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Tag: #musing

There Is Hope

Published by mhelbert on July 15, 2020

I opened my eyes on the horizon before me. The path that I walked led inexorably toward a reckoning. While I could not foresee all that lay beyond my vision, my mind’s eye caught snippets and scraps of the possibilities.

I was clearly aware that injustice had engrafted itself upon and within the very fabric of our shared reality. Powers that insinuated themselves as Masters of Destiny flowed into our culture as deadly gas permeates even the very walls that we try to hide behind.
So blind had we become to even the existence of these Powers that they could reach out and touch us without any nerve conducting the pressure to our conscious minds.

Yet, here I am.
So many years later looking upon the wreckage of dreams unseen; hope unrealized.
For the World that we inhabit is a world of our own creation.
It has been built brick by brick. The mortar mixed with the blood of the innocent.
The constructs of Race, Gender, and Class form the superstructure of this World.
The steel girders welded and riveted together in order to bear the weight of those Powers.

And yet, here we are today seeking to put a new facade on that structure. Powerwash the block and marble that reflects the Sun and creates a spectacle of beauty and truth.
Black Lives Matter.
Yes, they do.
The Glass ceilings that separate us by Gender, that hold Women in thrall to man-made servitude must be shattered.
Those enslaved by poverty, both economic and of the soul, cry out for emancipation.

There is a thing that Augustine, that august Bishop of Hippo once named. As he looked around at his World he saw the many Powers that existed even then. He pronounced judgment on them and named them:
Original Sin.
While his attempt to cast the Light of God on what he believed was humanity’s underlying curse, he was, alas, wide of the mark.
For the Original Sin that he saw was that of Innocent Humanity turning its back on the Paradise and Blessing of God.
No, Humanity has never been innocent.
In one version of the story when God announced that Humanity was to be created, the Heavenly retinue cried out,
“No, no, no!”
They knew that humans would be disobedient and headstrong and muck up the Very Good Creation.
Yet, God told them that they were correct. But,God would provide a way of deliverance.
God declared that all of the Cosmos would rejoice when Humanity came into its inheritance.
That inheritance is to share in the Reign of Jesus who is the King above all kings.

I saw in this that the Powers believed that they had all of the strength and wisdom necessary to make them invincible to all of those who would seek to usurp their authority.
They held Spirits of Politics, Economy, Culture, and all of the lesser gods in their hands.
“Nothing can stand against our might,” they cried!

Yet, in the depths of the hearts of the Slaves a spark burned brightly.
The Heart of God, that is Jesus, had been the point of ignition for these lights that burned within the humble breasts of all of these People.
And soon, a great conflagration had erupted.
It was a fire without heat that did not consume.
Within it was the Voice of the Almighty who proclaimed judgment against the Powers.
Their might was thrown down and destroyed.

A nice story, eh?
I could end it with,
“And they lived happily ever after.”

The reality IS that the might and strength of the Powers have been cast down.
Yet, the structure remains to this day.
It is this structure that is yet to be dismantled and hauled out to sea where it may be useful as a haunt for fish.
Then, perhaps, we will all find freedom.
Until then, we must continue to let the fire that has kindled within us grow. We fan those flames as we march and sing and hold each other up, not simply as equals, but as Sisters and Brothers with Love and Respect and Honor.

The good news is that the Powers have been disarmed.
The better news is that we are ABLE to stand against the structure that the Powers thought was too strong to fail.
It has.
Now we must work to tear it down.

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Tuesday Morning Musing_7-14-2020 Version

Published by mhelbert on July 14, 2020

Call it Information Overload.
Call it stuck in the News Cycle.
Call it George.
Whatever it’s called, it has caused my brain to be constipated.

Eyes have not seen; Ears have not heard all of the crap floating around in the air.
Well, maybe that’s not entirely accurate.
After all, there is truly nothing new Under the Sun.

