Smoke and Mirrors sans Mirrors

So as I began to expound in reply to one of Zee's entries on Sunburstgem, I realized I had a lot wound up in this ball of yarn in my noggin.
Oh, the gloom and doom and dire forebodings of the market collapsing and giant corporations tanking and people running mad in the streets. All with the basketball sized pill that the Detroit Three execs rolled up on Washington to plead for money...in their own private jets. Paying taxes this year, anybody? Anybody?
The deal is this: what is the effect on me, lower-middle-class tax bracket guy? Well, at first I thought: not much. The price of fuel is falling which seems like a good thing (I try my very best not to entertain my most cynical thoughts as to that ridiculously volitile market and the reasons driving that farce). I'm not seeing too dramatic a reduction in sales at work, and a lot of folks are saying they're not really aware of any downward trends there, either. But a large factory recently closed in Hudson, just down the way, and that may be a sign. Hmm.
Here's what I've concluded, and in this order (I say that in truth as well as because it kinda makes me chuckle...I don't know why): regardless, and I mean 100% regardless of authentic, genuine experience of the world around us, the media is throwing this market-collapse shit at us like rabid chimps on Ex-Lax. No kidding. It is very nearly impossible to escape the storm of harrowing "news". So as the casual observer of my authentic world, I see a lot of smoke but can't even smell a fire. And so it is with consciousness, I believe: an energy has been generated by this tidal wave of media reporting and whether we choose to hear it/see it/read it/belive it, it's there, it's here, all around us and seeping into our very psychic pores as we merely exist contemporarially. Why this miasma? I'm not sure. Oh I have ideas, but then again you probably do too. Suffice it to say that someone (read: small groups of people) are benefitting heartily from chasing this population of buffalo off the cliff, and even more money is changing hands by the day. This, my friends, I believe.
It's really too bad that it has to be this way, too. But there again, if it is, then surely it must be meant to be so. That's what Faith would have us believe, and sometimes that's bitter and enormous and downright painful....but it's as near Truth for me as I'm able to give anymore. Marcy and the kids and I, animals too, are going to make it, our lives and our life together are amazing, every day, and I really honestly and with all my heart believe that we'll spend the rest of our earthly days with our hearts neatly nestled in this miraculous Truth. We've (collectively) been through the crucible and, sometimes, we think that we just may be there again and again, and that's becoming more and more okay with us.
Marcy and I have come to a very different place with each other. We laid in bed and discussed life the other night. How we ended up where we are, how we need to improve on our situation. How we're going to move through this to the next level, and how we're going to carry the family. Who are you? Remember when we got married? What a glorious time! We were so in love, and so carefree. I still love you madly and God knows I wouldn't want to do this with anybody else. One in billions to me and I'm so very grateful for you in my life.
Our life is fantastic, very much like a fantasy. We have each other, we have our beautiful babies, and we share our space with some pretty amazing sentient beings. Would I do it all over again? In a heartbeat, even on a bad day, and they've been plentiful. All that shit, all the pain and the heartache and the excrutiating pain of loss and lonliness, all so remarkably hot in order to forge this amazing life. Well done, God, well done! We wouldn't turn down a few good breaks, but we get it! Wonderful! Not orgasmically giddy or delusional with abject, laughing happines, but a quiet knowledge that as my understanding (Faith, I think) grows, just to that extent does my inner peace and warm, easy joy. What a wonderful gift. I am really, truly humbled to even consider it.

Oh yeah, that miasma? I'm guessing it'll always be there. But so will my Bella, coming home from school with pictures she's drawn of us as a family with her response to the question inside of "What are you thankful for?" being just the word God surrounded by all different colored hearts, fluttering around the word.
The media will tell me that the darkness has descended on the world market, and Casen will still bring home another Good Citizen award, I have no doubt.
My baby will wake up and awaken me with a big, awkward kiss and we'll play bonk until she's ready for a diaper change. My wife will love me for this soul that lives inside me, with all it's glory and pain, and will show me for all time that it is a Truth. My animal friends will remind me that I can make the biggest difference in the Universe today, right now, by choosing Love.
And God willing, that's exactly what I'll do.
Thank you for your time and consideration and all your wonderful, loving thoughts. It is all given back tenfold.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wtjs0L5Gxlc
The above link, if it works, is something I've found so inspirational as to pull me back from some depths as of late. May it be so with you!

