SAFE AT SECOND

  I have always been a dreamer, literally. I dream every night. But once awake I seldom remember the story line or its outcome. All I know is whether it was good and peaceful or troubled and bumpy. There are dreams that slowly morph into rational thought and develop an awareness and, emerging from the sleepy fog, I realize I have dreamed myself awake. I did that last night, wide awake, not knowing what time it was. If I go to the trouble of opening my eyes and checking the time there will be no turning back. If it is almost wake-up time like this morning I just get up early and go with my day. But if I go wide awake in the wee hours I will toss and turn for hours so I get up, spend an hour or so cleaning house or at the computer. That’s usually enough to fool my circadian rhythm and I can fall asleep in bed again.

From what I read, there are several ‘Dream’ stereotypes that (nearly) everyone experiences. There is the ‘Searching’ scenario where you are lost and can’t find your way or can’t find whatever it is you are looking for. Being caught naked in public is common as well. The weird part is that nobody notices and you are the only one agonizing. The dream you are being chased, by anything (person, animal, a mugger, police, etc.) is high on the list as well. I’ve been dragged through all of those dreams and I usually dream myself awake.

When I was a kid, 10 or 11, our barnyard was big enough to improvise a baseball field. Home plate was in front of a shed on the other side of the fence, it served as a backstop. In straight away center field, 130-140 ft. away was the barn. We needed at least 3 players, the pitcher, a batter and a fielder. If the batter hit the ball and made it all the way around the bases to home before the fielder could relay the ball to the pitcher covering home, he got to bat again. If you get put out everybody rotates; oh yea, if you hit a fly ball that gets caught, you’re out and you rotate. We played that game several times a week, all summer. 

Then we all grew up and the barnyard went back to the cow and chickens. A decade later I was in the army, a parachute rigger and for fun, riggers became skydivers. We had our own parachutes purchased from military surplus stores, modified to suit our purpose. Military pilots needed flight time and we needed a ride up to about 7,000 ft. where we leaped out (free fall) for about 30 seconds before we pulled the ripcord and floated down under a nylon canopy. When the pilots ran out of fuel or it got dark we all went home. Then my contract with the army ran out and I came home for real. 

Sometime after that I had a dream. I was up in the air amongst puffy little cumulus clouds, the ground maybe 7,000 ft. below and I was falling. The falling was easy, I knew how to control my free fall. If there was a concern it was that I wasn’t wearing a parachute. I trust that every sky diver who ever experienced an opening shock had given thought to the risk of malfunction and certainly the consequence of no parachute at all. There (in my dream) I was closing in on the 3rd rock from the sun at about 100 mph. It was time to pull the ripcord. With enough experience you know when it’s time, it’s when you can discriminate with the naked eye between individual trees by their size and different color of leaves. It was time. 

I tried to determine just where I would impact and recognized the up-rushing ground. To my surprise I was over our old barnyard, the shed/backstop and the barn in center field. It just came natural to turn on my right side and stretch my left (top) leg out behind me and slide on my right hip. I made contact, plowing up sod and turf, waking up from the dream precisely in the moment I stopped. With a perfect hook slide I was safe at 2nd base. Wide awake I lay there in bed thinking, ‘OMG’ a pause and ’That was Awesome!’ My dad had subdivided our little acreage into lots and sold them several years before I enlisted but in my dream it was 1950 again. But after that there were many times the exact same dream came back again to wake me from sound sleep. I had given up skydiving, it was (too expensive) and enrolled in college as a 24 year-old freshman. But I made the baseball team, pitched a lot of batting practice, coached 1st base and got to play now and then. In 1968 I graduated 88 in my class of 188. 

I can’t remember the last time I had the hook slide dream, sometime after college but I do remember the last time I actually made a hook slide. It was in the early 1980’s in a church league softball game. I was on 2nd base and our batter was good at moving runners up, putting the ball in play. I was wearing cutoff sweat pants, bare legs, never thought I would  be sliding anywhere. I told the guy coaching 3rd base that if our guy got a hit I was going to watch him and not the ball. I would make the turn at 3rd and he had to promise, if it looked like there would be a play at the plate to stand in my way and flag me down. We got the hit, he waved me home but I saw right away the catcher setting up to take the incoming throw and I slid without thinking, a reflex act, serious mistake. I was safe at home, scored the run. The ground around home plate was packed hard as concrete and my cutoffs slid up out of the way, offered no protection at all. The Third Degree abrasion, the worst, deepest kind, from mid thigh up through mid buttox; I didn’t have to look or ask, it went numb and I knew I was in serious trouble. 