But, all at once?
I find that I must bore a hole in the back of my brain in order to let some of that stuff that’s clogging up the neural pathways to leak out.
I had a Bag-O-Poop stuck to my belly to catch and dispose of the waste.
Now, I need one of those to stick to my head to catch the crap that I must allow to escape.

To wear a mask, or to NOT wear a mask.
That is the question.

Do Black Lives REALLY Matter?

How many verifiable lies have flowed from the halls of power today?

The Russians did WHAT?!?

How many people died in the last 24 hours from Covid?

Are those our local police? Or, is the the local Militia?

Who to trust; who to listen to?

Am I stuck in an echo chamber in which the same ideas that I hold simply bounce and rebound around the walls until I am lulled into a stupor, a complacency that renders me useless?

At what point must I scream,
ENOUGH?!?!?

I don’t know.
Truly, I don’t.

So many thoughts about Justice and what it might look like in our culture.

Where in the World is Carmen Sandia….Wait…
No, Where in the World is God?
Has the Holy Spirit gone to Jamaica for a vacation and a sip of rum?
Where are the people who claim to follow Jesus?
You know, the ones who have stood up at the altar with tears streaming down their faces calling out and professing their personal fealty to the King of kings?

All is silent.

All is calm.

Except for my soul.

It twists and turns trying to see the promised redemption of the Cosmos.
It cries out to Yahweh in hopes of an answer; a whisper of hope.

It is beyond my strength to sit and do nothing, though.
For me that would be to seriously Miss the Mark and fall short of the Glory that God prepared for all of us to share in.
But, I must admit that I am tired.
My brain is saturated.
I don’t know where or how to start to release all that is pent up within those Little Gray Cells.
Perhaps, this is a start.
Just maybe simply sitting and throwing words up in the air to see where they may fall will begin a cascade of something meaningful.

Or, maybe I’m just kidding myself.

We’ll see.

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Color Blind?

Published by mhelbert on July 6, 2020

Last week I wrote how my Dad reacted to the murder of MLK.
My Dad grew up in a small town where there were few, if any, African Americans.
He was a child of his time.
Jim Crow was still the rule of the Land, if not the actual Law.
Blacks were viewed not only as “Other,” but as “Less Than.”
Outside of a few city slicker, bleeding hearts no one even thought twice about it.
Most folks were like my Dad simply trying to get their piece of the American Pie.
They really had no time to think about things like Equal Rights and Red Lining.
Hell, I’m pretty sure my Dad went to his grave having never heard of Red Lining!
No one cared.
Period.
They had their own worries and concerns.
“Blacks? Who cares? Let them worry about themselves. That is, as long as they don’t show up in my neighborhood!”

My first contact with Blacks was when I was a very young child. I lived in a lily-white world. Except, on garbage day.
That’s when the Negroes came down our street with the garbage truck to collect the stuff that we no longer wanted.
The Garbage.
Imagine my young, white mind seeing this.
My dad went to work somewhere magical every day.
Negroes collect garbage.

Of course, my parents never said anything to dispel that thought.
As far as they were concerned my observations were spot on.
Negroes collect garbage.

Throughout my youth I never had any other real contact with African Americans.
Oh, yeah, they showed up on the news fairly regularly.
But, with Dad’s commentary in my ear, there were no positive images seen or understood.

That is, until Music.

I remember the first time I heard “Green Onions” by Booker T. & the MG’s.
Holy Shit!
What was that sound?
Do you feel that?

First the ears, then the eyes Opened!

Later, who’s that guy with the ‘fro?
Jimi Who?
Oh. My. God.
Is that a guitar?

Mind. Blown.

The circuits in my brain began to search for new pathways to describe and explain the cognitive dissonance that I experienced.
I had always heard that Blacks were something, (note “something,” not “someone”), to be at best ignored. They had no talent or ability that would interest a white person.

But, Bloody Hell!
That guy could Play!

