Why I Slept On the Couch Last Night

I had just awakened my wife and she, somewhat quizzically, asked when I left the bed. I told her:

About 30 seconds after I dreamt that I was visiting with the Pollacks (a family from church) and I took Kenneth with me but he wasn't four he was only six months and we went inside and were having a great time and Seth Green (Scott Evil) was there and he was very funny and I was very funny and then Mrs. Pollack said that they were having a family get together and we should come because we were very funny and then I had to go to the bathroom and she drew aside a curtain (because they didn't have a door) and I went inside with Kenneth and sat down on the toilet, even though I didn't have to go poo only pee, and then because I had to go so very bad I wasn't able to keep ahold of Kenneth and he wriggled out of my arms and ran to the door (did I mention that he was only 6 months?) and examined the curtain and then he jerked it open, placed his hands on his hips, drew-up to a "Captain Morgan" pose and yelled, "I AM A GENIUS!" and ran out, laughing maniacally, so now, being alone, I let my bladder evacuate and quickly realized that I had just peed the bed. That's when I went and slept on the couch.

She laughed.

I then said, "I don't like sleeping in a peed bed, but I don't mind if you do."

She laughed harder. Lucky for me.

The Terrible Questions...pt 1 Is There a God?

Today we will examine the most dangerous question ever asked, "Is there a God?" Except perhaps "Does this make me look fat?" But that is another discussion.

For just a moment, ignore the eons of tradition in every culture ever found on this planet and just simply ask yourself if a Supreme Creator exists. Your answer is very likely based upon a vague jumble of adherence to scientific theories; family traditions; personal hopes; and willingness to change your habits.

Science tells us something completely different than what YOU probably think I am about to say. Because most of the world's scientists today appear to be Atheistic it becomes rather easy to assume that science as a whole disbelieves in God. This however is untrue and lazy thinking.

Aside from the fact that without a full survey I cannot declare anything about the religious views of any group, the questions about God held by the learned are not so simple as yes or no. The confusion is part and parcel of their way of thinking.

Science is based upon a method that says (more or less) "I propose a theory. I test a theory. I adjust my views based upon the results of those tests. I test again and again until my theory is either so perfect that it never disagrees with the results or is wrong every single time and just cannot be true. I once proved that baby kittens do not take kindly to Black Flag ant spray. Five of them died and the last grew-up to be called Weirdo and ate cockroaches for fun...but I digress.

To a fully involved scientist, only very few things are really "proven true". These are the various LAWS such as gravity and the inverse relationship between the mass of the chocolate and my degree of self-control. Everything else is merely a probability. They are perfectly happy living day-to-day under this uncertainty and only occasionally does it harm them.

But you cannot test God in a lab. So when a scientist is asked if they "believe in God", often they must disassociate from their professional thought process and move into a more emotional, metaphysical sphere which is the absolute opposite of how they have trained themselves to view the universe. Many of our intrepid empiricists will simply throw their hands in the air and say, "I don't know".

On the other hand, family tradition is little better at giving us insight into the existance of God than an old game of "telephone". Some of you might not be familiar with this rainy-day past time so I will explain: Gather a chain of people, at least 5-6 but the more the better. Whisper something into Susan's ear (stop thinking like that you naughty naughty boy). Have Susan tell Jim who tells Bobby etc etc etc. Finally the last in the chain announces what he was told. Then number 5,4, 3, 2, 1. The longer the chain the less like the original message will the final one will be.

Although people honestly WANT to tell the truth, we make mistakes. This is why hearsay is inadmissable to courts of law. We need direct testimony and evidence. So what my G-G-G-G-G-Grandfather had to say about God may be interesting but it is NOT proof.

If we look to the Ancients for guidance we see the same question bedeviling them. The philosophers were continually either trying to prove or disprove the existance of the Gods. Their elaborate logical puzzles always began from one position and ran around for a few thousand pages before coming to the same conclusion: I believe THIS, although I cannot prove it beyond anyone else's ability to wonder.

Some people simply hope that there is a God. I am somewhat in this catagory. If one really thinks about it, what is left to us in this life if there is no God?

Absolute relativism (the belief that there is no right or wrong other than what Man decides) is a hopelessly unworkable system. If every person is a law unto themselves then there is effectively no law. Who would have the right to say that their view was any more "right" than anyone else's? The largest group? That leads to mob rule. Just ask Louie the XIV and his wife Toni. America, indeed most of Western Civilization, is dealing with this very proposition right now. We have cast off God for humanism and found that morality went with Him.

If we exist here by chance and live by our own will then die to enter a void of non-being then why try to do anything other than "eat, drink and be merry"? Why give a damn about the enviroment so long as I can have my pimped-out SUV and 20 pound of gold bling? Yo homeboy yo!

Without a God in which to place trust then there is simply no answer for the "why" questions that inevitably arise (and we shall discuss in later posts) such as "Why is there evil in the world" and "Why do the good suffer when the wicked seem to prosper?"

The Greeks were famous for their tragedies because they were caught-up in that nihilistic life-style that come from rejecting the idea of a loving God who wants good for His creations. One can hardly miss the similarities between many ancient civilizations and our own. Especially how they declined after turning away from Deity. When we lose hope in the future then we sink into depression, idleness and despair. Everything collapses and another, more vibrant society takes over. I for one would have welcomed Rome's new Vandal overlords.

But what about this "personal change" thing I mentioned? Many people do not want to believe because they don't want to change how they live their lives. If one accepts a moral code then it follows that they would live by it. Many religions have a good long list of don'ts. Mostly composed of the funnest things we can do in this life...wink wink. We'll talk about that later as well.

If I refuse to believe in God than I can watch football on Sunday holding my 40oz beer; sucking on a 6 inch blunt and warming-up the $20 hooker without the slightest hint of remorse or shame.

If God exists though, then all that fun is out. And I just lit that doobie too...

So the final answer to the first and biggest of the terrible questions is..."Brian believes that God is there, mostly from personal experience with the unseen world but also from a healthy fear of live without Him. But you answer all depends on what you want out of your life."

Next we will talk about which God is out there.

The Economics of Sex

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New Toy

Heather allowed me to go buy some toys on Black Friday. In particular was a pair of Pandigital Novel eReaders. They are nice little machines with color touchscreens and can play music.

What I did not know was that they are moderately functional tablet computers! I can go online wifi, surf, email, etc and it seems I can also download Android apps.

Do I really want to bring Angry Birds into my life?

I spend my lunchtime trying to find what apps work with this machine because...of course...MY machine is not the most robust out there. There is a large Internet community for the earlier versions of this tablet but not so much for the latest.

Anyone know about the Black PanDigital Novel eReader or BPDN as it is called?

New Post Label...Kvetching

In my admittedly limited experience with languages beyond English, I find that few people have as robust a manner of speech as the Jews. Yiddish in particular is blessed with hundreds of profoundly meaningful words that are at once descriptive and fun to say.

Today's word is Kvetch and it's active form, Kvetching.

As I understand the term, to kvetch is more than just complaining, although that is the simplest translation. There is also a deeper tone of soul-wrenching frustration coupled to a sense of the idiocy of others.

