices. But the Bible does tell about those living in the End Time to expect an increase in demonic activity and whether one believes this or not, no one can deny that America is fast becoming inhospitable to civilized good manners and speech throughout and the threats against those of us critical of Obama and Congress are becoming increasingly blatant against the targets of Satan and unclean spirits.

But like the attacks against Russia’s poets under the Stalin regime, those that would not settle for anything less than telling the truth, we see the very same thing happening here in America. And in the past, many a myth or fairytale would be a veiled attempt to call attention to the works of the Devil through his unclean spirits possessing tyrants and despots. The same thing may begin to happen right here in America, and our “storytellers” may yet have to go underground or resort to subterfuges to maintain the truth.

Human history is filled with lies, it being all too true that the winners of wars write the history. Here in America, the universities simply revise history to suit their own satanic agenda, passing these lies through the schools and into the general population, one of the more prominent and successful lies being that America can survive without well-defined and defended borders, a national language, heritage, and culture. Well, I still believe the seed of America’s destruction was sown in slavery; and if so it is the Devil’s agenda to turn people against one another and give power to those he chooses.

Myths and legends of antiquity require very close scrutiny and study in an attempt to get at the facts that are the foundation of such myths and legends; however, these are worthy of such study since they are more to be trusted than the “histories” of tyrants and despots. As a result, I am increasingly drawn to the study of ancient myths and legends knowing the leadership of nations eventually fall prey to lying, unclean spirits; though poets take the risk as the Apostle Paul phrased it: “Am I become your enemy because I tell you the truth?” Or, as Melville so well said: “The truth; it don’t pay.”

Here in the Kern River Valley I still have not been able to get a flu shot since I am no longer able to stand in a line. We may have a “drive-through” at the hospital and someone would take me there; but I’ve just learned the company that was to deliver the vaccine says it never received the order from the hospital. So, after three attempts over less than a year’s time I may succeed in dying this time should I get hit by the flu or pneumonia since I am in the very highest risk category with my elderly status and very advanced COPD. That would silence my voice; but I still believe my time is in God’s hands.

Bad enough that it seems the stories about this year’s flu vaccine are obfuscated and not to be trusted, but when a hospital like ours becomes a victim of someone dropping the ball so badly even the personnel at the hospital are unable to be protected one becomes suspicious. The Devil’s work? I believe so; since in the end it is really all about profits, the domain of Satan. And if Obama and Company really wants to kill the elderly here is fuel to fire such speculation.

The Weedpatch Gazette

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 13:17:03 PDT

“I don’t believe in ghosts; but I’m afraid of them.” I never fail to get a chuckle from Sam Clemens’ astute observation about his feelings toward ghosts; how well he summed the feelings of many about them. But not many people know that right here in the Kern River Valley the Apalatea-Burlando House is #6 in the list of haunted sites at This Old House Online’s 15 most haunted sites in the United States.

Just in time for Halloween, our local weather guy Rex Emerson passed this on: “FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: Press release prepared by Silver City Ghost Town staff. UPDATE OCT. 18, 2009. Kern Valley Ghost Stories Sought. National reality show coming to Kern Valley and seeks eyewitness reports. With the Halloween season fast approaching, many people turn their attention to things that go bump in the night. A Hollywood producer has confirmed she is one of them. The Kern Valley has a reputation for having many ‘other worldly legends’ and supposedly haunted sites. The A & E produced series ‘My Ghost Story’ wants to hear residents’ stories.”

I attended school with Arlene Apalatea in “Old Kernville;” a lovely and quiet girl, she appears in the eighth grade graduation picture I include in my book “The Lord and The Weedpatcher.” I got back in touch with her after moving here to live permanently years ago and we would have interesting discussions about the old days; occasionally I would give her one of the books I had written, but at no time did we discuss any paranormal experiences by either of us. Still, I don’t doubt she has such stories to tell and perhaps she will share some for A & E, but she was a very private person as a child and remained so as an adult.

The Bible is filled with stories of the paranormal; but the Old Testament has it that witches were to be stoned to death, and there is a stern warning about consorting with “familiar spirits.” Ghosts have a prominent place in the New Testament, but while the attitude concerning witches seems without any great emphasis in the NT those thought to be such were still being killed toward the end of the 18th century. Thoreau wrote that despite having killed all the witches and with the introduction of candles and Christianity men still seemed a little afraid of the dark; and even today we remain fascinated, some even fearful of things that go bump in the night.

Though I am a believer in ghosts and spirits, in angels and demons, and have even written I live with ghosts what I really mean by that is I believe the spirits of my departed loved ones remain with me, not as Einstein’s “spooky communication at a distance” but in continued commune with these loved ones and friends and such things as spooky and distance have no place or meaning since to my mind they all remain alive and with me. I have no idea how I would react to an actual apparition and have no desire to call forth some shade as Saul requested of the “Witch of Endor” concerning the prophet Samuel. I am satisfied with my profound belief that because of the love we share for one another I will be reunited in a new body not subject to death with precious loved ones and dear friends in heaven, that the “circle” of love will be unbroken there.

It isn’t that I am without experience concerning the paranormal and I have seen UFO’s while camping in the desert near Edward’s Air Force Base together with other inexplicable things here on earth that defy any rational explanation. But the things I have experienced and witnessed have left me with a more open mind about such claims from others and I am not too hasty in dismissing them, though like most rational people I would like to examine the basis of such claims and am not so gullible I am prevented from being skeptical concerning many of these. However, in the end as I have said many times there are mysteries and anomalies enough right here on earth to examine and study that defy rational explanation to convince the most thorough-going skeptic without having to look to the paranormal.

I live within walking distance to Silver City Ghost Town here in Bodfish, and as a boy while living with my maternal great-grandmother and grandparents on the mining claim (now Boulder Gulch Campground) before the lake went in became intimately acquainted with all the structures that were moved to the site. I earned a dollar an hour doing pick and shovel work in the new towns of Isabella and Kernville as the old structures of the old towns were either demolished or moved to the places they now occupy. Admittedly some of the older structures like the jail did arouse my curiosity and imagination as a boy, but it was some of the structures that were not moved, like the old telegraph office on Sawmill Road and the stagecoach stop on Kelso Valley Road that gave me a feeling they might have ghosts. Occasionally I would get that feeling from some of the old miners’ shacks both here and those I would come across during my desert travels far from any paved roads that left me with such an impression. Ah, as I would often tell myself, if only such structures had the ability to tell the stories of their long gone occupants.

A precious line in the 23^rd Psalm goes “He restoreth my soul.” There is a distinction to be made between the soul and the spirit, and the Bible makes this distinction clear. The soul that sins will die, there is a soul to nourish or starve, to either keep or lose, and the soul of an individual is worth more than all the kingdoms of the world according to Jesus. I believe that. So I try to be as cautious concerning what I feed my soul as I am about either body or mind. But I also believe there are those, children of the Devil that are born without a soul, without a conscience if you will. I also believe there is truth in the Parables of the Sower and the Tares that Jesus told. The seed may fall on bad ground or be snatched away by the Devil, it may find unsuitable soil in which to grow, and Satan is busy sowing his own evil seed among the good and the cautionary words of Jesus remain, “Straight is the gate and narrow is the way to life, and few there be that find it.”