Into the Mystic

I've almost gotten beyond random spells of sobbing with heartfelt joy. There are cynics among us, and some of the suspension of trust and myopic faith in any one politician is not misunderstood. Here's the deal with me and my deep sense of hope and happiness: (you may have suspected a rave at this juncture, I suppose....)

First, we now have voted to become a part and participant in the world in which we live. We have voted to become members of the global village, and I do believe that Barack Obama understands that and all the implications of his being elected to pursue that end. I believe this of him.

Hand in hand with this is that we are experiencing a variety of sensations as a direct and profound result of Obama being elected. We no longer need to live with the fear, however subconscious, that any dissent of the actions of this government is 'unpatriotic' and, of course, worse: punishable. We no longer need to feel the weight and chilling dampness of this shroud we've worn for eight years or more now. We've been freed from the seeming interminable gloom of the obvious lies and the callous disregard. We no longer need to feel embarrassed to be American. On the contrary, seems like most of us are feeling pretty freakin' good about being American right now.

Perhaps I'm overly optimistic, and perhaps a bit naive, but there's so much more at work here, so many things vastly bigger than this superficial stuff. There is something afoot amongst us, those of us who choose to be open to it. We're giddy. We're breathing. Sobbing randomly and getting excited chills. I am, and I don't think I'm alone.

The bottom line is that (as has been said more eloquently) Obama could do nothing and something is still vastly different. Are you with me? It's a sense that something has been freed, given way, and is among us. It's good. It's wonderful. Something very, very big has changed for the better. Think 'genie from a lamp'.

I am so grateful for Barack Obama, and I say so unabashedly. My family is grateful. I, personally, feel hopeful for the first time in a very long time. I hope you allow yourself the opportunity to drop at least a peice of your armor and let some in. Even if for a moment, think optimistically, dream, hope the best of hopes. Set all your best wishes for yourself, this country, and the whole beautiful world on rafts and set them afloat in this. Seriously. It's part of it, I'm sure. I'm sure of it.

He says, "Yes, we can", and personally, I believe him.

Yes we can.



This is just a random photo from
when we went to the mountains
a couple of weeks ago. That's all

Yes we did, and Yes We Can

"Life is beauty and sorrow"

I've lived my life thus far, at least for the past 30 years, with the largely disclosed knowledge that my mother did not love me. The repercussions have been, to put lightly, staggering and the implications as they pertain to who I was and who I have become were something of a malevolent, smoldering forge; this knowledge become creation via crucible.

And I whipped the proverbial horse of this bizarre turn on into the depths, wrestled the demons of the fray, and emerged battered and less than victorious but never fully vanquished. As of late, and since my mother's passing more than a year ago, I've struggled much more privately, due largely in part to needing to be more 'complete' for my family, et al. Now and again my mind would wander the empty streets of the burned out boroughs that were those times remembering. Remembering and not understanding. And at times I would rack with wails and heave in anger and frustration, "how could you do that to a child? What would possess a person to behave that way? Why me? What did I do?" The synapses fired and the water frothed and the frenzy was soon underway. It took days at times to recover.

And very recently something tragic and beautiful happened. Marcy has taken a ten-week, full-time job in order to help alleviate some of the crushing debt we carry, and to help with the times that we gather change from the cars and the house to buy a loaf of bread. Glorious times, and I'm very pleased to say that as far as we can tell, the children have no idea whatsoever. But I digress. So Marcy began this job last Monday. Her mother and father have agreed to help by watching the baby during the day and picking the older kids up from the school bus. Very gracious, and certainly no cake-walk...they're in their mid-70s. I have been going to work a bit later so Marcy can leave the house at 7 a.m. and I can take care of getting the kids to school and the baby taken care of and all that. Poop diapers at sunrise, oh yeah.

And about midway through the week I became so depressed, so very down, and I couldn't pinpoint why. Seemed nothing was bringing me back to the surface, not even the old tricks. I was really struggling with the vortex of this new reality swirling about me, consequences and motives not of my devise, that everything that was now taking place as the new norm was counter in every sense to what I hold dearest in my life. I am a father and a husband, first and foremost, and I can and have become a mad bear when impeded in either case. The new scenario: we're dirt fucking poor and deeply in debt; my job keeps me from my family all but two days a week and doesn't even cover our bills; my wife is now away from our 8 month old daughter from sun-up to sundown; my kids tell me that life is so much crappier since I took this job and that they miss just having dinner with me.........

and there I was, driving my baby to my parents-in-law's house, and the emotions had reached the boiling point and were threatening to blow the lid off. Reaching back into the carseat I felt my baby's little hand grasp my finger and give it a kiss, cooing something all the while. I began crying. I thought, "It shouldn't be like this. I don't want it to be this hard, I'm doing so much that this shouldn't be happening...I just don't get it..."