For example, not one half hour ago I was moving some product on my forklift. My boss brought it to me and I was approaching the stacked pallets. Suddenly another forktruck zooms between me and the drums, bringing some packaging supplies back to the warehouse. After I shoved my heart back into my chest I took-up the pallets and turned to bring them into that self-same warehouse. Lo and behold, there sat the interloper, parked infront of the very row in which I had been placing my loads. Five minutes he sat there, examining some paperwork. Finally my patience broke and I dropped my stuff next to the intended, alloted space and gently asked him to move his posterior out of the way.

For his complete lack of awareness of the world around him, I offer my co-worker a sincere and heart-felt KVETCH.

The Horror of Growing Old

I realized something rather profound this morning. There is a reason why women hate aging so much; why men like younger women; and at who's doorstep the fault lies.

By nature (whether you ascribe that to evolution or God) women mature both physically and mentally faster than men. This is an undisputed fact. As such we find in the early teens that 12-14 year old girls are very interested in the 14-18 year old boys. They desire the more developed bodies and greater mental range.

Very few of us are able to compete with the taller, stronger guys. As a result, the peer boys are left "out in the cold" in regards to social combat. And despite what women the world over may think, guys do learn. As the awkward teen years give way to young manhood we are still several years behind our female counterparts. Their needs are different from ours. Thus we will long for the older or peer female as physically more attractive but gravitate to the younger girls who are available and craving our attention. This situation has existed forever and probably will continue to do so.

But here's the rub: During those 3-4 years of angst-ridden, hormone-flooded loneliness, the boy has modified his expectations. Older and peer women have rebuffed us, sometimes cruelly, for our immaturity. We begin to think of younger as more beautiful and valuable out of a sense of self-preservation. This lesson stays with us our entire lives.

Fast-forward to the prime mating years and you will continue to see younger women with older men. This is unnecessary since (for the most part) guys reach parity of maturity with women in their early to mid-twenties. To see a 24 year old woman dating a 30 year old guy is merely an artifact of the disparity seen in the adolescent years.

But what about the girls during that time? The same mechanism leads the female to develop father fixations. If they have had a good dad then he becomes the archetype of what a man should be. If he is bad then the girl will often chase that same type of fool in a desperate attempt to win his love; proving her worth and thus "save" her father. The psychological implications are complex. In the end though, it results also in the older man / younger woman scenario.

Now back to the twenties. If either party in a relationship has not grown past their initial assumptions regarding an appropriate mate, even worse if neither have, then the age difference can increase to the absurd.

Add another 15 years and trouble ensues. 40-something men begin to see receding hair, achy joints, a spare tire and they start looking Mortality in the face. A thin veneer of experience has helped them enjoy a deep love for their 35 year old wife, but lurking ever just under the surface is that early life lesson that "younger is beautiful, more exciting and safer". Too many men suddenly give up all to try and recapture their youth with a fast car and new girlfriend, often half his age.

And what of that older wife? She has finally reached the age where she feels comfortable in her skin. Her body has now reached the full potential of womanhood. Her husband is just now beginning to resemble that half-imagined greatness of her father. At this very moment is when everything falls apart. His betrayals (great or small) undermine the new-found confidence. She sees younger women (and is bombarded by pop culture) to recognize that she is no longer the ideal figure of femininity. Self-doubt grows. Within a few short years the natural effects of aging set-in. Yet her desire is still to her husband who grows ever more debonair and distinguished. She on the other hand is wrinkled, puffy, sagging and ever more bitter.

So who's fault is this? Mother Nature? God? No! It is the fault of every young girl who dismisses a classmate's invitation to a movie with a contemptuous laugh. It is the fault of every parent who didn't teach their daughter kindness and understanding. Blame attaches itself to the boy who, in the face of sarcasm, does not lift his head up and remember that he is a good and valuable person. His parents share the burden for not helping him to understand why these things are happening.

In the end, it is all of our faults, for not having enough love, careing, understanding, patience and kindness to those we know. And especially to those we don't.

Please, if I am unkind to anyone who reads this, help me to remember that harm I may cause and avoid it. I want to be good to others.

God has a Sense of Humor...I Hope

My family and I religious people. We go to church every Sunday and try to do right by others. This includes teaching our kids to love God; live an honorable life; and to pray daily.

Kenneth, the four-year-old, is learning the habit, even if he doesn't quite understand the principle. Thus ensues the hilarity. In the past few months he has prayed for: a big giant table, snow in Bakersfield, a giant-chocolate-Kenneth-filled-with-marshmallow, and a baby sister-another baby sister-and a baby brother.

Now Heather and I would love to have another child but at 43 and 41 respectively the clock is ticking loudly. I doubt if we have three more in us. Unless ofcourse the Lord decides to give us triplets (Oh please no!!!).

While this is all mildly amusing, the reason I hope God has a sense of humor is that Kenneth has been asked to give a prayer during the children's Sunday School program next week.

In my mind's eye there appears a prim and serious Kiff, ready to do his best at addressing God for and in behalf of the assembled kids. He rises to the podium, folds his arms and bows his little head. After opening with heartfelt appreciation for giving us a good day he launches into all the various things he would like. He includes the Holy Ghost that all present will be able to learn of the Gospel; he invokes a blessing upon the teachers to do well; and then beseeches the Omnipotent One to help mommy and Daddy stop talking long enough to make him a baby sister and another baby sister and a baby brother. The invocation closes in the Divine name...amen. The resultant silence will ride atop the low rumble of laughter bouncing from one adult to another.

I foresee this awkward moment and THERE IS NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT!

I hope God has a sense of humor.

Oy, Tevye

"Dear God, you made many, many poor people.

I realize, of course, that it's no shame to be poor.
But it's no great honor either!
So, what would have been so terrible if I had a small fortune?"

I love Tevye. I’m not ashamed to admit it. Even as a young boy I felt an instant connection to the poor Milkman of Anatevka. He, struggling to provide for his family amidst the strife and poverty of feudal Russia; his wife, Golda, always on the prowl to make a “good match” for their five daughters; and the girls, just on the cusp of womanhood; each facing challenges they never imagined.

And like that “Fiddler on the Roof”, Tevye is forever swaying back and forth between his innate wisdom, the desire to bring joy to his daughter’s lives and the overarching traditions which have preserved his people for millennia.

The movie (and I presume the play) has a fine comedic interlude with the song If I Were a Rich Man. Tevye begins by fantasizing about all the things he would do with his small fortune and inexorably progresses to one of his heart’s fondest dreams, to have the time with which to improve his knowledge of the Torah and discuss it with the learned men. Our hero is deeply devoted to God in a way that allows him to talk to the Supreme Being as if to a friend. And is that not a beautiful relationship to have?

In the cinematic version, his song ends by asking God in a powerful and searching plea, “Would it spoil some vast eternal plan if I were a wealthy man?” My answer to him is, “Yes Tevye. Being who you are right now, it most certainly would spoil at least a small part of that vast Eternal plan.” Let us examine his words carefully and see why.

If I were a rich man,
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
All day long I'd biddy biddy bum.

If I were a wealthy man.

I wouldn't have to work hard.
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
If I were a biddy biddy rich,
Yidle-diddle-didle-didle man.

I cannot say where, and perhaps my Jewish friends could help me, but somewhere I came to understand that the words biddy biddy bum are a reference to prayer in general or a specific type of prayer. I will work off of that premise.