But I’m among those not bound by any orthodoxy and allow my beliefs and imagination a wide range in which to roam and speculate about many things including ghosts; and I count this among my blessings rather than being any hindrance to the nourishing of my soul and I accord others this same wide range. Somehow, I think Jesus would agree and I am really looking forward to hearing any of the ghost stories that no doubt will be told by some of my local neighbors here in the Valley as the stories become available. Though we read in the Bible that we are to keep our hearts with all diligence for out of it are the issues of life, and the children of God are not to be ignorant of Satan’s devices and to resist the Devil this does not mean we are not allowed to entertain a speculative and inquiring mind that remains open to things supernatural and may not fall within the parameters of our own beliefs, but quite the contrary.

When I was a child living on the corner of Cottonwood and Padre in “Little Oklahoma” a popular song being played at the time in Bakersfield on the radio was “Cold Icy Fingers.” One line of the song went, “Don’t mind your naked bones, can stand your hollers and your groans, but keep them cold icy fingers off ‘a me.” Perhaps some of the stories resulting from the call for such here locally will be of this nature, and I expect to enjoy them just as much as I did that old song. Who needs the TV and Hollywood versions filled with graphic gore and violence so long as we have the storytellers?

The Weedpatch Gazette

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 16:51:35 PDT

Goethe’s “Faust” and Machiavelli’s “Prince” are as current as they have ever been and continue to play a role in our lives. Nations today seem not to have improved on Emerson’s observation in 1841 that they lack direction and are without worthy leadership. Politician’s have been on the Devil’s payroll since the species first “evolved” for who would become such given the choice of a noble occupation as per Emerson’s observation concerning the species and those driven to be successful in the theater, radio, in Hollywood and TV, inevitably come to terms with the Evil One. The people with the power and money to make others successful have already made their Faustian and Machiavellian deals with the Devil and are “about their father’s business.”

“Losing world-class chemist Karen Wetterhahn to mercury poisoning redrew the boundaries of safety and risk.” By Karen Endicott; Senior Editor DARTMOUTH ALUMNI MAGAZINE - APRIL 1998. Dimethylmercury is one of the most toxic poisons known; a single drop on your finger will kill you, and as Karen Wetterhahn discovered her latex gloves did not protect her from that drop of poison, rather the latex proved to promote it to enter her bloodstream causing her brain to disintegrate much in the way of Mad Cow disease. At that time nothing was known about this characteristic of dimethylmercury, but as Ms. Endicott points out in her excellent article scientists don’t always know about these things until the harm is done. And this is how I view many of those lusting for fame, wealth, power and authority over others. That single drop of dimethylmercury always comes as part of the deal when shaking hands with the Devil and wearing latex gloves won’t protect you.

There is a Civil War story about a Union officer and the attempt to bribe him by a couple of men that wanted to get their goods past a Union blockade. At first he refused, but as the financial incentive increased in magnitude he is reported to have finally shouted to his sergeant: “Get these men out of here! They are getting too close to my price!” Ah, gentle reader, whether the story is fabulous or not who among us cannot help but relate to it as though peering into a mirror? If you are worth Satan’s attention be sure the offer will be made, much as described in the Book of Job.

Make no mistake; I do not consider myself worth the attention of the Devil; probably the reason I’m not rich and famous. Or, it could well be I have just made lousy decisions and choices throughout my life. Whichever, I’m not rich and famous and I do credit the Evil One for much of the grief I have suffered; but there has always been those attending angels I believe have intervened when I have needed them. In saying this, I allow some “wiggle room” to be suspicious of Satan having interfered at various times in my life and I do believe he “walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.”

The recent flap over Rush Limbaugh attempting to buy a football team called to mind his appearance on the Phil Donahue Show years ago. Rush had been doing well at the time on radio, but here was his chance to impress TV audiences and a lot of people including me were watching Donahue. But the issue on the show had to do with perverts in the military. Limbaugh had voiced his opposition to perverts in the military on radio, but when the question was put to him directly by Donahue and some in the audience on TV he waffled so much I cringed for the shame.

When Al Sharpton was running for President, I wrote at the time I liked him for his humor. After all, he was such an obvious racist and blatantly in your face showman who could possibly take him seriously? But at least he was funny and made me laugh by some of his sharp wit and humor. Too bad Jesse Jackson doesn’t have that redeeming virtue; there is nothing funny about his blatant racism, or the blatant racism of anyone regardless the color of their skin. However, the profit motive in which the Devil excels always holds the trump card despite appearances often being to the contrary.

But this is the America we now live in; an America which is forced to bow to perversion and threats of being called “racist.” Inevitably evil by whatever concept, Satan or not, remains to be overcome by good and that small drop of poison remains as deadly as ever. “Never take so much as a pencil that does not belong to you” my great-grandmother warned my brother and me. I’m reminded of a great friend of mine from the past, a Lutheran Pastor, telling me that in his salad days Billy Graham offered to become a Lutheran if they would grant him a program on “The Lutheran Hour.” So, none of us are above suspicion, though some resist the Devil better than others and in the words of Paul leave the things of childhood behind and in understanding become adults. There is definitely a spiritual dimension having to do with the kind of adult that grows out of childhood.

My friend Byron, the Episcopal Priest, and I get into many interesting discussions. He has great knowledge of history, and I often profit from this. But he sometimes becomes so engrossed in past history I have to interrupt and call his attention to the here and now. What is the point of a knowledge of history if it does not improve our condition here and now? It would be useless to ask a politician to deal with either the truth or specifics; they lie to get elected and lie to stay elected. But I demand more from my friends. So when Byron begins to stray we are good enough friends that I can ask him, “Please, what is your point?” In other words, if anyone is going to wax lyrical about history let them make a point relevant to the here and now.

At the beginning of the film “2010” the Russian scientist asks Roy Scheider to play a game with him called “The Truth.” For two minuets both men will tell the truth to each other. Now wouldn’t you just love some of these prominent people to play that game. That would be relevant and to the point; but as the good doctor said in Field of Dreams,”It'll have to stay a wish."

The Weedpatch Gazette

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 09:32:16 PDT

Of all shapes circles and spheres dominate and are given mystical significance by many people throughout human history. My Native American ancestors together with many other cultures and societies attached great significance to the circle, and J. R. Tolkien made much of such a fundamental shape as a ring. As a symbol of the universe, eternity, and immortality the circle has no beginning or end, and it continues to be the subject of mathematical studies. Though planets have an elliptical orbit, the ellipse is in fact a circle. Seen from the moon our “privileged planet” is a beautiful blue, white-dappled “marble,” but for those of us living on earth our sphere is filled with features like rugged mountain ranges and the Grand Canyon that are not seen from the moon.

Our universe might be a “bubble;” but imagine this bubble as a crystal ball, that when peering into it you see marvelous things much as portrayed by “Orion’s Belt” and the ending of the film “Men In Black.” Since Halloween is such a wonderful time to loosen the reins and free our imaginations from some tyrannical belief system and give ourselves wide latitude for speculation, there are not only dragons out there as per ancient legends, but worlds of mysteries to explore in the scientific realm.

CERN has had my rapt attention since its very beginnings and I have written much about The Large Hadron Collider; and it is appropriate to Halloween that I mention Einstein’s “spooky communication at a distance” in respect to particle physics and the LHC together with astronomers saying the universe is not only stranger than we imagine, but stranger (spookier?, though I prefer the term mysterious all the time liking things deserving the term spooky) than we have the capacity to imagine.