I picked up B.B King, and Albert King.
Fats Domino and, of course, the King of Soul…James Brown.
(My Dad had no use for Brown. He referred to him as a Screaming N-R.)

Once on a journey to the hinterland of Cleveland Public Hall to relish the sweet sounds and harmonies of Three Dog Night, I heard nature’s call. When I got to the Relief Portal I found that all of the stalls had a coin slot on them. So, now it costs a buck for a coke and a quarter to get rid of it. They had us coming and going.
However, one young man, about 6 feet tall and ebony of hue, wearing a sheepskin vest and a wide-brimmed hat held the door open for me. “No way someone should have to pay to piss.”

More of the instilled hatred that my Father tried to pass on to me was flushed away.

Yet, my destiny seemed to be in following my white forebears through life. I got a job with a mostly white business. That business busied me for the next 40+ years. I had limited contact with folks who did not look like me.
I found myself engulfed in the cultural tsunami that was Ronnie Reagan.
Yes, I have repented of my youthful foolishness. My back striped from self-flagellation.
But, the mantra of that time was, that nothing was more important than the economy. And, that economy is ‘Color-Blind.’
That meant that everyone and anyone had equal access to the same prosperity. All you had to do was work hard at it.
See!
Color Blind!

Unless, of course, you were one of those Welfare Mothers who became baby factories for no other reason than to suckle on the Government Teet.
Or, you were one of those crack head, absentee fathers who stuck his dark wick into any willing receptacle. Of which, there were apparently an endless supply. (See Welfare Mother.)

No. Racism didn’t die when the laws changed.
White folks thought it did.
That’s why white folks invented the term Color Blind.
You see, Lady Justice wears a blindfold. So, if the Law says ‘Equal,’ then that means that 400 years of oppression suddenly vanishes. Just like that White Jeannie with the skimpy harem outfit and the blink and nod thing. Gone!

Now that I’m older, so much older…
I see that the only color that white folks are blind to is White.
Yeah, I know that technically White is the absence of all color, but play along.

Who was it that affixed the moniker “Red Man” to indigenous Americans?
What group of people colored the Asian “Yellow”?
What enlightened culture labeled an entire continent, “The Dark Continent”?
Oh, you thought that was because of the deep, dark jungle?
Yeah, probably not entirely.

White people, the squeaky-clean, sparkling progenitors of everything good and worthwhile in the world have done more to demean and destroy anyone, or any culture, that may seem to set them in a poor light.
White folks can’t stand to be “Losers” or “Also Rans” or anything less than King of the Hill.

But, in more ways than we care to admit.

We are.

Actually, that pretty much sums this up.

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Musing on a Thursday Morning in July

Published by mhelbert on July 2, 2020
Hmmm…….

I’m not really sure when it all began. I suppose part of it was when my elementary school teachers started telling my Mother the myth of my under-achieving abilities.
“He’s not living up to his potential,” they all agreed.
Yet, none of them could seem to tell us what that potential was. It was an elusive Olympus that created a legend of gold flowing from my mind only to be flushed away as so much waste after too many baked beans.
Legends die hard, though.
You see, even though the adult experts in my life told the myth, the results told a different tale. If I was indeed squandering this God-Given Gift, then why was I still in the upper 98th percentile on all their guiding metrics? Why did those quarterly reports of every student’s academic worth constantly contain the only vowel allowed?
I could coast and still bring the gold.
Yet, I was never able to make the Powers happy.

I did have one or two teachers throughout who thought that they could play the game better than I could. One, in particular, thought that by giving me and incomplete in his class would awaken the hidden genius within. So, even though I scored the highest of anyone he had ever taught on the season-ending Final Exam, he made good on that with a great big “I.”
So, I figured, I’ll show him. I signed up for his class the following year.
And, proceeded to receive another “I” for Idiot.
Not even that stopped me. I graduated well above average in my class in spite of doing only about half of the work.
Maybe they pitied kids like me.