Then the queerest thing happened.

I remembered something.

I was quite young, 5 at best, and my mom and I were living in Kentucky sitll. We had moved from a tenement apartment with no front door (someone even stole our dog one day) to the backseat of my mom's blue Buick Skylark convertible. It had no rear window, and once it had dusted snow in on us as we slept; I squealed with delight...my mom cried.

So I was maybe 5, and my mom was wearing a pantsuit, her hair down (I used to cry when she put it up). I didn't fully understand what was happening. I was put down in a room full of other kids my age on a floor made up of tan and orange stick figure people. My mother chatted quickly and nervously with one of the older women there, in their green aprons. She bent down and gave me a kiss and began walking out the door. Walking out the door! Well, that's crazy! Why would my mom leave me here? Must be some mistake. Holy shit! There she goes past the window!

And suddenly I remembered with frightening vividity the agony. The pounding on the windows, screaming. The aides pulling me from the window as I kicked and screamed. My mother, her pace quickening to a near run, her hands to her mouth. She was crying. And I just know that she sat in her car and cried till she thought she would die. Her heart broken, that would be the longest day of her life. And all this with the knowledge that this was life now, this is how it was going to be.

I caught a glimmer of that anguish, and I've begun to know the weight that is The Change. And with this pain and frustration, anger and sadness, comes the blossom that is the very genesis of it all, the seed that is Love.

Without some pretty intense love, I wouldn't have such a strong emotional reaction every day; without this love, I may not really care what happened as long as I was taken care of. But that's not how it is. My love for that baby comes from a place so much deeper than I alone am capable of generating that I am certain it is a pulse from the Universe, or, as I prefer to phrase it, the Love I have for that baby is a reflection of the Love of God. Way bigger than me, of that I'm sure. And likely just as big as it was unavoidable for my mom.

I don't relish in discomfort, and I don't look forward to hard times and harder lessons, but by God I'm grateful for the lessons that come with them. And by Grace and diligence I hope I'm able to truly learn these lessons.

Brothers and sisters, we'll never understand God so we may as well give that one up. Let's have Faith that we're not impossible coincidences and think, feel and act Love in this life.

The Love is there, it's just a matter of being open to it.

I love you and I think you're wonderful. Keep up the good work.

Post Script Oblige': A thousand thanks to my brother Adam, without whom I couldn't share this. Not only did he send along a functioning CPU, he paid for the freaking shipping. How cool is that?

Thank you, Adam. Thank you.

Lactose Intolerance and the Weight of Touch

What a week. No worries, I'll barely scratch the surface here.

I will add that I keep dreaming about my old truck. It's been quite pleasant, really. I visited her a few weeks ago...still sexy. Too bad she's a drunk.

Anyway, I drove much bigger trucks in NYC for a few years a while back. It was tough, and I really wasn't the epitome of driver I think, given my interactions with the many I interacted with. Not to be construed as a perjorative judgement, mind you, just a different lifestyle with numerous other lifestyle choices, that's all. At any rate, I've been...well...bothered by one of the drivers at work, and perhaps this outlet is a letting go. Okay, I'm hoping this outlet is a letting go.

Here's a guy, mid-20s, hates life and thrives (and I mean Thrives...yes, capital T thrives) on misery. Bitches about everything. Everything, no hyperbole. I know full well, after having the opportunity to observe this character, that most of this, likely all of this, comes directly from his parents, probably imitating his father; if his father was the only role model for this male, it logically proceeds that he would be heavily imprinted as his father. And it's too bad folks have to live like that. I mean, I'm of the opinion that God has given us this opportunity to learn, and we ain't learning much by repeating, much like we won't get much out of "Gimme Shelter" off the original vinyl pressing if the record skips. skips. skips. The woman singing backup so deftly steals the song from any of those guys, and it only really comes through, filthy and grungy and nasty, on the vinyl. CDs and even cassettes were remastered to eiiminate the soul, er, I mean the background noise.

But I digress.