The “Big Bang, Dark Matter, Dark Energy” may all be spurious. Scientists and physicists are often wrong, but not to be condemned for being wrong. The honest ones are engaged in honest searching for answers to questions of great interest and magnitude.

Alan Boyle: Doomsday in Reverse? Is the future trying to save us from ourselves? A series of scientific papers that have been kicking around for a couple of years suggest that if the Large Hadron Collider ever were to find something that shattered the cosmos, the future universe might protect itself by sending a backward-causality wave to break the LHC, or at least warn us.

Sure enough, the LHC is broken - leading The New York Times' Dennis Overbye to wonder half-jokingly whether there was something to the claim after all.

Does that sound spooky? What if I told you that the idea of going back in time to derail out a world-ending particle collider goes back even farther, to a novel written about the fate of the long-canceled Superconducting Super Collider? And that the author of that book is a physicist who has been conducting research into ... backward causality?

To quote the actor Keanu Reeves, who has appeared in a couple of time-travel sagas himself: "Whooooa!" And just in time for Halloween!

Each piece of the puzzle is relatively mundane by itself, but when you put them all together, it could serve as the makings for a science-fiction story as way-out as anything you'd see in "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure," "Flash Forward" or University of Washington physicist John Cramer's book, "Einstein's Bridge":

* The papers on the LHC's potential effects were written by Holger Nielsen of Copenhagen's Niels Bohr Institute and Masao Ninomiya of Japan's Yukawa Institute for Theoretical Physics. They suggest that the LHC could produce exotic particles (such as the long-sought Higgs boson), and that producing those particles would somehow be so catastrophic that the event would send back a timeline-altering signal to avoid producing them in the first place. They even suggest that physicists create a card game that would determine whether the LHC is allowed to operate at the highest levels. The game would be designed with a minuscule chance of "losing," but if the physicists actually lose the game, the LHC would be limited to lower-energy collisions.

* Nielsen and Ninomiya's papers were published on the arXiv preprint Web site, which is a clearinghouse for all sorts of papers (including suggestions that the LHC could create a time machine or lead to a relativistic hyperdrive). Just because a paper shows up on arXiv doesn't mean it's so. The big reason why the papers are getting a second look is because a helium leak and electrical breakdown forced the LHC to go dark just days after it started up. That's an example of old-fashioned forward causality. Nevertheless, the shutdown, plus the fact that the LHC won't reach full power for more than a year, has led some folks to grumble that the project is jinxed.

* This isn't the first time a big particle-smasher has seemed jinxed. Back in 1990, the Superconducting Super Collider looked like the next big thing in physics - in fact, it would have been more powerful than the LHC. But Congress moved to cancel the project in 1993, due to cost concerns. Or was that the real reason?

* In Cramer's book, "Einstein's Bridge," the Superconducting Super Collider ends up getting built - but it opens the door to problems coming in from a metaverse in a bad cosmic neighborhood. That sparks a desperate effort to hold those problems at bay, and change the collider's timeline if possible. Without going into the details, I'll just note that a similar plot twist finds its way into another novel about the Superconducting Super Collider titled "The God Particle."

* Cramer is a particle physicist as well as a novelist and columnist, and one of his latest projects is to determine whether backward causality on a small scale is actually possible under the rules of quantum physics. At last report, he was still having trouble setting up the correct apparatus. But even if the experiment is a failure, he can still make use of the concept. As he told me a couple of years ago, "If it doesn't work, I will write a science-fiction novel where it does work. It's a win-win situation."

So what's the bottom line here? Almost nobody thinks the LHC poses a threat worth changing the past over. A lawsuit to stop the collider is still being considered on appeal, however, and as we get closer to the scheduled restart in mid-November, there may be a fresh surge of particle-physics paranoia. If that's the case, don't be surprised - and for heaven's sake, don't panic. (End)

Whether you can relate to cups of divination like those of Joseph and Daniel, whether the stories in the Bible like those found in Ezekiel, Daniel, and Revelation, whether God and the Devil, angels and demons, ghosts and spirits, the Mayan 2012 or Newton’s 2060 seem to be fabulous to you or not, there are enough like fabulous stories and mysteries in the sciences, our own planet and the universe to turn many skeptics into believers. And Halloween is an ideal time to allow our imaginations to consider whether Linus was altogether wrong about The Great Pumpkin.

But whatever your beliefs or disbeliefs, Halloween is also a good time to give some thought to the possibility of children of the Devil, the monsters that prey upon women and children as well as there being children of God. Life and death remain the two greatest mysteries they have ever been; and those that love are born of God. This does not mean a child of God has license to condemn those whose beliefs are different than theirs, but rather love others of the same spirit regardless of differences and I wish you a “Happy Halloween.”

The Weedpatch Gazette

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 20:03:06 PDT

During the golden age of radio before TV, we children read books and became storytellers. The best among us would always be in demand and gained an enviable status among our playmates. I modestly submit I was among these. But I was also a very attentive listener as most of us were to the great storytellers among adults like my great-grandmother. No one could tell a story as well as she could. So, perhaps it is in my genes. However, the best of such stories came from actual events, rather than pure flights of fancy. I recall a sailor during WWII had a host of such marvelous stories my mother told me later I was saying to him “Tell me another” as I drifted off to sleep. It is most unfortunate America has lost its storytellers; now children are exposed to sex, gore, and violence of every description and the tube spews out all manner of such even in so-called “children’s” programming.

Halloween is fast approaching; one of my most favorite holidays. My brother and I thought it was especially marvelous that our grandmother’s birthday came on Halloween; that was really neat. And in honor of this special holiday, I always dust off one of my favorite ghost stories because there are usually new readers from year to year not acquainted with it.

When I was a boy living on the mining claim here in the Sequoia National Forest long before there was a “Lake Isabella” and the town of Isabella for which the lake, a manmade reservoir, would be named had a total of 36 souls in residence, once the warm weather arrived I would move my bed out of the cabin and sleep all summer long under the branches of a marvelously scented old pine. It was sheer magic to be lulled to sleep by a balmy summer breeze soughing through the needles of the old, stately tree, making the kind of music only angels or a pine tree can make. We had no neighbors within a mile and virtually no one locked doors or windows in that time long ago, and reflecting on that simple life of simple pleasures long gone I recall a story about a husband and wife living in a remote area of Walker Basin not far from Isabella and near the historic town of Havilah.

There were some proud moments for me while attending the high school in the old town of Kernville before the lake went in, like my beating Bakersfield running the 880, when our school band would perform for local audiences and the principal’s son Billy and I would play for dances at the South Fork Community Center, the times when my music teacher Mr. Swadburg on piano and I with clarinet would play classical music for audiences around Kern County.

But the story I wrote for our English class about the couple living in Walker Basin was a proud moment that stands out vividly to memory because the teacher thought it so good she chose to read it for the entire class. Some of the old timers who attended school with me here in the Kern River Valley may very well recall the story. I especially glowed when Myrtez, one of the loveliest girls in school, exclaimed after the teacher finished reading it, “That was really good!” When a boy has done something that impresses a beautiful girl he isn’t very likely to forget such a thing notwithstanding the praise of a teacher; so, here is the story:

The incident occurred during the summer of 1951 when the woman’s husband had to make an extended trip away from their home in the wilderness. This necessitated leaving his wife alone; but the circumstances were such that she could not accompany him.