Part of my issue, well maybe, more than part, was my inability to respect authority. I was a rebel from the beginning. I viewed most rules as mere suggestions. They were not meant to be bent or broken. They were simply beneath my consideration. Especially, the ones that made on sense other than, “because I told you so.”
This attitude could have cost me dearly. But, I also developed an ability to speak the language. My dad had a sign at his desk where he worked that read, “If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, then Baffle them with Bullshit.”
I found that I was able to do both.
Not a great combination for someone with a larger than life sense of Self.

But, that wasn’t really an accurate assessment.

I was, (and Am), extremely insecure. I developed the persona of a rebel thinker mostly because no one else at that point in my life had staked out that patch of real estate.
I could hold my own with anyone who thought that they could actually reason with me. The ones that I had problems with were the people who wore their Bullshit Monitors. They didn’t speak my language at all. So, we developed a kind of mutual understanding. I wouldn’t BS them; they wouldn’t kick my ass. That worked pretty well.

As I grew older I met others who were far more human than me. I was just a little shit who could talk his way out of a beating. These others, who stood head and shoulders above me in awareness, were aloof to all of the petty crap that I tended to wallow around in. These were the ones who had read about the “Bay of Pigs,” and who knew about Jerry Reuben and Abby Hoffman. They were the intellectuals who were “woke” long before that term meant something other than what we all did in the mornings. They were the people who understood what that first “Moratorium” was about.

I, on the other hand, was trying to figure out how to get a girl to like me. I joined a band when I was 12. I was the rhythm guitarist. Which in my mind meant, Second Fiddle. For someone who had achieved greatness in his own mind, that was simply not going to fly. So, I left that band and through myself into playing the instrument. I strapped on my guitar when I walked in the house after school and it didn’t come off until I went to bed. I practice 8 hours every day and more on weekends. I played the grooves off of Jimi Hendrix, Steppenwolf, Led Zepplin, and James Gang.
This was the first time in my life that I actually gave myself wholly to any endeavor.
Eventually, my work paid off as I became a bonafide lead guitar player who could jam for hours with anyone. I had worked into a niche where I refused to learn other players’ solos. That was their voice. I developed my own. Improvisation ultimately led me to listen to other players.
Phil Keaggy from a local band called Glass Harp opened my mind to the limitless possibilities of the instrument. Al DiMeola, Joe Pass, Herb Ellis, Steve Howe, and other players ushered me into the world of Harmonic Melody and piano style. Vast horizons of the Ether became accessible.

Yet, I was always what my dad called the “Also Ran.” You know, Johnny came in first place. Mike also ran.

Here I was, destined for greatness. I mean, just ask my third grade teach and my Mom! But, I got a job, joined the union, and put a sign on my desk in 1980, “Vote Republican for a Change.”

What happened?

One day I was watching as Sirhan Sirhan assassinated Bobby, James Earl Ray murdered Martin, and Chicago erupted while Mayor Richard J. Daly sat at the Democratic National Convention with his arms crossed not realizing that the world was giving birth to something new.

In all honesty, I was a thirteen year old kid whose dad muttered something about, “about time someone did something about that N——r” when MLK was cut off from the living. I didn’t understand any more than Daly what was happening. Hell, I just played the songs! I didn’t really listen to the lyrics. Even as young people fell on the grass and concrete of Kent State a few years later, I was more concerned about learning CSNY’s “Ohio” than about the message that Neil was shouting to us.
“Wake up!” he was saying.
“What key is this,” is all that I heard.

So, I guess it wasn’t at all unnatural for me to join the crowd of Republicans in the 80s. After all, the revolution never really got off the ground. Woodstock was the last hurrah of a tribe of coddled, over-indulged white kids who found out all too quickly that what was said in “Cabaret” was all too true; ‘Money makes the world go around.’