If the record skips, and the repetitive loop keeps playing and playing and playing, one would never have the opportunity to have their hair on their arms bristle upon hearing it. On vinyl. So it is with us, and with enjoying our gift from the Great Mother/Father, the Universal All, the Big Love. God gave us this life, here, now, as an exquisitely generous gift. I think it was Sogyal Rinpoche who recollected a brilliant teaching from the Knowing Buddha: to live as a human (to be incarnated as such) is an opportunity much like a turtle blindly swimming through the center of a life-ring cast in the middle of the ocean. I think of that one from time to time and it still resonates. And such is my belief on the creation of one's own life: I am here to live a life of my own making, based on my own book of experience, footnoted with gratitude to my teachers along the way.

Long way around the park, but now back to the driver.

Poor kid. He's never just left. Drove. Gotten in his car and driven out of state. Far away. Alone. You know the kid. Just almost zero life experience, and it's pitiful. Not in a sarcastic or deriding sense, in the sense of the ease with which I and others conjure pity for his plight. It's life-myopia, and it's a dead end, he just has no idea. And I bear pity in mind to a point, and that point was reached quickly just the other day when he pulled in with his six year old son (yes, he has a son). First of all, as a heavy smoker, he had just pulled a seven hour run with his young son in a cab of thick gray cigarette smoke. But to be honest, that wasn't even the saddest part. He later explained that since his son is lactose intolerant he and his "old lady" feel "a little guilty sometimes" when they go out for ice cream and he can't have any.

Am I alone in feeling put off? Really put off?

I'm currently human, so I ask for guidance, ask to become a bigger vessel. I'm trying.

I have an experiment for you kids at home to try. Go more than a week with no human touch whatsoever. At all, no brushing past, no handshake, nothing.

Then receive a hug. Hold hands with a dear loved one. The touch is as expansive as the universe and probably as powerful as well.

When I was an impatient greenhorn, thinking I'd had all the tutelege I needed, I built this wall. In a day. The guy with the excavator who was to come and back fill and grade the area behind the wall was going to be two days later than we had agreed on, leaving me...well, impatient. I finished building the final four feet on a seven foot height in remarkable time. It was beautiful. Imposing, straight as an arrow's flight. One of the blocks at about knee-level was a fraction of an inch out on one corner, so I tapped it with the back of my fist.

What you see above to the right is the result of impudence, impatience, wanton disregard for what I knew all along was haste, and yes....what you see is also the result of touch.

My baby daughter continues to be a profound teacher of extraordinary merit to me. She has lately been working with me on touch.

The lesson only began to break through the cloudy skies of my waking consciousness when I was, well, half asleep.

My most beautiful and exalted wife had just about had it a few nights ago. Our little angel has gotten into the interesting habit of waking every hour or so. All night. Vociferously. I wake most times and try in vain to help, but my wife does absolutely take the brunt of the waking and the labor of nursing and coddling and all else. I've begun to become a modicum more helpful in that I take the baby for early morning walks down the road, or scoop her over to me and coo and such to quiet her. My wife, my Iron Woman, has taken to sleeping on the sofa at some point during the night between wakeful jags.

That said, I just couldn't get that baby to relax and go to sleep the other night. Exasperated, I laid the down pillow over her from the chest down...and she stopped crying immediately. Interesting. From then on, I've been laying my arm across her while curling her little body into mine, and it most certainly soothes her, although it's as of yet far from infallible (the blanket still on the sofa, bags still under all adult eyes). At any rate, it got me thinking about touch, and the incredible power it holds. What Grace, that we wield such power for goodness, for love. The blessings of touch are divine, and I hope to not forget this lesson.

What a great baby.

Of course, I may be a little predisposed to a certain opinion.

Wow. There's a babble. Feels nice, though, and I certainly appreciate getting it out of me. Zee, assuming you'll feel this even if you don't read it, thank you for your wise words. The blog is like an old friend, always there and a great listener to boot.

Hope your vessel is growing exactly as quickly or as slowly as you're ready for at this point, brothers and sisters. I do firmly believe that God will never give us more than we're ready to handle, and that we can hope for and acheive great things for ourselves and those around us...if we just ask.

"Do not think so much.

Surrender. Believe.

Unprepared, move out to the world and testify.

The words will come. Serve.

From now on service is kingly.

There are no more kings."

-excerpted from a poem by Barry Hannah, inspired by the Good News of

Mark.

And verily I say, there are no more kings.

Service. Touch. Smile and laugh with.

What a wonderful gift, this life.

Thank God.