I was incapacitated, couldn’t stand, sit or lie down for nearly a week, half naked on pain killers, the doctor apologized for laughing. Who in their right mind would slide bare ass into home plate in a church league softball game? It was the last time I slid at any base, any game, ever. I never spoke to the guy coaching 3rd base again either. We had stopped attending that church; the preacher was a jerk and his flock a bunch of self righteous assholes but I wanted to finish the summer league. I can’t remember dreaming the hook slide dream after that, not ever again. I’m not making this up. If I were to make up a baseball dream where someone did something really stupid, I would have cast myself as the clever, slippery dude who got the last laugh. I’m surprised I ‘outed’ myself here but at my age I have outgrown and dismissed whatever pride I once prized. Feeling good about feeling good is alright but the “ain’t I great” crap is just that, fodder for an undeserving ego. The scar took nearly a year to heal up but my wife forgave me right away for my folly. If you find yourself free falling in a dream without a parachute, I recommend the hook slide. When you wake up you can sit anywhere you like, even stand up and walk around without waiting for your butt to heal. 

NEVER FELT BETTER

  The news has been bad all week and the hopes for good news is misplaced at best, worsening as we go. I don’t dwell on the news as I have no control and fretting on it is like the man hitting himself on the head with a hammer. Question; why? Answer; it feels good when I quit. But I am not in denial and I can’t help but chew on that bone from time to time. How else would anybody know (as if they care at all) what I chew on. But I want someone to know and maybe care. I try to be concise but sometimes backstory and spinoffs get in the way. 
I tend to question the thoughts and ideas that I want (am inclined) to believe. If my truck pulls to the left when I get on the brakes, that is something I should know and then drive accordingly. When my brain (mind) does that, I should recognize the risk and to think accordingly. That wonderful Human mind, besides its preoccupation with conscious experience it behaves without permission, unawares, it just does. Mostly, that subconscious part wants to feel good and will be less than honest in order to provide the (Mirror-mirror on the wall) experience. Then the BS is easy to digest and all seems well. But nobody wants to here that from me. Feeling good is hard to compete with, consider drugs, smoke, gambling and all the reasons addicts give for not wanting to quit. 
If Putin’s war in Ukraine wasn’t enough, Hamas (Palestinian militants) are considered terrorists by western countries bit embraced by Islamic sympathizers in middle east. They decided it was time to wage war on Israel with a Pearl Harbor like surprise attack. So the stage is set for another round of Jihad against Jews. There is blame enough to go around. Israelis are not good at peaceful compromise either but to keep feeding on that bitter pill, one would think they try something different. But ever since Moses and Pharaoh, several thousand years of Zero Sum game, eye-for-an-eye, it’s hard to find a winner. There are no good guys, only bed-fellows. Iran sides with Hamas while the U.S. and most European allies have Netanyahu’s back. A Proxy war is when you get someone who depends on you to fight your battle, in their country, against the friends of your enemy who are stuck in the same predicament (Iran & The U.S.A). This conflict might fall into that category but the experts all put their own complicated, opinionated spin on the story and in the end the world is left again with a lot of blood, death, muddy rhetoric and bravado. I’m sad for innocent victims on both sides. 
There is an argument for peace that I’ve been hearing all my life. It goes, Hate has to be learned and if we can break that cycle then maybe peace has a chance. But we can’t sell that package even to our neighbors here at home. Love has to be learned too and that lesson would facilitate peaceful outcomes. Rather than Zero-Sum games where having winners necessitates having losers we should try a Win-Win strategy. With love and peace, Win-Win games skip the hostility with no victims, no prisoners, everybody gains something they want. But Win-Win games fall way short of Winner-Take-All appetites when selfish, aggressive, motivated competitors want everything, they want it all. 
For them Win-Win is like kissing your sister. So the nation of Israel got its homeland back after World War 2. God himself had given the land to them several thousand years earlier with no statute of limitations. After WW2 the U.N. granted Jewish survivors most of their historic homeland back. With that act, millions of Palestinians were displaced whose legitimate claim to the same land stretched back for centuries. Evidently their claims did fall under a statute of limitations. Jews & Muslims worship the same god but through different channels. In that context, roughly 80 years later they are still trying to balance the equation with Winner-Take-All tactics except they negotiate with smart bombs and rockets now and the U.N. isn’t any help. Predictably, their leaders (anyone who might be perceived as a leader) are as much or more concerned about expanding their own power and framing their own personal legacies to suit their egos. 