So Tevye, if you were rich you would pray all day long? Prayer is a wonderful thing but don’t you pray all day already? Talking to God and discussing the issues of the day? And did not God place us here to work? Was not one of His first commands to Adam, one never revoked, to take command and stewardship of the earth and work it? Was not the “curse” placed upon Adam that, “by the sweat of your face shalt thou eat bread”?

Though I am sure you did not mean it, to think that God would smile upon you for trying to avoid His word through your wealth is dangerous at best.

I'd build a big tall house with rooms by the dozen,
Right in the middle of the town.
A fine tin roof with real wooden floors below.
There would be one long staircase just going up,
And one even longer coming down,
And one more leading nowhere, just for show.

Tevye my friend, you have big dreams. “A big tall house with rooms by the dozen”? Do you really need that? True you have five daughters and each could use their own room and another private space beside. Then dining and storage rooms; a sitting room; library; closets; workshops…but even with all that I can only see 20 rooms at best. Yea, that’s almost two dozen but it isn’t “by the dozen”. You are a good, honest, hard-working man who understands the evil of waste. Would you really want to start wasting money and space for a house that is so far beyond your needs? Unless…

I'd fill my yard with chicks and turkeys and geese and ducks
For the town to see and hear.
And each loud "cheep" and "swaqwk" and "honk" and "quack"
Would land like a trumpet on the ear,
As if to say "Here lives a wealthy man."

Oy veh Tevye! I am astounded and perplexed that you, of all people, would be so afflicted with the sin of Pride. Would you do all this just for the benefit of gaining the envy of the townsfolk? Aren’t you respected and honored by your friends already?  Would you rather be hated than loved? The people will rather mark you for your raised nose than anything. They will no longer wish you “Good Sabbath” for the joy in their hearts at your appearance but they will say the words for fear of what you could do to them or to gain favor in pursuit of their own ends. It plants a tiny but hateful lie in the ear, and in the guise of a blessing, thus doubly cursed.

If I were a rich man,
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
All day long I'd biddy biddy bum.
If I were a wealthy man.
I wouldn't have to work hard.
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
If I were a biddy biddy rich,
Yidle-diddle-didle-didle man.

I see my wife, my Golde, looking like a rich man's wife
With a proper double-chin.
Supervising meals to her heart's delight.
I see her putting on airs and strutting like a peacock.
Oy, what a happy mood she's in.
Screaming at the servants, day and night.

Oh now this is too much. Golda is a headstrong woman who wishes to have her hand in every decision. If you came into money and she had the freedom to give rein to her tendencies, she would become an angry, haughty and domineering shrew! Is that the fate you desire for her? God forbid it! To become like Lazar Wolf’s first wife Fruma-Sarah? Oh but she was a bitter woman! Golda of all people needs the heavy restraining hand of poverty to keep her humble. Would it please God for Golda to be screaming at the servants day and night as you say? Would their lives be any happier then than yours is now? Would the wealth make you and your family better people? Repent of your fantasies Tevye, for Golda’s sake.

The most important men in town would come to fawn on me!
They would ask me to advise them,
Like a Solomon the Wise.
"If you please, Reb Tevye..."
"Pardon me, Reb Tevye..."
Posing problems that would cross a rabbi's eyes!
And it won't make one bit of difference if i answer right or wrong.
When you're rich, they think you really know!

And so we see the dangers of pride. How easily it creeps into our hearts and twists the good man’s soul. From a poor but honest man my hero Tevye has become callous and cold toward those who trust him the most. “…it won’t make one bit of difference if I answer right or wrong”? Really? People are coming to you for advice just as they would the Rabbi and it makes no difference to you whether your advice is good or not? What if they lose their livelihood? Their family? Their life? No Tevye, the giving of advice is a dangerous matter and one not to be entered into lightly. The tongue should be guarded at all times lest we lead our neighbor into temptation. How many friendships have been ruined by the ill-considered word? Put away this arrogance lest you follow that arch mocker Ha-Satan.

If I were rich, I'd have the time that I lack
To sit in the synagogue and pray.
And maybe have a seat by the Eastern wall.
And I'd discuss the holy books with the learned men, several hours every day.
That would be the sweetest thing of all.

Now at last we find the truth of your heart. My brother Tevye wishes most to learn. As the Mishnah says, "Whoever has no regard for the honor of his creator is worthy of not having come into the world." Of that Maimonides explains "the honor of his creator"…"This means whoever has no regard for his intellect, for the intellect is the glory of God.”

Yes, it would be sweet to spend much of the day studying the holy books. How thrilling it would be to peer into the minds of the most learned Rabbis of all time. If a rich man, and one with much time on his hands, then at least be a wise one who is pious before God and free of his substance toward those in need. Only then would riches be of any real use to you.

God would have us be good, loving, kind, generous, honorable, helpful, always striving to do better, eschewing evil, shunning temptations. The Christians say that it is harder for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter Heaven. Why take those burdens upon yourself Tevye, when today you are good and wise, yearning for that God who created you.

If I were a rich man,
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
All day long I'd biddy biddy bum.
If I were a wealthy man.
I wouldn't have to work hard.
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
If I were a biddy biddy rich,
Yidle-diddle-didle-didle man.

What the...?

Okay, I just have to know. What is the deal with Haunted Mansion- Tale of the Crowned Guest? Over ten percent of my blog hits are for this one story. That is saying something considering that there are over 130 postings.

For my German guests it is an even higher percentage. I believe fully 3/4 of the visitors from Deutschland have read that post.

I think it is pretty good but, could someone PLEASE give me some feedback. Unless of course the allure is for the "Worst Story Ever Told" competition. If that is the case you can keep your snide remarks to yourself ya rotten jerks.

Ta

Brian

The Terrible Questions...Intro

Have you ever asked yourself the Terrible Questions? I am sure you have. Almost every person who has ever lived on this earth has, in a moment of introspection, wondered, "Why am I here; Does God exist; What happens after I die; and Why is there evil in the world?"

Philosophers from the earliest times have wrestled with these foundational aspects of the Human Existence and found a wide array of answers from the classic Greek despondency (which led irresistibly to the Tragedies of their theater) to the utterly nihilistic Marxian belief that Man exists for the sole purpose of increasing his own power at the expense of all others.

In greatest humility I wish to put forth my thoughts on these questions, standing on the shoulders of the mighty, learned and inspired, so that perhaps I might bring peace and comfort to the minds of those who are troubled by this great adventure we call Life.

Be aware, I am unabashedly a Christian and after discussing the most basic question, "Is there a God?", everything I say thereafter will proceed from that viewpoint.

So, let us take a journey together and see if we can find some meaning to the pitiful few moments we endure on this seemingly God-forsaken rock.

Through Rose Colored Glasses...or Blue or Green

I was just reading the news as is my wont, when I had a rather disconcerting idea...not everyone sees things the same way I do. Shocking, I know! You might think that at 41 I am a little old to have just now discovered the concepts of opinion and intellectual divergance but then I have often been described as a bit slow on the uptake.

Anyway, as I was saying, this epiphany has caused me to question and indeed understand the world around me in an entirely new light. Specifically, I now perceive that logic and rationality have very little to do with people's opinions. Perspective and pride are much larger determiners of how individuals view the world.

One specific case comes to mind. President George W. Bush lead the country in an invasion of Iraq based upon the recommendations of the Intelligence Community. He was told that Saddam had WMDs, in particular chemical weapons. His possessing such items was in violation of international law and UN declarations stemming from the first Gulf War. Now whether you agreed with GHW Bush's invasion or not is immaterial. It happened and Iraq was bound.