(Thank you, God!)

Still Rowing, With An Option to Drift

Such a fascinating array of choice in this life, wouldn't you agree? After getting other peoples' responsibilities very unceremoniously dumped on me again (and again and again) yesterday, I consulted (okay, unloaded) with my other half, my most trusted and intimate confidant and guide, and after much consideration and discussion recommended that I remain quiet. HA! Remain quiet?! Why I... Well, that just might work, I thought, and I totally see where you're going with this. Okay, cool.

So quietly I entered today, and finding the whole family awake and ready to begin the day at 7, we decided that it would be a good time to follow up on some unfinished business. Kids dropped off at park program, we headed to Social Services. We've been hoping for (and indeed counting on) assistance, at least for food or oil.

I don't know when the last time you hung out at your county Social Services was, but I can attest to the...the, um...flavor maybe? of the experience. It was exhausting, no kidding, to keep the protective armor manifested around us, Charlotte especially, although she seemed to be having a good ol' time as always regardless of atmosphere.

At any rate, seems like there were quite a few able-bodied younger folks of questionable moral fiber and intention there, and that was discouraging, but the judgement is not for my role, and I'll leave it there, in mind and blog.

When we were finally called in, the counselor reviewed our budget (bills, lease, check stubs, etc) and declared that we, (and I quote) "make way too much money". I was a little surprised (we were just barely over the limit), and Marcy's face actually fell. I queried as to what that actually meant, and she replied that in New York state, the law requires that a family of five not make over $2,110 per month in order to receive assistance. Chagrined, we remained silent, stammering, to which the counselor provided some information about rent being $620 per month, to which I exclaimed, "We'll take that apartment!" Case in point, we lived (a family of five, mind you) in a pretty shitty town (drugs and drunks on the sidewalk) in a falling-apart, spider-ridden, ceiling-leaking broken-toilet wall-cracked mold-emporium hole in the freaking wall for $720 per month...and everyone agreed it was a steal for that cost. Upon leaving, we were a little deflated to say the least.

My beautiful love of my life was actually quite shaken, and it crushed me, kinda winded me, to see her like that. I silently asked for help.

The meditation I had read this morning came quickly to mind. Allow me to share a snippet: "Our decision to give love, then, can be a calculated one - we already know the results. This shouldn't be our motive though. Wondering what we are getting out of giving to others can be a hindrance to our peace of mind because we're missing God's point. If we concentrate on the giving, the receiving will take care of itself. Today I will try to give unselfishly."

I wondered how for only a fraction of a second before the news came. An elderly member of our congregation (and a woman whom I'm a deacon for) was taken back to the hospital yesterday, only days after suffering a mild heart-attack.

My wife, I would like to say yet again, is so remarkably soulful and connected...she got it immediately. We were off to the hospital.

Such a wonderful time. We visited and laughed and Ruth (the woman in the hospital, for those of you playing along at home) held Charlotte's hand and they giggled together. Ruth spoke often of her love for children, and how she would've had many more of her own if they'd had the money to allow it. After a while a nurse came in ane mentioned that she was going to run some more tests, so we once again offered that we lived only about 10 minutes from her house if she needed anything, and that I would stop by again soon if she was still in the hospital.

As good as it felt (and it felt wonderful) to have visited, as though we were there for her, it got extra-wonderful when we decided to stop in and see if Joan and Pam, two nurses who helped immensely with the birth of Charlotte, we in in the maternity ward. As we were opening the door, I mentioned how incredible it would be to see Dr Hines, the man who I credit with not just delivering my Angel Charlotte into this world, but also without question the man that saved Marcy's life. (Didn't hear about the daring and wrenching life-threatening birhting? Still brings tears to my eyes and sometimes makes me shudder still.) Needless to say, he is nothing short of a hero in my book, and I basque like an adherent in his presence, and his presence is radiant and beautiful on its own.

At any rate, who was the first person we see upon entering? You got it, Dr Hines was at the table, and we both said simultaneously and ecstaticallly, "There he is!" Laughing, he came over, amazed at how Charlotte has...well, thrived. I have all the more respect for a man who can let all the guards down and give and receive enormous, warm hugs, and that we did. We spent a while together, yakkin' away and getting his encouragement to have another baby (we'll see about that one...), and left feeling like we were walking on air. What a wonderful day it had become!