In those days seldom was any thought given to securing doors or windows, and those wise to country living knew how to prevent unwanted visits from local bears, lions, and raccoons disturbing people and their dwellings; common sense matters of prevention like never leaving food scraps about that would bait visits by wild animals.

Nevertheless, with her husband gone and admitting some uneasiness about being alone, the woman did take the precaution before going to bed of tightly locking the doors and windows of their cabin that first night of his absence. Then, confident all was secure she blew out the kerosene lamp on the nightstand, slipped into bed, and despite being all alone in the total darkness of the wilderness in no time at all was fast asleep.

At first, she did not know what it was that had aroused her from her slumber. It had been a noise of some kind, but she didn’t know what kind of noise? Even in the darkness of the forest night there were natural sounds to which you become accustomed; like the squeak of a mouse caught by an owl, the bark of a fox, natural forest and country sounds like those of a wilderness stream that somehow you become so accustomed they do not disturb your rest at night.

But this was no naturally occurring nocturnal night sound that had awakened her; of this she seemed certain in some unknown somnolent fashion of the mind. She lay there in the dark; beginning to wonder if it had been only a dream after all that had disturbed her rest, when all of a sudden she heard the sound! This time she was not asleep; she was wide-awake and immediately knew what the sound was! It was the sound of a guitar string being struck of the instrument her husband kept in the other room of the cabin next to the fireplace!

Nearly petrified knowing she was completely alone, the doors and windows of the cabin locked tightly, she lay there transfixed with fright not knowing what to do! A few extremely tense moments passed; then the unmistakable sound of a guitar string being struck once more rang out in the blackness of the small cabin!

A loaded shotgun was kept handy leaning against the wall next to the bed, and the woman despite her abject fear accepting that she must do something reached with trembling hand for the gun. She no sooner had hold of it than out of the darkness a string of the guitar was struck again! Loudly!

Easing her now shivering, quaking legs from under the covers of the bed as quietly as possible, she very slowly and deliberately sat upright; and placing the shotgun between her trembling knees she reached over to the nightstand in the darkness, then with shaking fingers managed to lift the chimney from the lamp, and though fearful of doing anything, fearful of making any sound struck a match, lighted the wick and replaced the chimney. No sooner had she done so than the guitar in the other room twanged loudly once more!

Summoning up more courage than she ever thought she possessed the woman arose from the bed, and pointing the shotgun toward the darkness where the guitar was located overcoming with great effort her fear-dried and constricted throat and mouth managed to articulate a shouted, more nearly screamed “Who’s there! I have a gun and I’ll shoot!”

The sudden sound of her own voice ringing out in the small cabin, her shouted warning nearly unhinged her! But there was no response to her shouted threat from out of the now dread blackness of the other room of the cabin. Then, as she stood there pointing the shotgun toward that fearful dark of the other room, a plucked string on the guitar rang out again!

Trembling all the while, fearing her legs would buckle and collapse under her the woman held the shotgun in her right hand finger on the trigger, and with her left she lifted the lamp from the nightstand; then with halting step though nearly frozen with fear advanced toward that dread dark room and guitar. Suddenly, there in the reflected light from the lamp she could see it! There was the guitar, now seeming to her more an evil haunting specter than a musical instrument, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace. But there was no one, no “thing” to be seen in the room! As she stood there nearly paralyzed by fear looking directly at the instrument a string of the guitar was struck forcefully as though by an invisible hand!

Nearly dropping shotgun and lamp, the woman jerked hard against the jamb of the bedroom door and looked at the spectral instrument in horror! Finally, once more drawing from some hitherto unknown depth of courage she managed to take a faltering step forward. With lamp held high in one hand and ready with the other to fire the shotgun pointed toward the guitar, her frantic mind was racing with what action she might be called upon to take, from what invisible force or creature she might have to defend herself?

When only about five feet away from the guitar she watched transfixed in fascinated horror as right in front of her a grotesque yellow-winged “something!” some “creature!” with hideous face, multiple clawed limbs and menacing, gnashing mandibles suddenly leaped at her with lightning speed from the dark bowels of the instrument and violently struck one of the strings! It was a large grasshopper.

True story.

Sam

The Weedpatch Gazette

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 15:21:22 PDT

One of several college courses I enjoyed teaching was “Cultural Anthropology.” An appreciation of cultural distinctives that differ from one’s own is essential to our own understanding of where we can improve, be better rid of, or the things where people irrespective of their different cultures find common ground. To be open-minded about cultures that differ from one’s own is a fine thing, but language remains the glue that holds a society or nation together. There is a very legitimate reason for a command of English being required of international pilots and controllers; without this requirement it would be deadly chaos in the skies. And no one denies English is the language of commerce as well, and despite the financial chaos facing America no other nation is able to take the lead.

As to the subject of language, the King James Bible remains the literary masterpiece it is because of its Elizabethan language. Without such a distinct form of the English language, Shakespeare would be a footnote of history rather than rising to such eminence in the world of literature. However, while no one would dare attempt a revision of the sonnets of Shakespeare, the Bible has enjoyed an array of improvements because of the dedication of scholars, archeologists, scientists that have given us increasing understanding of both the Bible’s strengths and weaknesses and shed increasing light on many things once obscure. That part of theology, Biblical criticism, is a branch of such studies that continues to this day and remains ongoing as well it should.

As with Thoreau, I enjoy a wide margin to my life; I enjoy speculating about many things though such speculation often finds me at odds with many orthodoxies of various kinds, most especially where dogmatism about beliefs whether those of religion, politics, race, science, etc. becomes tyrannical. There are too many mysteries, too many anomalies unsolved to refuse speculation about such things and my mind refuses to be bound by orthodoxies that rely only on what is believed or becomes moribund because of legitimate questions being disallowed.

Because of my granting myself a wide margin for my speculations, a wide latitude in which to question and explore things like ancient myths and fables together with mysteries and anomalies past and present, I often find myself in conflict with those that would be dogmatic about some particular belief, especially where such beliefs are confused for certain, empirical knowledge of the subject. However, my faith in God has to do with the definition of faith as “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen,” such evidence being this “fire of life” as Emerson phrased it I carry about in this mortal body. In this, I find myself in the position of billions of other believers, though many are without faith and I do not believe God is the “author of confusion” and does not countenance murder and atrocities being committed in His name, particularly since love for one another among the children of God is the single greatest criterion of being a member of the family.

As to studies involving the various hominids including Ardipithecus ramidus estimated at 4.4 million years the wide latitude I grant myself for speculation includes that of the Genesis account of the Creation of Modern Man. I speculate there were many creatures among those from which Adam was looking for a suitable companion and they could not have been “beasts of the field” but would of necessity be close to his own species. One may well have been the “Serpent” of The Fall, a creature beautiful and intelligent but probably female (I doubt Adam was looking for another Adam), as per the Jewish legend of Lilith and got at Eve in retaliation for having been spurned by Adam and having been cursed went off to await Cain’s arrival to spawn “children of the Devil,” and these being perpetuated through the line of Noah’s son, Ham; though stories of the Devil having intercourse with women through the ages perhaps explaining the sons of God intermingling with the daughters of men have been around long before “Rosemary’s Baby.”