Going in everyone in a decision making role (including Hillary Clinton and ALL the other leading Democrats) accepted the CIA reports as factual. After hitting the ground though, our specialists were not able to find the massive stockpiles that everyone expected. Since that time the mantra, "Bush lied-People died" has become "fact".

I put scare quotes around that last word because as it turns out, Saddam DID have the remnants of a chemical weapons capability AND the ability to revive it at a moment's notice. Read the end links carefully (note the credible sources of each) and you will soon recognize that Saddam's capabilities were just as robust as ever. And remember that even a few liters of mustard gas or sarin, deployed carefully or given to terrorists, could have killed or maimed hundreds if not thousands.

However, that is not the main topic of this discussion. What I would like to point out is the strange disassociation between actual facts and the opinions formed prior and after those facts come to light.

There were large segments of the population that were opposed to the war. They had their reasons from pure pacifism to political posturing. And I recognize that they may use any one of those reasons or none at all. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion regardless of truth or facts or logic. But being against the war already, they seized upon the derth of chemical weapons as proof that Bush in fact LIED to get us into the war.

It would be helpful here to define exactly what a lie is and what it is not. If I stand up and say that the price of a loaf of bread in Rome is 10X the price in Bakersfield, I may or may not be wrong. Granted, I probably am wrong (not that uncommon an occurance) but even if I am, THAT IS NOT A LIE. Only if I knew what the average price of bread in Rome was and then deliberatly said differently would I have spoken a lie. Just being wrong carries no direct burden of evil or maliciousness. I would hazard a guess that almost every single one of you reading this has been wrong at one time or another. Except of course my dear wife who is my superior in every possible way.

So, "Bush Lied-" becomes "Bush listened to experts who, after careful consideration of the scant information available to them, determined a particular situation as highly probable which left little choice for the leader of a nation determined to prevent additional terrorist activities but to use force in conjunction with the other civilized nations of the world and under mandate of the United Nations to contain and destroy the ability of a highly unstable nation to perpetrate such activities either directly or through like-minded groups- People died".

The pejorative "lied" however rolls off the tongue much easier and gives the impression of some evil and nefarious purpose. I am sure that every one of you can remember the often deranged personal attacks upon Bush's character and humanity which followed.

Since then a large number of chemical weapons have in fact been found in Iraq. Gasses, liquids, delivery systems, shells, production facilities etc have all been located. Individually they may pose little threat but as a whole it shows that Saddam had had them (no one disputes that he used the damn things against the Iranians in their war as well as against the Kurds) and could use them again in a matter of hours. Some even present evidence that they were used against the US during the invasion, though I do not present any links because I could not discover any really credible sources.

The point is that even though the facts have generally vindicated Bush, he is still vilified and accused of lying, making him an accessory to mass murder and practically equal to Hitler.

This type of disconnect between reality and the perception-induced opinion which people maintain is often startling.

Recently in my hometown an Asian store owner shot and killed two Black men during a fight. It all began over the price of a soda. Now many hundreds of people are saying that it was downright murder over the price. But the facts are that the owner was in a physical confrontation with two men and had had enough. Did he have the right to kill them? I don't know, I wasn't there. Did his danger or fear of harm rise to the level at which the law justifies homicide? My first guess is no. One man had already left the store and then walked back in. There was no IMMEDIATE danger though it may have escalated quickly.

Yet was what he did murder?

Again I would say no. He did not go out looking for someone to kill. He did not plan to shot those two men. I suppose it is possible that he had decided to kill the next person who caused trouble in his store but the known facts do not yet bear that out.

So throwing around the word "murder" is incendiary and not warranted. Why are people screaming that most offensive of words? Because they are bringing in all of their own past experiences and perceptions about racial injustices. It is a generalization to be sure but it seems the crowd is simply convinced that that Asian man was so deeply racist that he wanted an excuse to kill Black men and no facts or fears can justify his actions. Just yesterday there was a call to close the store over the incident regardless of what happens legally. Here we see the absurdity of acting upon factless opinion. There are few stores servicing that area of town. Being the local market, the community depends upon it. Now members of that very community are agitating to punish the "murderer" and starve themselves at the very same time.

We see this type of intellectual poverty throughout our culture. Sweeping pronouncements are made about how "this group is trying to destroy our country" or "that group doesn't care about the poor". Rarely does anyone give concrete facts and logical analysis to justify their incriminations.

We have become a nation of name-callers and tale-tellers. A massive, seething, emotion driven collective of 4-year-olds who think everything belongs to them and anyone who disagrees must be a hateful poo-poo head.

I would give the lot of these screaming, inarticulate, selfish OWSers for one well-spoken person who could explain and defend their postion. The rest are just the rabble that historically are used for cannon-fodder and the guillotine.

www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,200499,00.html

www.theatlantic.com/.../chemical-weapons-i...found...iraq/180872/

http://www.nypost.com/p/news/international/us_did_find_iraq_wmd_AYiLgNbw7pDf7AZ3RO9qnM

www.defense.gov/news/newsarticle.aspx?id=15918

news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/3386357.stm

www.un.org/depts/unmovic/new/.../s-2006-701-munitions.pdf (See #10 and 12 in particular)

 

 

Guten Tag

Guten Tag meine Deutsche Freunden. Brian (oder Bruno) hier. Es gibt mir grosse Heiterkeit dass Sie meine Geschichte Der gekrönter Gast geniessen. Ich habe es gern und glaube es ist eine gute Maerchen. Jedoch, warum lieben Sie est so viel?

Fast jeder lesener von Deutschland hat diesen Geschischte sehen. Ist est ein ungewoehnlich Gleichnis im Deutchen Kulture?

Bitte, werden Sie erklaeren es zu mir?

Vielen Dank

Bruno

P.S. Ich hatte vier Jahre in Hoechschule Deutsch gelehrnt und auch zwei monaten im DDR gelebt. Also, dass war drei und zwanzig vor jahren und jetzt  mein Deutsch ist ganz schlecht. Ich musste ein On-Line-Übersetzer verwendet gahabt. Wenn Sie im English schreiben koenen Ich werde ganz dankbar sein.

-B

Ramblin...2

There comes a moment in most men's lives when they have to face head-on the terrors of middle-age. I have neither lost my hair nor begun to have issues with my...uh...that thing that is supposed to stick in your head and bring back ideas that you've had but are not foremost...memory! Yea, that's it. I'm not losing my memory or anything of that sort.

What I have done is pick up a huge spare tire. Just a couple months ago I had to shop at the Big and Tall store for a pair of dress pants. 44" waist by 34" leg. They just don't offer that size material outside of Abdul's Tent Shop.

It really is quite pathetic. Like Fat B****** from the Austin Powers movie, I can't see past my belly button. Putting on shoes requires me to hold in enough breath to qualify me as a pearl diver in Okinawa!

My kids pat me on the tummy and say, "Rub da' Buddah Belly for luck". Yesterday I bounced off the doorway going into the kitchen and the rebounding fat threw me so far off balance that I bounced down the hallway and into the bathroom where I lay jiggling for several minutes.