Maybe that deep sleep overcame many of us.
We “grew fat and got lazy” as John Kay accused us.
I don’t know for sure what kind of haze enveloped my mind. It certainly wasn’t Purple. I lost many years bowing to a god that was less than even my own ability to underthink and underachieve.
It took crisis to put a fire under my ass.
I walked into that fire and got burned.
The scars are still visible. And, to my ever living shame, burned those whom I love.
But, that’s another story for another time.

I believe that I’m opening my eyes a bit. The sun is shining through the windows of my heart and bring warmth. It’s also illuminating the dust and cobwebs that have accumulated in a rather lackluster lifetime.
But, there are also some gems set in gold lying about that shine with brightness of burgeoning hope.

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Thursday Musing

Published by mhelbert on April 2, 2020

First, I gotta tell you that yesterday was pretty rough.
I shared a bit about how beginning this new phase of life was, well, a tad anticlimactic.
So, I pretty much slept all day.
I do that sometimes when the melancholia shows up to play.

But, here we are!
Another day to try again.
While I’m still not feeling great, (I’m sure that the fact that my body is still pretty weak isn’t helping), I am up and actually accomplishing things.
So, that’s a good thing. Right?

There have been so many thoughts and ideas coursing through my brain over the last month that I have not been able to keep track of them.
So, let me just get some of them out there for your consideration.

Many of my thoughts have drifted toward God and what God may desire for me personally. But, also for us as a species in a rather chaotic period.
I spoke with one friend yesterday who said that he didn’t know what God was up to. But, God must be up to something Big!
I don’t know. I really don’t think so.
I wrote in another place that things like illness and disease are simply the product of evolution. They “Happen” because that’s what goes on in our natural world.
I’m all for giving God credit when it’s due. But, stating that God is using such things to get our attention or judge sin or whatever cult-du-jour idea you want to use is not only not helpful, but borders on blasphemy.
God has always, and ONLY, promised to be Present with us in these times. To that I can bear witness. God has walked with me, mourned with me, felt my pain and anxiety, and held my hand during this time of distress.
God will surely continue to do that as we slog our way through the days of coronavirus.

I am a die hard separation of church and state person. While I realize that individuals will carry their worldviews with them wherever they go, including the public square, it is dead wrong for any one person or group to impose their particular beliefs on anyone else.
Period. End of discussion.
That’s why it really, REALLY, pisses me off when I read and hear about religious organizations that think that quarantine and stay at home orders are for everyone except them. These misguided idiots think that their particular religious group is somehow “Essential” in the same way that grocery stores and pharmacies are.
Hey, Numb Nuts!
You’re not!
They endanger not only those who attend their open services, but all of the other people those folks will come in contact with.
If they truly want to embody their so-called love, they will shut their doors until this is all over.

Finally, I want to again thank all of those people who have shared their concern over my health. I really appreciate every one of you.
I do hope that I never need to return the sentiment. But, if I do; I will.

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Another Messy Monday

Published by mhelbert on January 20, 2020

Yeah, that title doesn’t have the ring to it that The Bangles song did.
But, for those of us in Northern Ohio it is appropriate. The Lake Erie snow machine fired up over the weekend to spill snow and yuck over many parts of the area. Snow, slush, ice, and road spray are ubiquitous during these events. Cars and trucks find it hard to stay between the white lines and ODOT has difficulty keeping up. So, it’s a mess.
You’re welcome.

I spent a good share of the weekend catching up on some reading and study. Saturday and Sunday A.M. early I prepared for the weekly Bible study at St. Barnabas. We have been following the Revised Common Lectionary in the study since it began last June. It’s been a lot of fun digging into these ancient texts to see what nuggets can be mined for us today. If you’re ever in the area at 9 A.M. on Sunday, stop by!