But no matter how far back science pushes the emergence of hominids, there is no explanation for the abrupt and sudden emergence some scant 12,000 years ago for Modern Man and civilization apart from the Genesis account where the Adam becomes a distinct creation into whom God breathed His own Spirit of Life. However, even in this I give myself wide latitude when it comes to speculation about ancient and unexplained phenomena such as stone monoliths and other discoveries that defy answers. Tragically, the Great Library at Alexandria may have supplied some of the answers we seek, but that brings up the fact it requires a written language to comprehensively pass the knowledge of one generation on to the next and writing is of relatively modern invention, one that belongs to Modern Man and none others of the past. That the facts of Creation may be obscured by previous stories passed from one generation to another before taking on the written form in the Bible is to be understood and the proper subject of scholarly studies, but not to be discounted as though without factual foundation.

The special creation of the Adam as given in the Bible would certainly explain the sudden and abrupt appearance of Modern Man and civilization. My own speculations about the world being as per the Book of Job, and corroborated by Jesus, the dominion of Satan would explain monstrous creations like the dinosaurs, venomous creatures and weeds; Nature red in tooth and claw, tyrants and despots with the resulting and unremitting warfare throughout our history. I credit Satan with the power to create, but his creations were the antithesis of beauty. The lust for power and authority seems to have doomed Satan and twisted his mind grotesquely as that of the madness of Dr. Frankenstein.

I’m a strong proponent of Intelligent Design, and that includes our being bipedal since that gives a tremendous biological advantage in survival techniques and considered the ideal form even among those who believe in ET’s. But even being bipedal by itself did not result in the abrupt appearance of Modern Man and the advantages we enjoy from being civilized which includes the marvelous discoveries, arts and sciences ancient hominids never were able to accomplish. And I doubt it would have done any good to teach a doctrine of “nurture a tender conscience” to those ancient creatures.

In discussion with the resident cat this morning, I was once more taken by the belief that she enjoys my talking to her. It isn’t all pets and purrs; she actually seems to enjoy my speaking to her. Now, I have no empirical evidence of this being the case; but if you know anything about critters of various kinds, you have also noticed there is very real intelligence in their eyes. However, a conscience? Well, perhaps so; but I very much doubt it. I’m going to invite some notes by animal lovers trying to call me to task on that, but I stand by it. In my defense I will say my friend Mike Turner and I do wonder if the resident cat might not in fact be an ET, so if you want to believe your cat is a familiar I’m not going to argue the point (love that movie with Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak).

But conscience can be most unreliable, and this is the reason for the Scriptural injunction to nurture a tender conscience. Were the conscience of one the same conscience of all “From each according to their ability, and to each according to their need” would be a kind of Utopia. In practice, every kind of Utopian ideal has failed of its intended and avowed purpose because of human nature, a flawed human nature resulting from sin according to the Bible. But take away the Bible and sin, and you still have this flawed human nature that thwarts all attempts at a perfect society. In my opinion, the Greeks are to be commended for at least granting their gods some human frailties, and if God made man in His image there may well be some imperfections that religion typically denies being possible, but seems to have Biblical corroboration.

Ancient hominids seem not to have had the benefits of articulate, sophisticated speech or writing that has enabled Modern Man to achieve so much in such a relatively short span of time. But even among modern humans there are the exceptional individuals that have had peculiar gifts little short of miraculous and some have exercised their minds by what might rightly be called supernatural intuition resulting in some of their most remarkable discoveries. So the story goes in the Bible that God puts it into the minds of some to do His bidding. But I don’t hold the Devil short in doing the same thing as in the case of Judas, for example; though the betrayal of love and trust does not belong in the same category of Newton’s Principia or those God endowed with knowledge to build the Tabernacle in the wilderness.

Whatever your beliefs as long as they do no harm to others you are welcome to them by me. It is polite and civilized discussion and speculation for which I yearn irrespective of differing beliefs. That wide margin, that great latitude I allow for myself in my own beliefs and speculations I am more than willing to accord you the same. It is most unfortunate there are so many unwilling to grant this to others but “have to prove a point” rather than simply enjoy the society of others and thereby lose the things of imagination and possibilities that so enrich my own life.

The Weedpatch Gazette

Sat, 10 Oct 2009 17:46:51 PDT

“Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.” James 1:27.

Nature does not tolerate the weak, but “is red in tooth and claw” as the food chain demonstrates all too clearly, and even among the flora of our planet the stronger will overcome the weaker. There are many protective devices used among animals and plants that while weaker prevent them becoming prey or otherwise destroyed; among human beings, beyond sheer physical strength there are knives, guns and various items for both protection and killing. Nations have their arsenals of destruction, but in the atomic age weapons have reached the point of being capable of turning our entire planet into a wasteland.

The Epistle of James, like that of Jude, is one of the most powerfully written books of the Bible, and the verse quoted has to do with the most fundamental things common to most societies as to orphans and widows (that are widows indeed), and most societies attempt through laws to keep people “unspotted from the world” in respect to uncivilized behavior. And despite the male dominance, the Decalogue is pretty much the pattern of laws among nations.

James defined pure religion in a most succinct way, much as Jesus did in saying all the law and the prophets consisted in two fundamentals: To love God with all your heart and your neighbor as yourself. But when we begin to read and hear so much about how some elements of Hitlerian dogma is intruding into the healthcare reform debate it is wise, as usual, to follow the money; particularly when it comes to the elderly, and I write with a wealth of experience on this particular topic.

It has cost a lot of money to keep me alive these past months, a year come November. I’m among the fortunate to have the kinds of insurance needed to cover the costs; and I know the elderly like me provide full employment for hosts of medical and pharmaceutical personnel. As a group we are a great source of money and employment for the people and means of keeping us alive, so when I read and hear that Obama and some of his cohorts “want to kill the elderly” I am more curious about this than irate. If true, why would they actually want to do such a thing? If true, there must be a bigger game afoot than simply attempting to kill off the elderly. But could it conceivably be the kind of “game” Hitler intended in his attempt at a “purified” Germany?

Admittedly healthcare has become a Byzantine labyrinth of horrors when it comes to the paperwork and criteria. Like our Federal Government throughout, healthcare has become too massive, too fragmented, too often at cross purpose to manage effectively and efficiently. Reform is desperately needed, but that entrenched Byzantine labyrinth refuses any attempts at meaningful, effective and fair reform; this massive creature has, like our Federal Government, become too large to feed and when this happens in Nature the creature either adapts, is killed or dies of starvation. Since they are not stupid people, it is my opinion that Obama and Company have chosen to “adapt.” And this naturally leads me to speculate about the “New World Order” from a Biblical perspective.

Satan is a very real entity in the Bible, though viewed somewhat differently in some respects by Jews and Christians. I believe the Devil is very real and that those who are sold out to him are committed to do his bidding when it comes to shaping the world to the Devil’s purpose. According to the Bible the earth is Satan’s dominion, and he gives power and wealth to those he chooses to accomplish his diabolical ends. I believe Obama and Company are about their “father’s” business as Jesus said of the Pharisees and Sadducees of his time. Jesus, on the other hand, said he went about on God’s business as a son while declaring there are indeed children of the Devil.

Whether a believer or not most know circumstances like a comet or meteor, an enormous volcanic eruption, can change our planet in a moment and lesser though devastating disasters are a commonplace. Personally, I find it fascinating that Obama should receive the Nobel Peace Prize since the Bible says the Devil preaches “peace” while plotting for war, and when the cry of “Peace! Peace! begins to ring out “sudden destruction shall come upon them” in the End Days.