I had to install a monster truck tire on the left front of my car just to keep the frame from scrapeing as I drive.  When I lay on the couch with some snacks I don't have my own table so much as my own buffet!

So what am I going to do about it? I could go back to my Kung Fu class and get some real exercise. But that would mean buying a size 12 gi, which again I would have to go see Abdul about. Not to mention the endless mockery of my close and well-meaning friends. Usually

No, in the time honored way of most people who set out to lose some weight, I tossed my cookies. And my candy, cakes, ice cream, chips, sodas and...p...p...pizza. Waaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!

The family went to Costco last night for shopping and dinner. While they all gorged on that delectible greasy pizza pie, I ate a caeser salad without dressing. I HATE ALL OF THEM.

Today at work I emptied my snack drawer and was amazed at the varitey of sugared goodness I had accumulated. Peanutbutter cups and rice crispy treats being the drug de jour.

So if you find I am being exceptionally rude, short tempered, manic, listless, frantic, lost or any other character trait that is not normally in my sweet and kind disposition, then just know I am trying to better my health. And if I have to suffer, then so do all of you.

I had a Dream...1

I had the oddest dream this morning. It startled me so much that I awoke at 4:30 am and could not go back to sleep.

Picture if you will a gentle countryside, such as one might find in the more picturesque areas of Georgia or West Virginia. It was lightly wooded with a well established dirt road leading to a parking glade between an old worn-out house and a large clapboard church. I was observing the scene from somewhere above and remote you might say. As if I were looking in through a window in the sky.

Down below were a fair number of teen-agers all in stereotypical 50's clothes and driving an assortment of period cars. I noticed the turquoise '57 Chevy convertable immediatly.

The kids were all drawn to the house which, I had just become aware of, was engulfed in flames. Rather than calling for help or dousing the flagration, they were dancing and celebrating wildly. One youth in particular was foremost in the pandemonium.

He stood at least 7 foot tall with a ruddy complexion, clear blue eyes, close-cropped blond hair and the face of Owen Wilson. He kept screaming something to the effect of, "Now you know what I'm about! I'm Martin Harrison!"

Now I am completely unaware of anyone famous named Martin Harrison. This was all the more perplexing because I simply knew, in the way we "know" things in our dreams, that this was Martin Van Buren the President in his youth. Nevermind that van Buren died in 1862. For the purposes of my overwrought brain he was an 18 year-old semi-giant in 1958.

Suddenly the kids began to scatter. There was no sign of wildfire or the scream of approaching police. Ten or so of them rushed into the Church, including the ringleader. My perspective followed them right up to the door where Martin "Owen Wilson-Martin van Buren" Harrison hollered into my face, "I'm Martin Harrison!!!!" and quickly slammed the door.

If anyone would care to interpret my dream, they may forward their analysis to Peaceful Brook Sanitarium and Secure Facility, where I will be taking a Sabbatical of, as yet, undetermined duration.

Ramblin' 1

So I woke up this morning with dreams of half-priced halloween candy at Wal-Mart dancing in my head. After a night of pizza and candy I had just a mite of trouble fitting my 44" waist into 40" jeans but applying liberal amounts of axel grease and breathing in they fit like a sausage casing. Out the door and down the road to the land of Low Priced Goodness. Oh how I longed for those KitKats, Mounds bars and ever elusive bat-shaped Hersey's peanutbutter cups. I walked into the store and found that Halloween still lingered in the dark recesses of Sam Walton's empire. Horror upon horrors, not only was the candy NOT half-priced but had gone up! Bags printed at $3.49 were now tagged at $3.99!!! What demonic soul had decided to dash the hopes of such a poor innocent chocophile as myself? Was there no mercy? Was there no compassion? Feeling like a child given a toothbrush in his trick-or-treat bag, I shuffled my way out the door, vowing to never step foot inside that House of Horrors again. Even now I feel the deep pangs of lost hope, dashed dreams and despair.

The Man Who Built His House Upon a Rock- Epilogue

Epilogue

Back

“Hannah, it is so good of you to come by. I was just telling Simon that we needed to visit with you and Theo soon.”

“Oh, that is so kind of you Grace. Truth is, now that Ginni has come home we are a lot busier working with her. We hardly ever go out anymore.”

“How is Ginni doing? It’s been two weeks since she awoke hasn’t it?”

“Three. We were sitting in her room at the Hospice when she opened her eyes. Not like waking up slowly but just all of a sudden. Scared the bejesus out of Theo. He almost screamed.”

“I am so glad she’s doing better. Ginni is such a sweet girl. It brings back my faith in a loving God.”

“Mine too Grace. I must admit that for a while there I wavered. But how are you and Simon doing?”

Mrs. Peters’ face took on a thoughtful expression. “We’re doing well enough. I’m not sure what got into my son there at school but he’s not the same boy I sent away.”

“How so?” asked Hannah politely.

“Simon has become unusually kind and thoughtful. You remember how he used to go around playing jokes on everyone. Now he goes out of his way to help others, sometimes to a fault. Just yesterday he let my milk spoil on the way home from the store as he helped Old Man Pritchard change the tire on his tractor.”

“I would hardly complain about that Grace. Sounds like he’s become as fine a young man as Theo and I always thought he was.”

“Thank you Hannah. Lord knows I tried but without his father around, the boy got away from me. Would you like some more iced tea?”

Hannah Shelton smiled widely. “I would love some Grace. Thank you. By the way, the doctor thinks that Ginni won’t need any more medical care after tomorrow. And her amnesia should pass soon as well. He said that we should invite over anyone that she ever had deep feelings for. It might ‘jog her memory’ he says.”

They looked out the window to see Simon happily mowing the lawn.

“He’s so different.” Grace thought out loud. “It’s like having my little boy back.”

Simon had been spending his time working around the house with the assistance of Jody. They fixed up the back door, patched the roof and finished a dozen other little chores. In the evenings they dragged out old photos from the attic. He regaled all of them, Grace, Jody and his latest girl, a young cashier named Amy whom he seemed particularly smitten by, with wild tales that Gertrude passed along years ago. Simon showed a marked interest in his Grandmother recently. Grace didn’t understand it but she didn’t need to either. Because it was good.

“Hannah, Simon and I would be delighted to come by any time and see Ginni. He wrote many letters home about her, before…”

Hannah nodded wisely. “She did too. She loves him a great deal.”

The two women sat in silent comfort, imagining the bright future that lay ahead for their children. Unfortunately, neither of them looked out the window in time to see Simon letting the air out of Mrs. Shelton’s tires.

The Man Who Built His House Upon a Rock- CH 24 pt 2

In sheer terror he took a motorcycle from under the very hands of its owner and sped off east down Monroe. His enemy followed incessantly. Simon’s only thought was of perhaps returning to the priest. As if he could help any longer.

He nearly lost control of the bike as a truck crossed at 18^th street. Simon avoided slamming into it by bouncing himself off the car by his side. The recoil turned the whole bike sideways and redirected his momentum, just edging behind the truck. Again he looked over his shoulder to see the stone floating stock still above the intersection. Whether in his imagination or not, Simon could envision blue and green rays emanating from the Word of God Christian Center on one corner and Masjid Ahlul on the other, holding it in place. He gunned the engine to a high whine even as he realized that he was lost.