But pointing fingers comes easy when you can perch on a self righteous stump and place blame on some (other) shameless reprobate. I’ve been reminded that when you point a finger at anyone, there are three other fingers on that hand pointing back at you. What I cannot deny is that I live in a nation that is both wonderful and terribly flawed in the same breath. The wonderful part is showcased every patriotic holiday but much if not most of that tale stems from several hundred years of Winner-Take-All practice where we won.
Those indigenous people who had sustained in North America for thousands of years before Plymouth Rock or ‘Rockets red glare’ they couldn’t compete with gun powder and technology. They tried to flee or to assimilate but Euro-Americans weren’t having any of that. Native Americans were nearly eradicated by ethnic cleansing and genocide. African slaves were trapped in an evil scheme that propped up an agricultural juggernaut. The horror of slavery has worn thin and is generally dismissed as conditions of the times (denial) and we’ve forgiven ourselves for our forebearers’ indiscretions. Yet, millions of African Americans still suffer under the weight of racism 150 years after emancipation. The good intentions of well meaning white folks are simply piss in the wind, lipstick on the pig. No need for me to expand on the horror of slavery, Jim Crow and popular white supremacy but the unmerited privilege of being white has (never felt better). I can’t change any of it, at best I vent some disappointment and anger, even my anger, toothless as it may be.
Years ago I took the train, ’City Of New Orleans’ from Chicago to N.O. In the gray shadows of early morning we slowed down for a little town in mid Mississippi. Not 50 feet from the tracks I noticed small, unpainted, broken houses with boarded over windows, some with lights on inside. Someone lived there. My first thought was, ‘This could be a time warp back to the slave days in the mid 1800’s.’ I was snatched out of my peaceful sleep by an uncomfortable feeling that would, years later, be rightfully coined ‘White Privilege’. For me and others like me, the unmerited mantle of social, economic and educational privilege weighs uncomfortable and dulls any sense of American Exceptionalism. Mind boggling would be too much to say but it was absolutely, totally sobering. Shame was the feeling, stirred awake to see the poverty of the poorest neighborhood of the poorest town, in the poorest state of my glorious country. I had grown up with the American Dream, that anything is possible if you work hard; and there I was passing through the bowels of that dream. I had been weaned on the idea that poverty was the reward for those who were either stupid or lazy. But I would get my own look at the harsh reality, where taking care of your family while living in poverty is the hardest, most difficult, most disrespected job there is. Some may be able to deny a real, first hand experience with poverty, paint it a soft, pastel shade of blue and imagine the scent of lavender but I can’t seem to get over that hump. 
I don’t remember much about that trip now. It included an incoming hurricane and the inconvenience of several families holed up in a high & dry place with downed power lines and not phone. The only crystal-clear memory from that trip is the three or four minutes of train sounds and poverty. It occurred to me in that little window of experience that the people in those pathetic shacks were waking up to the other American Dream. I presumed they were all black and their stupid, lazy fault had been that they were born the wrong color and into poverty. 
By definition an (Ism) is a practice, system or ideology where its proponents require their particular beliefs should not only be observed, formalized and taught but also be protected and defended at any cost. Racism, Sexism, Classism, Conservatism, Liberalism, Communism, Socialism, Capitalism; people fall into one trap or another and kill each other with clear conscience and I hate it, I really do. Many if not most people fall back on denial to ease their conscience and take comfort in a prosperity that has been purchased with an evil tradeoff. I just happen to be one of the ones who see through the smoke, who can’t escape the hypocrisy by making believe it isn’t there. With evolution there is neither good nor evil, so long as it keeps on keeping on, replicating and reproducing. So I get to live out the rest of my life in comfortable retirement and grow even older, profiting from policies and practice that I hate.