There is little the children of God can do about this but try the best they can to follow the instructions Jesus and James gave; do what can be done for those orphans and widows and live unspotted from the world. Since this world is not our home, it is very difficult to feel at home here; and because of Satan, keeping ourselves from his devices of entrapment is a tall order to remain unspotted from this world. Nevertheless, that is what God commands his children to do.

But butterflies and rainbows remain free and untainted for our enjoyment, the love I share with so many has no price and I can have friends that remain such whether we agree in some particulars or not. As the Bible has it, “A friend loves at all times.” I am more than a little blessed to have such friends.

The Weedpatch Gazette

Thu, 08 Oct 2009 11:43:16 PDT

My friend Byron, the Episcopal Priest, dropped by yesterday and we got into one of our usual and interesting theological discussions, during which he remarked many people including him considered my writing to be a “ministry.” I replied that I saw it as simply a job. With his intimate knowledge of my writing and my three close brushes with death in less than a year and believing as do so many that God keeps me alive to continue writing he replied, “Well, you still have a job.” You know folks; I think Byron summed it up for me. So, I’ll keep writing; I still have a job. That’s some comfort in the face of rising unemployment these days, though if someone were to ask how much the job pays I couldn’t answer them in terms of this world’s currency as when I punched a clock and received a paycheck.

As my tenure here on earth continues, there are many mysteries I would like answers to. I still want to know what is going to happen when they again fire up that Large Hadron Collider. I want to know the facts behind the many fascinating myths and fables, how “Modern Man” and civilization after millions of years suddenly and abruptly appeared in a seeming instant of time a scant some 12,000 years ago. I want to know if the end is the Mayan 2012 or Newton’s 2060. In my opinion, the world news would indicate Newton was being optimistic.

I’m a believer. I believe there are facts supporting the various myths, fables and legends; I believe the Genesis account of Creation, though I also believe as with the Book of Job there is a hierarchy below the Supreme God of Creation and this council of gods was responsible for making man in their image. I believe the great majority of people born into this world are born to no other purpose but to suffer and die, as with Nature being profligate with life casting thousands of seeds in some species in order for a comparative very few to survive and grow to maturity.

That the ancients could not see the stars with their naked eyes any better than we can, I want to know how maps of the Constellations and the Zodiac came about. I still want to know the facts concerning UFO’s, Psi, ancient stone monoliths, scrying, Nazca Lines, etc. and whether there was an Atlantis in fact. I am far from being alone in my interest in such things; exploration of mysteries and the unknown has been a constant occupation of many people through the centuries, and some like Newton and Einstein seem to have been gifted with a kind of intuition that defies any explanation concerning genius alone; it is an intuition such as the Bible describes God giving to various people appointed to building the Tabernacle following the Exodus.

To be a believer is not necessarily an act of abandoning reason and logic; though it remains a very difficult task, and for some an impossible task to separate what is believed from certain knowledge derived from empirical facts. However, since scientists are in agreement that the universe consists mostly of the unseen and probably unknowable there is great room for speculation about the supernatural, including ghosts, spirits, angels and demons, war in the heavens as described in the Bible and the Biblical account of Creation, and no one denies life and death remain the two greatest unsolved mysteries they have ever been.

It is said for good reason “There are no atheists in foxholes;” crying out to God in extremis is as natural and normal as breathing and I have been in many a “foxhole.” But virtually no one who has been as close to death as many times as I have and reached my age to tell about it can help but be a believer of some kind. For me the beliefs I hold begin with a belief in God and goes from there. Admittedly my beliefs have changed from time to time over the span of my life because I do not suffer the tyranny of religion as do some, but allow myself great latitude in my speculations about God and the supernatural along with the mysteries in stone and elsewhere right here on our own planet. To play the skeptic seems to impoverish the soul; and I would far rather nourish my soul than starve it. To me, skepticism, atheism and denying God and the supernatural diminishes the imagination, which I consider a characteristic of divinity. It is good to be skeptical about many claims of the supernatural, but it is not good to adopt being a skeptic about all such claims.

As to the hereafter, I believe The Creator and the hosts of heaven are not finished and require some of us for the work of a continuing creation. The Bible does declare some are saved out of this world according to divine purpose, and as the real artist is never satisfied they have done their best work but continue to strive toward that goal, so I believe God is not finished with His artistic efforts and requires some of us to achieve His goal. Preachers of the Gospel should emphasize that in their sermons: “Saved for a purpose!” And such a purpose does not consist of floating on clouds, plucking harps and shouting out “Hallelujah!” and “Glory to God!” all the time as though He were some despot demanding and in need of such.

Love, as does Evil, always has a goal. My hope of salvation rests in the love of God as shown through departed loved ones toward me and with whom I hope to be reunited as well as the love of those still remaining. But even among true believers there are the doubts and fears common to all; and if I were free of all doubts and fears I think I would be in real trouble. So I take the liberty of sharing my thoughts and speculations with others; as Byron pointed out: “I still have a job.”

The Weedpatch Gazette

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 14:08:08 PDT

Jesus said the evil of the day is sufficient without worrying about tomorrow and many of us know the truth of this. But reverie serves to recall some memories, and having survived the evil days of my many years and trying not to worry about tomorrow I choose to share something from a product of the past, my book “Birds With Broken Wings.” We have only to turn on TV and know evil abounds, but I would rather lose myself in the reverie of a man who has known some of the beauty of life as well as the evil. So at this stage of my life I’m not going to dwell on the evil, but at the risk of being anachronistic I’m going to share with readers a small part of what I have learned about love and romance along the way. While I have grown old, the things of my past life I share in the book have not; though they seem now to be lost to this generation.

ANN

I can hardly fault other men for not listening to women unless I make a conscientious effort to get their point of view myself. That this leads to some interesting things in my life comes with the territory. Unhappily, women are not used to being asked by men for their point of view. And, when asked, are understandably reluctant to say what they really want to say or have great difficulty articulating those things for any number of legitimate reasons. A primary reason being the fact that women have seldom been taken seriously by men when it comes to philosophy. Yet, philosophy fails by not taking women seriously.

When I express the fear of doing a solo when the music requires a duet, men like Soren Kierkegaard come immediately to mind. He, as with many like him, wrote a great deal about marriage, love and romance. But he did a solo when the music required a duet. And, lacking any real, pragmatic and empirical knowledge and experience of the subject, the music intended results in nothing but pontifical, egotistical noise.

Now I get letters and phone calls from women, I enter into interesting discussions with many ladies I meet under a variety of circumstances. And while all of this is useful and needed, I don't pretend that any of this will take the place of that One that should be there as a constant in my life to provide the kind of insight that I know comes from more than a friendly relationship.

As a consequence, I am most reluctant to carry out some of the thoughts I have on this problem into print. Not that I am afraid to embarrass myself, I've done that often enough. Not that I fear making mistakes, I've made more than my share of those. But in preaching against hurtful ignorance I am responsible to practice what I preach in the fear that such potential ignorance and the kind of mistakes that might result from it will only be noise, or worse, actually be harmful to others. And this leads to a major factor in the problem between men and women: Romance. I write a great deal about this obvious part of the equation. This book is a romance book; but it is factual, not fiction. And it is a graphic representation of that rule of writing: The difference between Reality and Fiction is that fiction has to make sense.