The delay given him by the churches did not last. He felt a curious pulling on his back. The stone was trying to slow him down enough to capture his body. It had reformed, no longer as a cloud but a streaking comet. Tiny lights of all colors could be seen like fireflies as they were torn from their natural elements. It was gathering all the like-minded matter into itself. Soon there would be no stopping the thing.

Road construction at 20^th street blocked his path, forcing Simon to mount the curb and cut across the corner of a lawn. The far side retaining wall launched him far into the air, barely missing a plum tree. He landed hard and whipped south, opening the throttle full. A blue and white rocket shot through Langdon Park with a fiery red meteor on its tail, pieces of the brick recreation center coming off like shingles in a tornado.

 At this speed Simon did not have much time to think. The briefest swell of gratitude that this was spring break and no kids were present to be hurt passed through his mind as they hurtled by an elementary school before he had to skitter on the brakes, just following the road as it jogged left. In this hyper-perceptive frame of mind he swore that another stone was ahead of him. He wobbled but breathed easier when it turned out to be just a house painted a garish pink.

Traffic once again became a concern at the merging of 22^nd street. He swerved and banged into the cement rail, only saving his leg by pulling it up quickly. He overcorrected and entered the bridge on the wrong side of the median.

“Please oh please no cars no cars!” he screamed out in prayer. The bridge’s steep drop left him four feet in the air and about to land on his front tire. Simon threw himself as far back on the seat as he could and pulled up on the handlebars with all his might. His front tire bounced off the ground and he jack-knifed. The bike landed on top of him and they skidded for a dozen yards before coming to a halt in the middle of the street. Just then a strip club on his left exploded with the force of a large bomb. Every bit of it lifted in a huge gaseous cloud and then drew immediately into the red stone. The concussion threw Simon and the bike fifty feet to the side, crushing them against the roll-up door of Coosmans’.

In the odd way that time slows during stressful events, Simon could feel the blast of heat from the explosion; the shockwave wrapping itself around him in a gentle caress. Then he was tumbling through the air and falling onto a trampoline. The steel cargo doors gave way under him and cushioned his fall. Then they rebounded and tossed him sideways onto the concrete where he rolled heavily, tearing the skin off both forearms.

“Wow! What a ride. They don’t have anything like that at Busch Gardens.” He lay there in shock for a number of seconds before opening his eyes. At first he saw nothing but a pulsing red light. Slowly, as his eyes focused, he perceived a truly frightening sight. The stone had become large as a basketball and throbbed like some grotesque mockery of a heart.

He crawled desperately to the bike and prayed it would still run. The stone did not approach, at wasn’t moving at all. A cool cultured voice rang in his ears, “Every time a stone transforms, takes upon itself more intelligences, then they must struggle to determine which of them will dominate.” This took time.

Simon grabbed the bike mercifully it roared to life. He tore off down to Bladensburg road and slid right, missing a bus by inches. As he drew near Mt. Olivet Cemetery the machine finally gave out. The front rim hit a low gutter and folded in two, flipping him over the handle bars before they crashed through the half-moon gates into the back corner of the graveyard. Simon landed in a crumpled heap beside a large black memorial.

Unlike his first crash, Simon felt every bump of this one. His body refused to obey him and he swore loudly. “I can’t run anymore. I can’t even move. I’m sorry Ginni. I tried.”

Simon had not prayed, really prayed since his father’s death. Laying here he felt like maybe now might be a good time to try again. The words were simple but heartfelt.

“God, I know I haven’t been that good. Maybe I don’t deserve Your help. But I want to live. I want to marry Ginni and make her happy. I don’t want to die. Please.”

As he lifted his tear filled eyes heavenward, the hated red glow poured through gaps in the wall. Over the ironwork it floated and came to rest several feet from Simon. Waiting for some unknown reason.

  The ground began to tremble and then broke in a hundred places. Pearly white hands lifted from the grass followed by arms, heads, torsos and legs. His mind almost unhinged Simon weakly said, “Ghostbusters? God protect me, it’s Judgment Day!”

The spirits began to crowd around him and he dragged himself a few short yards to put his back against a nearby monument, erected for an infant who died a hundred years before.

Reduced to insanity he cried out, “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” Great sobs wracked him. “I’m sorry”.

Then a presence rose behind him and a warm embrace encircle his body. The soft and loving voice of his Grandmother whispered in his ear, “Be calm Little Simon. All will be well.”

Though only hanging on to reality by a thread all his fear vanished.

He turned to see his Gertrude, not the old and wrinkled woman who used to babysit him, but young and beautiful as in the wedding day photo she’d shown him so many times.

“Gramma, what’s happening? How do I…?”

“Shhhhh!” she said, pressing a very real finger to his lips. “Watch, and understand.”

The stone vibrated furiously and then hurled itself at Simon. As it drew nearer it took on the shape of a man, small, ugly and unimpressive in any way except for the immeasurable malice pouring from him. Simon flinched instinctively but Gertrude’s arms held him tighter in that loving embrace.

Brilliant light burst forth from every tree, rock, headstone and blade of grass. Trillions upon trillions of tiny lights appeared and grafted themselves to the demon. It slowed rapidly and halted mere inches from his face. The spirits flailed and sunk away from the bright and wholesome light surrounding their master. His arm reached forth and touched Simon’s heart.

For the third time a painful tearing enveloped him, worse than ever before. Thousands of twinkling lights emerged from Simon’s flesh and danced up the arm of the entity, only to sink out of view. He began choking, gasping for breath. He felt light and un-solid. The most rebellious parts of his body were abandoning him for this soul-thief.

The demon’s skin began to boil and crack, like the crust over a live volcano.  Then it whispered, “Step away from her Simon. I can give you all you ever wanted.” The surrounding ghosts began to enact scenes of riches, power, sex. “All this is mine to give. You can even have her. Just…come…to…me.”

Simon buried his face into his Grandmother’s shoulder and cried out, “Noooooo!!!”

The demon howled in inexhaustible rage before breaking into countless sparks. Each red light held close by two white ones which zoomed back into their original places.

The cemetery faded into a natural, moon-lit hue. And Simon collapsed atop his Great-Great-Uncle’s final resting place.

The Man Who Built His House Upon a Rock- CH 24 pt 1

Ch. 24

Glass Houses and Thrown Stones

Back

DePraeco saw the panic in Simon’s eyes before the boy even felt it. “He’s going to flee” he thought and determined to stop him for his own sake.

“Simon, you must not run away from this. There is only one way I can help you. You must give me the stone. Allow me to imprison it like I have these others.”

For a brief moment Simon thought about the offer. “What would happen if I do?”

“You would be free of the stone. But whatever part of you is inside it would be lost forever.”

The awful implications stabbed like a dagger into his heart. “There is a girl, she had part of my stone and it tried to kill her. She’s in a coma.”

This news was troubling to DePraeco and he lost some of the suave calm in his voice. “Do they know why she fell into the coma? Tell me!”

“N-no. Her room collapsed but they dug her out and couldn’t find any injuries.”

“It has taken her. You must let me have the stone Simon, before it harms anyone else.”

Fury rose in him like lava, “What about Ginni?! You mean to say she’d dead and there’s nothing I can do?”

“She is gone Simon. The stone will never release her.”

“Liar! There’s a way! I know there is!”

Simon was yelling so loud that his cries echoed through the catacombs. Soon a dozen monks had converged upon the room and started banging on the door. Their muffled cry mixed with Simon’s to create utter havoc. DePraeco reached out as if to grab the stone but Simon recoiled. DePraeco’s face had become terrible to behold and flecks of spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke.

