FullSizeRender1What do you see in this image? Why do you see what you see? Perception is a crazy thing to behold, but to understand the value of what we see here starts with the smallest piece of physics. Both the green plant gripping for life and the dead brown matter are from seeds! What lies before my gaze is dust. This dust is what binds us to the heavens above. There is beauty in this brown matter for it was once created within the fiery crucibles that light our lives. It traveled throughout space and time to get here, to become here. Blown by solar winds and pushed by gravity, it is now here beneath our feet. We and this cosmic star dust, called dirt, are one and the same.

The irony here is that this very dynamic part of nature is swept out of site, quite literally, under a rug! I cannot speak for most Americans for I do not know that many of them, but I may offer my perspective on this notion as a person from the States. There are many descriptions for what is seen in this picture, but they are all wrong. Pride is a terrible thing that yields little, but being right is the worst. How do we unchain our hearts from this tiresome argument of righteousness so that we may free our problem solving minds!?! The difficulty arises when we think ourselves much more than dirt. There is a dirt pile that sits in a chair eating dirt from a TV dinner box while basking in the noisy sound and flashy glow of a flat square of dirt on the wall; this man would be hard pressed to wonder about the value of it. But oh my, the wondrous things dirt can become!

We exist within the resin of dirt. And when we look up into the night sky we can bask in the awe of the connectivity of this universe. We are a part of a great reaction and we have the ability to choose. It is our gift to choose how the effect of us will ripple through time.

A Caprice

As I walked along a path in the wake of a rain storm there laid a bird. I instantly assume this unfledged robin was dead. As I stood before this bird I could see that my assumption was wrong. As I held the bird ever so slightly in my hand it raised its, still sightless, eyes towards me to which it opened its voiceless beak to my presences. The bird’s life was so briefly in my hands, but I was in such a hurry …




The Birthday Party


(Billy’s birthday party.)

Grammy is there. (Which, is a surprise because she went into cat seclusion since Pa-pop died.)


(Everyone is dirt poor.)


Billy is an especially effervescent kid of a newly turned age 9. And everyone from Pa to Grammy, hell, even cobwebbed Aunt Ester chipped in to buy Billy’s only birthday present.


With eagerness, Billy unwraps his present. (Very old and slightly greased comics were used for the wrapping.)


To Billy’s excited assumption it is the new bored game, “ 3rd Generation Colour Wheel of Fortuitous Bargains”, complete with two full stacks of cards! (With a smirk Billy whispers, “I must collect them all.”)


(Again, since Billy is such an eager and effervescent child opens the game with the same likeness.)


But the bored game quickly beeps and prints out the words, “in order to play this bored game an internet connection is required.”


Pa carries over an ancient looking dial up cord and proceeds to plug the bored game in.


Green lights flash and the game remarks, “internet speed is sub-par it is recommended to set the graphics to very, very coarse.


(There is a brief look of confusion from all party members.)


Billy, with a look of slight frustration, clicks the box open.


In exclamation! The box squeaks, “your subscription has expired!”


(There is a slight glimmer of hopelessness in the tear of Billy’s right eye.)


Grammy pulls out a red stamped 50 dollar bill – obviously printed in the 50s – and thus puts it in the 50 dollar bill receptacle.


The bored game box expands into a larger device much like when you turn a page in a pop-up book.


Renewed hope has animated Billy’s expression: “Things are much brighter now, Grammy!”


Grammy replies, “your Pa-pop always loved to see you smile.”


Billy quickly runs to the bored game to delegate the different responsibilities of the game to everyone in his birthday party that is willing.


“Ma! You’re the Jewish banker.


Pa! You’re the athletic Black football player.


Grammy! You can be Miss Daisy!


And I can be the poor white trash that may make something of myself someday!”


To Billy’s dismay, there is a blinking cursor preceded by the words:” Update in progress 12 hours ‘til download is complete.”


Billy turns to Grammy with a smile says,” let’s go play outside. It’s what Pa-pop loved to do!”