I was at the Club the other evening with my good friend Larry when she walked in. I'll call her Ann. She is a beautiful, vivacious, petite woman with dark hair and eyes that a man could drown in.

Seeing me at the bar, she took a seat next to me. We were delighted to see each other. We have known each other for quite some time but have never dated because she has a boyfriend. Yet, from the moment we first met there has been a something between us.

For some reason, Ann was willing to talk openly about this. The music was playing and we decided to dance. She was wonderful to hold. Soft, warm and sweet-scented as a woman should be, so small the top of her head barely reaching my chin she moved closer into my arms as we danced. Magic!

Then, a remarkable thing: She looks up at me and it seems right that we kiss for the first time. As we move slowly and gently to the music in a warm embrace, she says, “Sam, I can't give you what you want. But we can have this half as a compromise, can't we?” It hit me full-blown! I knew what was missing between Ann and her boyfriend, what that something was between us: Romance!

Ann has read some of my writing; she knows of my music, she knows me as a quiet, gentle, romantic man. And she knows I care for her. But Ann has a need, as do all men and women, for romance in her life. She is an honest woman and would never betray. In that honesty she says, “Sam, I'm sorry for using you.” She is trying to tell me that she intends to be faithful to the boyfriend, and yet she wants and desperately needs that romance in her life, the romance that he is failing to provide in the relationship. It is such a tragic, familiar story. It is the reason for the phenomenal growth of romance novels among women as they seek to feed their impoverished hearts and souls.

We continued to dance, holding each other tightly, both of us needing someone to fill that void in our lives that sex alone will never satisfy. Ann was made to be the music, poetry and inspiration in the right man's life. And that right man should fill her need for the romance she deserves in her life, that romance that is the responsibility of such a man.

I ask myself the all too familiar question of why the right man and woman have always had such a seemingly impossible task in finding each other? But I have to remind myself that it takes two artists working together to make it happen and keep it alive.

I know Ann needs the music in her life, I tell her she has the music in her and I feel it as we move together in an embrace. Her whole body responds to the music and it is magic, a magic that we both realize is working in us together in each other's arms.

Ann finally has to leave. But it is difficult for her to go, leaving such magic and go home to what? If I could only get the message to her boyfriend (and all the men out there of whom he is all too typical) that he better get his priorities straight, he better start showing his appreciation for the undiscovered treasure of such a wonderful woman like Ann.

That graveyard of shattered dreams of love and romance seems never to be filled. Yet women like Ann, with so much love to give, wanting and needing to give that love, seem never to have this love nourished and tended like the garden of delight she represents. Let her breasts satisfy thee at all times and be thou ravished always with her love (Proverbs 5:19) is a message lost to the majority of men.

In Ann's case, as with so many women I know, the music, the love letters and flowers are probably missing in her present relationship. The growing hurt of this loss, a loss such women as Ann recognize in their lives, may follow a course of growing resentment, and finally, the death of the relationship; a senseless tragedy for the both of them.

I tried to explain to Ann that I did not feel used by her; it was an honor and privilege to provide her some hope that there was nothing wrong in her need for a man to respond to her with the kind of things I represent to her. For myself, as a romantic and poet, I find a ministry, if you will, in assuring people like Ann that if they value themselves they will not settle for less than being cherished as a woman. And I never minimize the responsibility of women in encouraging that virtue in men.

In many cases, it requires women to pay attention to things like weight control, to their appearance and mannerisms, their language and the showing of their appreciation for things like fixing the car or washing machine. It is just too easy for both men and women to begin to take such things for granted and, consequently, taking each other for granted.

I will not be the hypocrite in denying my own so very human need for such things Ann, as a beautiful and desirable woman has to offer in my own life. And while Ann and I share a common belief and faith in God, we are normal human beings in respect to her honest comment concerning her not being able to give me what I want of her.

But she knows me well enough to know that she can trust me, that I would not seduce her; that I am known as an honorable man who will not use or betray a woman. Not because of anything noble in my own character which is all too human, but because I will not betray a woman or my children and others to whom I must remain accountable for such things. And there is the matter of my own belief that I must, ultimately, stand before the judgment seat of God Himself to give an account for my life.

It is in relationship with women like Ann that I maintain the hope that I will find that woman who will be able to abide the poet. As I've said many times, while I have met many women who love poetry, I have yet to find that exceptional woman who can live with one. And I thank you, Ann, for wishing that for me.

It is February and Valentine's Day is nearly here. How many women will receive the attention they should get on this day? How many relationships will be encouraged by this day in honor of real lovers? I wonder. I hope women like Ann will find their desires fulfilled by such acknowledgment from the men in their lives.

But women like Ann know that in spite of the commercialism of the day, in spite of the flowery cards and letters, nothing will take the place of genuine love and romance, of that cherishing that is proved by living it the other 364 days of the year.

I cannot adequately express the gratitude I have for the phone calls and letters women provide me as I try to help us, men and women, to find answers and attempt to contribute a degree of understanding, compassion among us regarding the problems in our relationships.

But, as only a man, and a very normal, human man in most aspects of normal, human needs, I confess to my weaknesses and failures without that significant other in my own life. But the wrong one would be a catastrophe. It might be that I have become too fearful of such a thing.

Part of that fear results from the fact that it cannot be legitimately denied women need, desperately, to be the softness and gentleness, the virtuousness men need to inspire romance. But we live in a violent world and society that is the antithesis of such things, and women are made to be hard and tough in areas where women were never intended to be so.

While it isn't very romantic, there is another common part of the problem of which the following story is all too typical as well. I was sitting in the living room of a beautiful young woman. She has three, small children and no husband. The ubiquitous tube as baby sitter was not working properly; a real cause of concern when you are trapped in a low-rent apartment complex.

A vicious chain of circumstances has robbed her of transportation; a common problem with the poor. When California passed the law requiring insurance for motorists she had been cited for not having such. Nor, like most people in her circumstances, could she afford it.

Her failure to provide proof of insurance resulted in the suspension of her license. She later got pulled over and the outstanding citation resulted in her car being impounded. It would cost her over $800 to get it back, an impossible sum of money. And the old junker isn't worth it.

As a result, like so many others she loses her car and cannot get her license renewed. With the care of the children, she has to prevail on others to go anywhere like shopping at the grocery store. This makes her especially vulnerable to predatory men who will take advantage of women and their welfare checks.

This lovely girl has only one outlet for entertainment, for some escape from the hopelessness of her situation: The local bar across the street. Here she knows and meets others in similar circumstances. She can play pool and visit. For a quarter, she can attempt to get a stuffed toy from the toy machine. And she has become adept at doing so. This enables her to give the children something when she returns.

The leadership of our nation, the leaders in churches should spend some time in the bars frequented by people like this young woman. Until they have observed and talked to such people, until they have listened to the music and danced in such places, until they have heard the tragic stories first hand, they will never understand the real needs of the people they are elected and sworn to serve.

It's for that reason I am so indebted to women like Ann for letting me hold her and share the music which is intended for us, the music and the poetry she inspires as a woman. It's for that reason I am indebted to the men and women who share with me so honestly their hopes and dreams, and the tragedies that are so common to all of us. S.D.G.H.