 “I must imprison the thing. It is too powerful to be allowed free!”

Before Simon could even think of what to do, the Priest tried to force it from him. A blinding red light rose shield-like between the men and threw DePraeco back against the wall. There was a click and the bookcase behind Simon turned in to reveal a passageway. Simon dove for his escape just avoiding the priest’s grasp.

As he retreated down the dark tunnel, Simon first heard the priest screaming in fury to come back, then a mixture of sobs and heavy breaths. Finally through the tunnel came the faintest sound of him offering prayers that Simon would be strong and begging forgiveness of his own sin.

He had no idea of how much time had passed since entering the catacombs. Surely it was several hours though his fear made each second crawl. He ran though the long straight hall, the only light coming from within his hand.

 He was becoming dizzy from the exertion when the path took a sharp turn and opened into a small rough-hewn chamber lit by the slimmest beam of moonlight that found its way in from above. There were torches in brackets on the wall and iron rings driven deep into the rock. The soft dripping of water from the roof gave this place a dungeon-like feel.

“A dead-end? There has to be a way out. Think.”

Simon tried every object in the chamber, pulling and twisting frantically but to no avail. Then he noticed a pair of shallow impressions worn into the granite floor. Everywhere was a layer of dust except leading to and in those marks. They looked like knee prints. He shuffled forward, always listening for pursuit, and gently knelt down into the troughs in an attitude of prayer. His face dropped into the moonlight which reflected off his forehead and onto a single gold ring set low on the wall. He hooked a finger on it and pulled gently. The grumble of something very heavy moving made him leap to his feet. The roof was collapsing! No, only a section, a square of rock dropped down followed by another and another forming a spiral staircase leading up and out. A fresh breeze blew in. carrying a thin fog down from the top of the stair.

Climbing as fast as he could, Simon came out in the garden’s stone dome at the front of the Monastery. The night was dark but obviously not very late judging by the traffic and pedestrians still out. He made a break for the fence and vaulted it with ease.

“Okay,” he said aloud, “What do I do now? Destroy it, just like I planned. But how? The priest says it can’t be done. But the priest doesn’t know about Grosskopf’s work.”

He ran diagonally across the intersection of Quincy and 14^th and looked for his car. It was gone, stolen while he was with the priest. He glared at the stone as if it were to blame.

“Either this is all real or I’ve gone off my rocker”, he muttered. “I can’t get to the lab at school. Where else would they have one that powerful? One…that…powerful. Vitreous!”

Before enrolling at the University of Virginia, Simon had visited a number of other campuses. One of which was the Catholic University in Washington D.C. Their Vitreous Lab held the only other laser as powerful as the one he worked on with Grosskopf. His professor said so just a few months earlier. And it was only a mile or so away down Quincy.

Simon began to walk toward the school without any idea of how he was going to enter a high security area without a passcard and operate a machine he had never even seen.

“One problem at a time”, he thought.

Going by foot gave Simon plenty of time to think. Once again something was nagging at his brain, some miniscule fact that would change the entire paradigm. He just stepped onto the campus and turned to a map kiosk when it hit him, “Why isn’t this thing stopping me? It can read my mind. Why would it want me to zap it?”

Then all the pieces clunked into place. The stones are just using electrons and quarks for their power. Atoms may alter their charge through gain or loss of electrons but they mutate by altering their nucleus. The real intent must be concentrated in the Protons.  The proton is made of three fundamental particles: two up quarks and one down quark. If any two of the three agree then they would have power over the other.

“If I follow Grosskopf’s method it would make the stone stronger, not weaker by changing the servant electrons into Master Protons. He said the process was self-sustaining. Once they got going the stone would consume everything.”

He stopped short in horror at the thought. It had been leading him to this his whole life. Now that he knew and wouldn’t go through with it, the stone would…

A deep tearing rose in every part of his body. It was like when DePraeco had held the black stone against his head but a hundred times worse. The image of Nachton flashed in his memory causing him to cast the stone away and run for his life.

A glance back showed the stone had rolled to a stop against a gnarled oak tree. Simon slowed, wondering if this was really happening. Then the stone rose in the air and exploded into a red cloud before beginning its pursuit.

Once again Simon fled with all he had but could not refrain from looking back to see what was going on. All havoc broke loose behind him. At first the cloud leapt from one item to another. Each time it would absorb into the mass and then emerge on the other side, growing larger with every host. Soon he could tell it was regaining its solidity, filling in the empty space inside from new atoms taken. It was also gaining on him.

Simon ducked into a crowd on the sidewalk, knowing that it would do him no good. The red mass was jumping from one person to another now. Whomever it touched acted out in the vilest manner. One man turned and smashed a lady near him face first into a plate glass window. A child began cursing uncontrollably. Two women stripped off their clothes and danced suggestively in the street. Yet whenever it passed the victims began to cry in shame or simply collapsed into a heap. One or two of its slaves chased Simon for a short distance before giving up the ghost. 

The Man Who Built His House Upon a Rock- CH 23 pt 2

Just when Simon had transformed from a man set on finding answers to a willing servant dedicated to help, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that DePraeco had the air of a good man trying to hold back evil with all his might.

“Please Sir, help me understand what this is all about. What are these stones? How can they do these things?”

“That my dear Simon, is to explain creation itself and existence and evil. It is a long tale. Come, make yourself comfortable.” He indicated another large and well-worn chair which Simon happily took.

“Have you ever asked yourself why there is evil in the world? Why bad things happen to good people? God, in His infinite wisdom, decreed that all things should have agency, the right to choose for themselves whether to obey His commands. There are many theories as to why He did this and that answer is not so very important to our discussion as you might think. The fact He did so however, means everything.”

DePraeco kindly remained silent while Simon thought carefully about these words. After a few moments he felt that he had a handle on them and the Priest continued.

“As you read in the Bible, a third of the Host of Heaven did indeed rebel and were cast out to follow Ha-Satan, The Accuser. We further read that the serpent played host to Satan and turned from God’s will when he tempted Eve with the apple and she in turn gave it to Adam. You see, God’s creations have been exercising their agency from the beginning, before the World was. This has continued right down to our time. But we are getting ahead of ourselves.”

Simon was listening with fascination. Religion had been important to him. When his daddy died Simon decided that God probably didn’t exist, or if He did then he didn’t care for Simon and his momma. Otherwise He wouldn’t have taken daddy. If He didn’t care about them, then Simon wasn’t going to care about Him.

 “Everything has agency, right down to the rocks around us, the trees, and the chairs we are sitting upon. Tell me Simon, what do you know about the structure of matter?”

Here was something that Simon was ready to follow. He was sure he knew more about science than a Priest locked up in a dungeon for thirty years.

“I’m studying physics in school; Sub-atomics particles in particular.”

“Good, then you might understand. At the quark level we have reached the end of our empirical data. There are no machines powerful enough to look that far into the building blocks of creation. Yes, the collider at CERN is impressive but it only tells us what the particles do, not what they are. For now we are consigned to the theoretical search. It is in this field that I have worked for most of my life. I believe that String Theory holds the answers to regaining our lost knowledge.”

“Regaining knowledge? You mena people have known about this before? I’ve never heard about this agency idea dealing with matter.”