I've written well beyond what I had intended for this evening, so I'll truncate the rest of the day by adding that I then helped wash and pack some greens at a friend's farm and laughed until I cried with his 5 year old son, visited some other friends on their farm, then worked like it was the end of days in the office until my incredible love came for me and made me go eat pizza with her. It made the workload and the late night in the warehouse vastly more bearable to say the least, and I may even have enjoyed myself a bit in the process.

I guess when I'm really on it, when I'm really attuned to higher intentions, which is really a long-way-around saying 'when I'm open to hear God' (feel God, intuit God, whatever...), it's like stepping somewhere else entirely on the perimeter of the circle. The situation is the same: we're hard-core, sad-ass broke, and the bills that have accumulated in the past months are still piling up; my job requires long hours for minimal pay and zero acknowledgement; I don't spend nearly enough time with my family and I'm not sure how we're going to make it even before the winter even sets in! No shit! But the perspective changes drastically when I'm open to being moved to another part of the circle. The light is different, the perspective has changed. My family is amazing; I have more in them than I ever thought this life had in store for me. The love my wife and I share is worth many lifetimes. I am clean and sober, and can say that I haven't taken a drink or an illicit drug (still rock the aspirin now and again) in more than 7 years. 7 fucking years! C'mon, man, that is some Grace workin' right there! I enjoy my path back to God and the results of my search are my rewards in themselves. Ya know, it boils down to simply (ha ha) being reminded of what's truth, of what's real, what's actually important in this life. Not that crazy shit-storm of fear and ego and society, that'll be there whenever we want to tune into it. Some pretty crappy shows on the television...doesn't mean I need to watch 'em. Think I'll listen to the radio, take a walk, play frisbee with the kids. I won't be able to do that in another seventy years and time has a habit of sneaking around the backside when we don't pay attention. Bills'll get paid eventually. The present is the time to dance with my beautiful wife in the kitchen, let the kids know what love is all about.

Today was a good day.

I Never Feel Like Chicken Tonight

In a world of odd images, this one gets some caliber of merit in my book. Look at this thing. Just odd.

And so it is, sisters and brothers, that sometimes there arises a strict intercession of credo, a jumping-off point, even when we may be inclined to cognitively feel as though we've traversed said chasm.

And so it is sometimes, too, that the event arises as a dust-dervish: silent and invisible, save for that which it pulls in from without. And indeed perhaps it is in these times of quiet and relative calm that decisions are to be peened into shape for use at a later time, for a later event.

Perhaps.

But that's just covering my ass.

Really the events that transpire at this point are very much like dust pulled up in the vortex of that dust-dervish. Maybe spray hurled from the perimeter of the eye of a cyclone. The sea is basically calm, the horizon obscured by thick fog and darkened skies.

Row row row your boat...

Lightening illuminates the troubled, pendulous clouds and the low, throaty growl of thunder washes over the vessel.

...Gently down the stream...

A furtive glance about the boat. Am I alone? Where am I and how did I get exactly here? Rocks and crags. Serpents and marauders. The mind wanders into dark crevasses, cold and eerily dank, where it knows it should not go.

Merrily merrily merrily merrily...

The night may soon close in, constricting and alien. At this late stage, who will come for me? How will someone find me? This voyage is not what I had envisioned, although to be fair, I hadn't envisioned anything at all. I was sold a ticket when I was quite naive, and now have no choice but to find my may. The sail is rent from top to bottom, the oars have been pitched in the earlier tumult, the rudder is splintered and worn. She creaks at the whisper of gale, and she's waterlogged and tired.

...Life is but a dream.

Life is but a dream.

Profoundly wise and virtuous teacher, as I regurgitated fears upon him one afternoon, asked me if I knew the song. "Yeah? How does it go?"

I sputterred, likely blushed, "Oh..."

But no. He pursued until I indeed sang it:

Row row row your boat,

Gently down the stream.

Merrily merrily merrily merrily!

Life is but a dream!

Smiling at me, he may have witnessed the corners of a veil being lifted.

I have some really uncomfortable decisions to make. I need to provide for my family. I've really got to learn the lessons right now.

I've deleted a billion words and will summarize with this: Things are tough, but God has never forsaken me, and I don't think God will now.

Mohammed reminded us that the sparrows never feared for not being provided for.

The disabled man at the Healing Pool at Bethesda told Jesus he couldn't get to the pool because no one would carry him. Jesus responed, "Take up your mat and walk."

Take up my mat indeed.

Row row row my boat, gently down the stream.......