The Weedpatch Gazette

Sun, 04 Oct 2009 13:37:31 PDT

Sam Clemens isn’t the only one having to deal with rumors of his death being exaggerated. “Slugger’s Saloon” had been a fixture here in Bodfish for several years and the owner and I had become very good friends. A few days ago who should appear at my door but Slugger (Vivian) herself. She had brought a friend with her and upon seeing me laughed and loudly exclaimed to her friend: “See! I told you the SOB wasn’t dead!” Well, Slugger and I had a great visit while exchanging stories of the old days and especially those involving rumors and how you better get to the source before spreading stories about someone.

It is true that my death was supposed to be imminent when I went into the Skilled Nursing Facilities (SNF) here in the Kern River Valley; people are usually sent to such places to die in them and not expected to be returning home, so I could certainly understand how such a rumor would originate. I went into SNF believing I would not get out alive and made plans accordingly. But returning home brought a host of challenges I was physically and mentally ill-equipped to handle; among them something of what I believe to be the paranormal.

To my way of thinking, those that do not believe in or have had no experience of the supernatural are to be pitied. To believe in God, in ghosts and spirits, angels and demons, of those things of Psi are missing a dimension of their lives that enrich those of us that do believe. But even the most hardened skeptics must admit there are many anomalies, mysteries right here on earth that admit of no other explanation but the supernatural. Perhaps other civilizations once thrived here on earth to explain some anomalies, some of the mysteries, perhaps beings from other planets, but life and death remain the greatest of unsolved mysteries and what is often construed as religion is the most natural form of expression of beliefs. The Lord, prayer, the Bible remain the important things in my life they have ever been, though I struggle with many questions concerning these and put my speculations about these in print. But you simply cannot have the kind of people I have loved and have loved me so much and not believe in God; though a pen-pal, a science professor at a university in Czechoslovakia once wrote me he considered love only an evolutionary biological function intended to perpetuate our species.

The day of my return, which may rightly be thought a miracle in and of itself, had been utterly chaotic and made huge demands upon me physically and mentally especially living alone, so much so that I didn’t get much sleep that first night. I tossed and turned and had to get up several times to use the urinal bottle provided. But I was struggling with a left leg in which ligaments were still healing from a fall brought on by what I believe was a stroke and threatened to buckle if I put my full weight on it. A “walker” to get to the bathroom was out of the question since I couldn’t possibly sustain myself on it should this left leg go out on me so I was provided a wheelchair, though the “urgency of nature” precluded my using it for this purpose during the night.

The day of my return, September 22, was quite hot as some of you will recall. My good friend Mike Turner picked me up from SNF and I was grateful not only for him, but the A/C in his car. However, not only was there the exhaustion of the day but I faced a hot night in bed unless I kept a fan blowing on me; but the nights turn cold despite the heat of the day and this meant having to get up later and turn off the fan during the night; also, I had to remove my pajama top to get to sleep but had to put it back on as well. My little cottage is not equipped with the niceties of modern living like a thermostatically controlled heater or A/C.

Quite understandably I had to turn in very early in the evening while it was still quite hot and could have taken one of the “knockout” pills provided, but while I do not suffer incontinence I was concerned about soaking my bed as well as the need for putting on that pajama top and turning off the fan when the certain cold would set in later. All in all, it was a fitful and miserable first night at home and the following day I was in real distress from the loss of sleep leaving me little choice but to take one of the pills though turning in very early once more due to utter exhaustion, but still needing the fan and taking off the pajama top to get to sleep in the heat. I went to sleep about 8:30 and did not awaken until almost 6 in the morning. But I was wearing my pajama top, the fan had been turned off, and the urinal was half full. I did not recall doing any of these things during the night!

I’m a well educated man and I know there are many instances of “sleepwalking” and doing things unconsciously leaving no trace of such things in memory and the explanations for this; but in my case there was the problem of my very weak left leg quite possibly going out from under me while getting out of bed, but having to walk around the foot of it to turn off the fan and return to bed. Even my subconscious or other faculty of the mind had to be aware of this very real danger. So how had I managed to perform this precarious maneuver without falling during the night while having to be so very careful and deliberate favoring my left leg while walking, actually hobbling, when wide awake? This left me somewhat fearful.

Because of getting some much needed sleep Wednesday night I was able to go to bed later Thursday night. The day had not been quite as hot and still fearful of falling while unconsciously turning off the fan I took the precaution of not leaving it on, but I still had to take that pill and remove my pajama top in order to get to sleep. Friday morning once again I was wearing my pajama top and since I had not used the urinal I had obviously walked to the bathroom during the night. It is not uncommon for the elderly to get up during the night for such a purpose, but to leave no trace of memory doing so while favoring a leg threatening to collapse on you? And I don’t even have one of those “Alert” necklaces to push a panic button!

Friday night I was able to leave the fan off but still had to remove the pajama top to go to sleep. Knowing I sorely needed rest I took the pill and slept soundly through the night. The following morning I was wearing the pajama top and had obviously walked to the bathroom, since there was no “urgency” upon awakening. And once more, I had no memory of doing these things though even my subconscious must surely have known the danger my left leg posed in walking to the bathroom during the night.

Though I still face many challenges physically and emotionally by having lived to tell the tale, things have returned to relative normalcy. And while there are perfectly plausible explanations for the things I have described I believe in those “Attending Angels” still attending. Looking over my life as a whole, as far as I am concerned only these attending angels, seen and unseen, can explain why I am still alive after facing so many threats of death since birth. So why should it be thought odd they would enable me to get through those first nights here alone and crippled? The days I face are difficult enough without having to worry about getting through the nights without incident. So, I choose to thank the Lord’s attending angels including loved ones and friends gone on before me and the prayers of friends for my being able to do so.

The Weedpatch Gazette

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 14:40:06 PDT

Incredibly, some would say miraculously I am once more writing from my little cottage in Bodfish. In our small Dust Bowl church in Little Oklahoma, this would belong to that part of the service called “Testimony time” since I was taken to the Skilled Nursing Facilities (SNF) in Mt. Mesa expecting to die there and making plans accordingly. After two months I am not only home again, but deemed too healthy to be eligible for hospice care any longer! No one is more surprised by these events than I am.

“The Lazarus Syndrome” has followed me since birth, at which time when I was born on a kitchen table in the small house on a cotton farm in Weedpatch the old country doctor pronounced “God saved this baby, not me.” My maternal grandparents promised the Lord to give me the name Samuel and dedicate me to God if He would spare my mother and me. And so it came to pass, much like the story of the prophet in the Bible. These days such a story would seem antiquated, completely out of touch with the Norman Rockwell America into which I was born. However, back then such a thing belonged to an America that had not yet entirely forsaken God.

As with our ER and hospital here in the Kern River Valley, I can find nothing but praise for the people at SNF that restored me to health. There were so many “Attending Angels” like those of Hoffmann Hospice, all the nurses and aides that treated me day and night, to these I can only tender a hearty “Thank You!” though you all deserve so much more than that as do those like the friends that visited and so many praying for me. Those of you who deserve a “special thank you” will understand that to name one specifically would require I name all, and some are too humble to want to be singled out.

Though often nursing homes and places like SNF are “a place where hope goes to die,” places where some people are “warehoused to die,” some of them living in a private hell like an active mind but the body unable to respond, here in our Valley we have personnel and facilities of which we can boast to the world we are most fortunate to have the hospital and the various medical services, staff that genuinely cares about people most living elsewhere would justly envy. Again, my thanks to those responsible for my care, to those for whom their position is not simply a “job” but extend their love as attending angels to others like me.