LEAVE SOME FOOTPRINTS

  I feel obligated to write, write something, anything. I’ve been doing it so many years it’s like brushing your teeth; if you skip for any reason and get by without a consequence, that oversight doesn’t go unpunished for long. Gazing at a blank page with no ideas is like dialing 911 and nobody answers. One alternative is skipping over to YouTube to watch music videos, the feeling is as good as scratching an itch but the fix is short lived. 
My blog’s website provides some indirect feedback on how many hits each article gets but it’s not reliable and I accept that. But I’ll never know for sure if anyone and certainly not who does drop in. I don’t get comments as the process is too complicated (register & sign in required). That’s alright, I’m not fishing for feedback I just need to follow through on my end. I think of each post (article) as a little time capsule that captures me (my thoughts) in that moment. By themselves they are no more than snapshots but in the collective you get a story that may wander and stumble but a story never the less. A single post may be more interesting or revealing than another but when you look back to see where you came from and how you got here, it helps that you left some footprints. For any other purpose my preoccupation with writing and the blog must be irrelevant but it gives me something to do if not a job. 

I went to church yesterday: that, coming from me almost requires a disclaimer. Unitarians work diligently to justify their (our) claim to be a legitimate religion but Christians in general presume we are just another denomination who share their fundamental beliefs. What we are in fact is a community of Humanists who fashion our own rituals and ceremony that fit a secular belief system. For the most part we believe that we were born with everything we need to meet our spiritual need and didn’t need to be saved in the first place. If you like the idea of an all powerful, all knowing, supernatural god then you would feel out of place at our place. Anyway: our sermon yesterday was about justice, what’s fair and why society only pays attention when an exclusive group has been treated unjustly. In that sermon, a quote that MLK Jr. borrowed in 1968 goes; “The arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice.” Too much content for me to dwell on here but one thought is that we may not live long enough to see justice done our time. But MLK Jr. and his cohorts recognized the far reaching scope of just practice and just how short the span of a human lifetime. Parallels were framed between civil rights leaders in the 1960’s and Mahatma Gandhi from non violent protest to relentless persistence. I thought it interesting (from my own reading) that one of today’s hot issues was anticipated by Dr. King. In the same speech, same language, he alluded to staying awake (be alert) in the struggle because every small (seeming irrelevant step forward) could be undone by the entrenched powers that be. George Floyd’s murder in Minneapolis triggered the (Woke) movement but King had seen it coming and true to his caution, organized white supremacists in particular, they have been empowered by MAGA bigots who are showing their true colors now (White only served here.) 
As much as I like and respect Unitarian’s Humanist roots I am not well rooted there. To make that leap I would need to be better schooled in the arc of the moral universe, to see it starting to bend toward justice even a little bit. I am better schooled in evolution and human nature. I have trouble getting past the long arc of violence and exploitation by people of high birth and power, against those people who are vulnerable, who are in harm's way. I am waiting for the moral arc to budge off of its bubble. We (Humans) have the capacity to make real what has been touted as a divine sensibility in regard to each other and particularly with those who struggle. It would gravitate from the ground up but at some point that thin slice of divine nature would have to break the surface. In college I was reminded often, dozens of times every year; “Frank you have great potential.” That stroke of confidence was always followed by a pregnant pause and, “But don’t forget that potential is the list of all the things you haven’t accomplished yet.”  In that context I am waiting for the arc to bend, even just a little bit before I jump both feet on the Humanist band wagon. 

BLUE STREAK

  Leon Trotsky was a Russian revolutionary, a Marxist-Leninist from the old school. His dedication to freeing the masses from a system ruled by a cruel, privileged aristocracy was unparalleled. His efforts may have been noble in theory but he certainly overlooked the diabolical nature of men who rise to power only to replace the current tyranny with another tyranny. He left hundreds of quotes behind but I find one to be absolutely prophetic even if it makes no ideological argument; late in life he observed, “Old age is the most unexpected of all things that can happen to a man.”  He never saw it coming. 