We are the Borg

“We are the Borg! Resistance is futile.” Jean Luke Picard fires his phaser at the robotic/organic creatures before him. Jean’s first shot would take down a drone and then the second and then the third would be sure to follow the first. Just then, the effectiveness of the phaser rapidly decreased to that of a flash light. “We are the Borg. Resistance is futile.” The Borg adapted to the Captain’s weapon and at some point Jean Luke Picard became one of the Borg; they assimilated him into the collective, by infecting him with technology. He became an emotionless cyborg.

I am unaware of the writer’s subplots for the show Star Trek, “The Next Generation”, but I see huge correlations to a similar, yet less technological, foe – the invasive microorganism. As it slowly becomes common knowledge that our weapons for these invisible foes are becoming more benign, life without anti-biotics may become an incomprehensible reality for Westerners. I am living proof to the full life western medicine has given me. (I am type 1 diabetic that once got an infection in an insulin injection site.)

How do you recover from a “staph” infection that has spread beneath the 7 layers of skin located in your left arm? An answer is 5 days on an i.v. drip of Vancomycin – once hailed as the “last resort antibiotic”. Well I was lucky, but what would a staph infection that has adapted to this weapon look like? It wouldn’t look like “the Borg” … I think it would look like Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus (MRSA). MRSA, pronounced mur-sa, is a resistant form of “staph”. How do we stop MRSA? Maybe, amputate a limb and get a bionic arm. In that case I would then resemble “the Borg.” Then Jean Luke Picard (the cured human version) would teleport from the fictitious future to phaser me to a pile of carbon. This would prevent my insulin pump morphing with me and my newly bestowed prosthetic arm to become the first Borg drone! Fantastic! Captain Picard just saved countless cultures that the space veering Borg would have destroyed.

In reality this wouldn’t work, the only time travel that exists is the tick of the clock. We live now so let’s care more about the effects of our decisions as they ripple with each tick. Let our compassion for selfless ambition out compete the selfish agenda and maybe one day MRSA will be out competed by a non-resistant bacterium.

“… the thoughtless person playing with penicillin is morally responsible for the death of the man who finally succumbs to infection with the penicillin-resistant organism. I hope this evil can be averted.”

 – Sir Alexander Fleming June 26, 1945

“We are the Borg. Resistance is futile.”


Jon is his name. Well Jon is a boring name. Why is it a boring name you may ask? Well we could acknowledge perspective or we could discuss its usage. Jon is a name from the bible. Devout Christians have used the bible for name inspiration. These names are unchanging. Cultural names, where are they from? Like Fritz? Is it German for Fred or is Fritz from something else entirely? Like rock, a rock is a hard mineral. We as humans made some sounds and everyone agreed in England that is what you say when you talk/address/indicate when your discourse is concerning a hard mineral. But do names have more meaning when referring to a creature or a human being? What’s in a name? Jon has a name, but if no one ever calls him by it will he ever respond to it? A rock will never respond to a name, but then again I do not know that many rocks or rock — rock is used only in the context of many different types of rock and rocks is used as the plural for many of the same rock, but only when there are a bunch of individuals. (Well this becoming a bit obsessive.) We like to give names to things before we completely understand them and then we like to ‘paint’ limits for these names so that we can remove the reality, which — for me — is that we are not gods, but lose sight on our capacity when we fancy ourselves absolute…. I really like the name Jon; it is quite interesting because every name can be great.

The Way is Shut.

The way is shut! Your mind is closed. You have become static. Your inability to accept and admit fault has led you to become arrogant. These set ways will make you ignorant. I implore you to reconsider! Listen, I say. Open your heart and listen! List to the rock, the trees and the wind! Humble yourself for you are, but flesh and bone. Listen and you will learn to understand! No one will ever be absolute in Knowledge. Take the grain of salt with a smile and create something beautiful. Remain open and humble to advice and in time happiness will be yours, my friend. Indonesian Poem Night