“That’s because some in the past did not want to face the very frightening possibility that the earth might turn against us. The ancients knew about String Theory. Oh, not in the terms we do. They ascribed it to magic or ethers. But they understood it and wrote about it. Read the Patrologia, Clement of Alexandria, and the Greeks. They all understood it to some degree. It even appears in the Bible, if you look closely enough.”

Simon and his mother read the Bible often. She had never lost her faith, even if it had cooled with her husband’s death.

“Do you remember the cursing of the fig tree? Christ was walking and saw a tree that should have had fruit on it. When they got close He saw it was barren and He cursed it for not obeying God’s will. Don’t you see? The organization of the tree, the atoms and molecules had used their agency and chosen to rebel against God. Christ judged them and pronounced sentence.”

Once again Simon was out of his depth but tried hard to follow the logic.

“Perhaps you remember the miracle of turning the water to wine then? The servants brought jugs of water to the Master who changed their molecular structure into that of wine. It would be a simple thing, if one had the power of command, to rearrange the protons, neutrons and electrons from H2O into fine wine. We can do this today though it would require much planning and an incredible amount of energy. He could do it in an instant because the strings were His creation and possessing an amount of intelligence they obeyed His will.”

Comprehension dawned on Simon’s face. He had read about a scientist who had changed lead into gold through atomic manipulation. And DePraeco was right, it cost far far more in materials, time and energy then would be practical to do often or on a large scale. This he understood and suddenly the Miracles of Jesus took on a less mystical but more believable aura.

“Of course”, he replied. “Why would He need to use some unknown, unknowable power when He had the right to just command the elements to reform themselves? If He made the universe in the first place then He would understand how everything worked together. And calming the storm and Peter walking on water, those are just more of the same. It makes perfect sense.”

Simon had climbed from the chair excitedly and walked around the room. His face lit up with each new insight to DePraeco’s ideas. This was every bit as fulfilling as the work he and Grosskopf had done but the priest offered so much more. Simon was stalking the next burst of knowledge when he stopped short at the far edge of the candle light.

“Good! Good, you do see the truth. The possibilities…”

Simon interrupted him harshly.

“What is that?!” he was pointing toward a large pile of blankets stacked on a low bed. It looked as if it were breathing.

DePraeco didn’t even turn his head before saying, “That is my brother, Antonio Leonardo DePraeco.”

Simon repeated the words from magician.org, “he is with family and enjoying the well-earned fruits of a very long and productive life.”

DePraeco laughed harshly. “My brother lived a very long life indeed. More than his share you might say. And he is now suffering the wrath of God for his insolence.”

There was no joy in the older man’s words, only the pain of love betrayed.

“What’s wrong with him?” Simon asked timidly.

“He has been struck down with leprosy. Poetic justice really. That disease is the ultimate expression of a body’s elements in rebellion. They refuse to remain in unity with each other. Fissures develop and sores until finally the body dissolves. I can only guess that God thought it just for him to suffer the pains which come from the powers he sought to unrightfully use.”

“But can’t they treat it now. Don’t they have vaccines?”

A pained look came over DePraeco’s face. “Science does not have all the answers and they will never be able to overcome the will and judgments of God.”

“So God is fierce and vengeful. He lets bad things happen for no good reason and then what, laughs?”

"Do NOT blaspheme here. God will not be mocked! He allows agency so that all things may be fairly judged. Justice would be frustrated if any had the slightest excuse. Unfortunately that often leads to painful results.  Have you ever wondered about birth defects that have no medical cause? The matter which formed those bodies sought to do things its own way rather than that prescribed by God. All Life, all matter, has the agency to choose. The vast majority obey. Some go beyond, seeking more power over themselves and others. Everything obeys or rebels to some degree. The smallest particles are much like people. Most are simple and basically good. They obey God because He is God. Some are ‘dumb as a box of rocks.’"

Many of the stones rattled furiously like they were deeply insulted.

“So what I saw happen to Nachton, it was leprosy in fast-forward?”

“I do believe that is precisely what happened to him. When his stone combined with yours it was too powerful for him to control. It took him because the spirits which were within that body, those he had forced domination upon, were beginning to break free.”

Fear erupted in Simon’s heart. “Won’t it be too strong for me?”

“No. When the yellow stone combined with the blue it formed a new green one. Then it took the body and became Red. Every time a stone transforms, takes upon itself more intelligences, then they must struggle to determine which of them will dominate. That red one gave itself to you just as your blue one did in your youth. However, it has far more strength than you are prepared to deal with. If you do anything against it, the stone will surely kill you.”

Something in the back of his mind suddenly clicked, “The story! The old voice told me a story about a Wise Man who led his people away from a kingdom. They were then attacked by the former ruler.”

“Yes, my brother was very fond of that story. He used it to justify much of what he did. But you have heard it before then. We talked about it.”

Up until now the whole conversation had been an exercise in theoretical devices. How things might work together with no basis in reality. But if DePraeco was right, if all this was part of the eternal battle between good and evil, he would have to choose sides. Now.

 “Why hasn’t it killed me already?”

“My guess is that you haven’t tried to get rid of it before. Or there are powerful forces surrounding you. Things trying to influence your life.”

Simon looked around the room desperately. He could see dozens of stones now, each carefully set into a crystal box of varying shapes. Some of them were vibrating as if trying to escape.

“How do I get rid of this thing then? What do I do?”

“Pray” said the priest mirthlessly. “The elements of that stone have attached themselves to you. They are as much a part of you as your heart or brain. There is continual movement between your body and the stone.”

He held it out between them.

“Reach your hand out to take it but do not touch. Be aware of what you feel.”

Simon followed the instructions and gasped when he found that his arm was drawn toward the red crystal in DePraeco’s hand. He had to consciously hold it back.

“Look closely. What do you see?”

Simon brought his face to within a few inches of the stone and saw a tiny strand, like smoke or the finest spider silk, running from it to the tip of his right forefinger.

“How do you feel? You have the urge to grab it don’t you? The elements present in both your hand and the stone, those which are of the same character, want to be together. The stone cares nothing for you. It simply wants to increase its power. It is a being with one sole purpose and will destroy you when you are no longer of use.”

“How, how does this work? Are those masses of electrons? What is it?”

“I’ve told you, they are the complimentary, symbiotic elements that are shared between you and this stone. The more often you use a stone, the more you control it, the more this exchange happens and the greater power it has over you.

"That's why you yelled at me when I asked about the stones." With a trembling hand he finally took back the red stone and held it tightly in his fist.

"Yes, I had to know if you were under the power of something...unrighteous. It has happened many times before. Even to the very wise and learned. Do you see these?" DePraeco pointed to a half-dozen crystal caskets, each bearing an iridescent stone at its center. “I have been able to induce obedient matter to encapsulate and control the evil. This has not been easy and required a certain amount of coercion on my own part.”

“How did you do that without…becoming evil?”

“Remember that the stone is only a collection of energies that have agreed to a single purpose. They can always change their will. As with gravity, all things exert a force on all others. It is how you kids say ‘peer pressure’. Only a very small number of those particles are truly rebellious and they draw their power from their followers. Alone they are nothing. Like any petty dictator. Like Satan himself. That stone is made of the same stuff as those devils that rebelled against God and were cast out of Heaven. It is a piece of Hell on Earth.