I tend to identify with commoners and defend (as best I can) those who need help but that’s where I part ways with Trotsky. I saw it coming. When my kids really were kids, every summer, one way or another we made it down to Sandusky, Ohio and Cedar Point Theme Park. They had The Blue Streak, (then) the tallest, longest, fastest of the old fashioned, wooden structure, steel wheels & tracks roller coasters anywhere. If we got there early you could squeeze in two rides before the line got so long that it wasn’t worth the wait. But then we all grew up and Cedar Point became a wonderful memory and a great story. Then, for my (59th) birthday in 1998 my grown kids took me back to Cedar Point. When we rode the Blue Streak the vibration made my teeth hurt, my head hurt and the ascent up the next hill was insufficient to recover and the next plunge was like running a gauntlet, getting beat up again and again. 

The Blue Streak adventure of ’98 was neither the first warning nor the last but it compounded the ultimate message. It didn’t sneak up on me like it did Trotsky, the onset of old age shook me like a rag doll until my teeth hurt. Not in that moment but certainly in reflection it occurred to me that I was not the stallion I once was. The ride was designed to maximize acceleration and free-fall, twisting and turning while minimizing the bleeding off of speed before the next plunge. Near the end, in a long, easy, downhill curve we heard the brakes engage and felt the inertia. Up ahead the line of thrill junkies waiting for us to offload signaled that our ride was about to end and what awaited us was an easy walk down a gentle ramp where the most exciting prospect was a cup of ice cream under a shady umbrella. No, I saw it coming. 

Once upon a time I had a daughter in law whose fear of growing old bordered on stupidity and unabashed pride. She agonized over her 29th birthday because she hated the idea of turning 30, which was unavoidable and only a year away. She moved on without us and I have no regrets other than my son’s bad choice in the first place and its aftermath. I learned that the best revenge is to live well and we have moved on likewise, living well. 

I am an unbeliever so the hope of an afterlife is not part of my guide to the universe. Hope is a great motivator when you have some (at least a little) input with the process but without that, it’s just wishful thinking. With that in mind the Blue Streak is a good life lesson. The ride is going to be exciting, even the vibrating and shaking. As the end approaches, it seems like it should go on, and on, even just another few ups and downs. But it doesn’t work that way, never did, and we knew it before we got onboard. I was privy to a discussion, a polite disagreement and exchange between a devout believer and another old heretic (like me) about the ultimate, unresolvable mystery. The question asked was; “If you don’t believe in Heaven, what do you think it will be like for you after you die?” My counterpart thought for a moment and replied, “It will be about the same as it was before I was conceived.” I’ve always liked that uncomplicated sense of time and place. 

I don’t think anybody has difficulty understanding and accepting that our bodies are about 60% water, that all of our water moves in and out through us rapidly; and that all of the water on the planet has been here all along, cycling and recycling through the water cycle, weather, plants and animals. There is a very high probability that my body today, right now, has H2O molecules that once cycled through George Washington, and before him, Black Beard the pirate, and Genghis Kahn, even Cleopatra. If that is true, and it is more likely than not, then how about the natural decomposing and recycling of organic compounds into Oxygen, Carbon, Nitrogen, Potassium and so on? It makes a plausible argument for reincarnation at the pieces & parts level. Some of my parts showing up a few generations later in a sunflower or a humming bird; that would be awesome.

I’m not selling anything. What one believes is their business. I trust that we all have needs and whatever they are, we should be able to satisfy them. In a theoretical sense, we (any of us) we can’t absolutely know anything for sure. I do not question or challenge René Descartes profound revelation (1637) “I think therefore I am.” That gem has a very high probability for its truth. But again, theoretically I allow for remote possibilities. Some ideas we embrace, others we accept with reservations and some of it we think to be absurd. It depends largely on our experience and what we make of it as well as the opinions of people whose views we respect and trust. Good or bad, peer pressure is is hard to resist. Still, if we don’t treat it as suspect then we leave ourselves open to pitfalls and blunders of all sorts. 

I've made these observations based my experience and what I make of it. Some of that comes vicariously via my peers and qualified by old age. As I see it from my perch, foolish old men are more reliably informed that foolish young men who simply do not see it coming.