Yesterday, after church, I got home and cleaned a bit. Then, built a fire because of the above mentioned Mess Maker that was happening. I sat in my recliner, (Yeah, life’s hard. I know it!), broke out my laptop and several books, and spent about 4 or 5 hours prepping for a class on Centering Prayer and Meditation that I will be leading Tuesday evening. It’s going to be a kind of Introduction to Contemplative Prayer 101.
We spend so much of our lives rushing here and there. When we talk to God, IF we talk to God, it’s usually in a gush of complaints, wants, and desires. We seldom stop. Breathe. Sit. Shut up. Listen. The prayers that we are going to learn about, and actually practice, this week are designed to give us space to simply ‘Be’ in God’s Presence.
So, for anyone who reads this and is in the area, you are more than welcome to stop in this Tuesday, Jan. 21, at 7 P.M. at St. Barnabas in Bay Village, OH.
We would love to share time with you.

This morning in my own quiet time I was acutely aware of my own shortcomings and failures. They loomed in front of me like a wall of granite. I could not see the top of the wall, nor the ends of it. The barrier seemed insurmountable to me.
So, I did what I do best.
I whined about it.
I know that I tend to say and do things impulsively that I immediately regret. I dwell on these until I have nearly convinced myself that God made a huge mistake letting me join the Club. Who would want someone like me around? Someone driven by desires and passions that are antithetical to all of the purity that the Scriptures seem to require of us.
I have been, and continue to be a failure, unworthy to tie the laces to Jesus’ Chuck Taylors.
That’s when I saw an image of God in my mind. Yeah, God is my imaginary Best Friend. Deal with it. Anyway, God’s eye had a gleam as God smiled and slowly shook God’s head. The God said, “You do realize that by My power I raised Jesus from the grave? And, that I formed a new body that He indwells to this day, right?”
I stopped. The realization that my fears, failings, and foibles simply could not be as earth shaking as my mind made them suddenly came upon me.
Yeah, I fail. That’s what I do best.
But, God’s Good Grace and Mercy are more than sufficient to lift me and set my feet back on the Path.
I God is able to do such for me, I know that God is more than capable to lift all of us.

Anyway, those are some thoughts that I have today.

What are some of yours?
Feel free to share in the comments.

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Monday Musing

Published by mhelbert on December 16, 2019

Awakening, the dawn yet hours away.
Eyes closed, yet wide open as I search for You.
Ears alert to the sound of Your feet shuffling toward the veil.
Will You draw it back today?
Will I feel the warmth of Your Presence as You enter my world?

Only the slight sound of Wind against the windows.
Otherwise, silent.


Wait.
Patience.
Endure.
These are the creatures that inhabit the Cosmos!
I see them with my eyes and hear them with my ears
Every moment.
Every day.

When, my Friend?
Shall we walk together and speak of things long gone?
Perhaps, those yet to come.
Yes. That would be appropriate.
Where shall we go from here?

Here I am.

Walking in a cloud.

Unknowing.

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Wednesday Morning Musing

Published by mhelbert on December 4, 2019

“How big is God?” the young child asked.
I scratched my chin and thought.
“Well, Peter Gabriel thinks that God is a Really. Big. God,” I mused to myself.
The god that I used to pray to was pretty small, I guess.
That god was always pissed off at the pettiest things. He was the Cosmic Grumpy McGrumperson. He seemed ready to just send everyone to Hell and take names later.

Then, I realized that God isn’t like that at all.
No, God is as big as the Cosmos.
God’s love extends beyond the reaches of the Universe.
God laughs!

“My child, God is bigger than your imagination.
God smiles as God hides inside a Nebula.
God puts Diviner hands over God’s laughing eyes and plays
Peek-a-boo with a comet.
God races across the Cosmos to send a Pulsar spinning like a top.
Yet, God finds Joy resting within your little heart.
God wraps up in your love and your desire just as you wrap yourself in your favorite blanket.”

“So, how big is God?”

“As big as you need God to be.”

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Back to Work

Published by mhelbert on January 2, 2019

Hey! Any New Year resolutions out there?
Any that haven’t been broken yet?
I resolved many years ago not to make any. That way I don’t break them. Besides, if a resolution can’t be turned into a consistent lifestyle change it’s only a fad. I try to stay away from those. When I was younger and followed the fad du jour all I did was spend a lot of money on clothes that I would wear for a month. Then, off to Goodwill or something. I had to make room for the newest fad for whatever.
I do hope this year to work on the Grumpy McGrumperson thing. Not so that I get better at being a Grump. I want to de-Grump a bit. We’ll see. I’m really good at Grumpying. And, I always like to play to my strengths. This may be one, though, that’s in need of a Grumpectomy.
Went back to work today after a couple weeks off. It was good to see some of the people. Wish everyone Happy New Year and such. Work is such a bother sometimes, though. I was getting used to spending 3-4 hours in the morning in silence and writing. Now, I barely have 1 1/2 hours. After work is really not a good time for creative things. My brain is usually mush when I get home. I may need to adjust that, though. I have one novel to start the re-write process. Plus, I started another story over the weekend. Those two projects along with trying to keep up with this blog, housework, and getting some physical activity in is difficult. Especially when you’re a feeble, old fart like me.
Anyway, that’s all for now.
If you want to share your own resolutions, just use the Comments.

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Old Year; New Day

Published by mhelbert on December 30, 2018

Well, there’s one more day left in this ol’ year. Soon, the ball will drop and a brand, spankin’ new year will miraculously appear. But, I’ll have more to say about that tomorrow. Today I just want to reflect on a couple of things. Being a melancholy introvert will cause such reflection.

Today, while I sat quietly at my desk, letting the soft living light of candles illuminate me, I looked back over the last, (what’s it been?), sixty some odd years. Maybe reflecting like that is the prerogative of the old and the ‘well-on-their-way-to-being-old.’

I see in my backwards-looking crystal orb much to be glad and happy about. The fact that I’ve lived this long is one of them. There are, of course, the usual milestones that reveal happy moments. For those I am extremely glad. How bleak and barren life would have been without them.

But, then, there are the regrets. Now, I know all of the cliches that people like to toss around when the topic of regret is brought up. I know that there is a lot of truth in those sayings. There is a lot of truth in the pain of regret, also. It’s a real thing and will not be denied its pound of flesh.

Why, for instance, didn’t I follow my heart? There are so many stories out there about “being true to yourself,” or “follow your dreams,” or “let the desire of your heart lead you.”

Fairy tales.

That’s not how life is lived in the “real world.”

In the real world you need to “toe the line”; “keep your nose to the grindstone”; “don’t make waves.” You must be responsible and sensible. Get a job! Find someone good to marry. Raise a family.

And, I have to say, all of those can be good things. Very good things.

But, are the Fairy Tale world and the ‘Real’ world mutually exclusive?

The obvious answer is, of course, no they’re not. Many people live in both worlds very successfully.

Many don’t, though.

And, for those there are regrets.

At this time, when the old year wanes, is a good time to reflect. To assess the course steered through the years. As I stand on the bridge of the ship and look back at the wake thrown by it, I see a crazy zigging and zagging. A true ship’s captain would have followed a course that would have created a ruler straight wake.

But, that’s not my way. Never has been.

What of the future?

Ah, that!

Well, no time of reflection is complete without considering hope. Is there hope in tomorrow?

Yes!

There must be. Else, why continue on?

I have hope that the time lost may be redeemed. Somehow. In days past I would have added “God willing.” I no longer trust that. I wasted too much time waiting for God to be willing. Now, I say, “Yeah! If I can pull my head out of my arse and DO SOMETHING!”

I, just like you, was born with certain abilities and talents. I spent too many years squandering mine. Perhaps, tomorrow, or in the New Year, I’ll actually employ those things. So, yeah, there is hope.

And, just maybe we can all look toward what is to come with a firm will and eyes shining in the light of a new day.

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