Tagged: love
Two Similar Dreams Last Night
The first dream was solely and plainly focused on mountain lions (and black panthers). In essence, everyone was comfortable with young and old wild mountain lions and black panthers walking around their kids. Everyone, that is, except yours truly. I can’t remember if I successfully killed any or not, but I was in the “they need to be killed” camp for certain.
The second dream was similar, except the animal was snakes. And the setting was work. And this time I did kill two of them. There were four in the dream total, but even in the dream I could not account for where the other two went. And the last one I killed was essentially encased in a pickle jar the size of the large orange puff snack jars. But when I cut through the jar (and also the snake), the pickle juice type liquid got everywhere and this was the sticking point between my co-workers and I. They didn’t want me making such a mess.
As far as the first dream, a couple days ago I had been talking mountain lions and watching videos on them. So that is easy and plain. I also listened to a podcast on prison gangs yesterday. This naturally and necessarily includes the phrase “black panthers”. So their addition to the scene is easy to account for.
The second dream makes sense given I have, also recently, told of my exploit to kill a snake that was on the seminary campus years ago—a snake that no one else thought needed termination. Add the biology room scenes from any of the Alien films or comics that I have been immersed in and you can easily see both the pickle jar/suspension fluid and “missing snakes” aspect.
Whew! Almost done.
The striking thing, however, is not easily addressed. And it is the most interesting part of trying to see if there is any meaning in these dreams. Both dreams, and many, many other dreams of mine, include a threat that only I recognize as such. Also, I usually am not successful at “ending the threat”, to speak generally.
Years ago I assessed this powerlessness as the Biblical God showing me that “it’s not my fight”. Essentially, “Relax!”
Whether or not that is true, this morning it was the “only one who recognizes the threat” part that stands out. This is probably because, firstly, I don’t feel unnecessarily ate up, like I felt when I was in seminary learning how ridiculously lay-Christians interpret the Bible—God bless ‘em. Secondly, I have relaxed since then; in other words, I took the advice and have relaxed. So why have the same message?
No. There’s something else to be learned.
I can’t help but mention that in the movie Heat the thief has a recurring dream. And the meaning. But this recurrence doesn’t stop the dream nor meaningfully take effect.
Attention Black Faith Leaders: We Need Black Preachers
I just read about how you’re trying to boycott Target.
In the comments, I read, “…Thank you.” As a white man, I take this to mean, “Thank you because, as you know, I would prefer to shop with Whites only anyhow.”
So let’s get this straight.
Segregation was real. And you (Black Preachers) got it to end.
Now you (Black Faith Leaders) advocate for segregation?
Seriously, you need to become Preachers again (Gospel Preachers, if you want my honest opinion). Something was lost in the generalization.
The Biggest Lie You Believe Today
I’m a Baptist. If the Baptist denomination could be summarized in one pithy sentence, it would be, “Baptists believe there are no more priests.”
Naturally this conjures up images of bloody sacrifice and robes, but that is not the sense I mean.
By “priest”, I don’t mean “leader”. I simply mean “humans with special access to knowledge.”
Moses was a priest. David was a priest. Adam was a priest. Cain was a priest. Jesus was a priest. Peter was a priest. John was a priest.
In the past, a very select few men and women were priests. But that time is long gone.
With me?
Augustine wasn’t a priest. Nor Aquinas. Nor any pope. Nor any pastor or bishop or, laughably, prophet of today. These men and women who entitle themselves as such DO NOT have special access to knowledge.
What is the aforementioned “biggest lie”? You believe that the experts of today are “priests” in the sense that I have outlined above.
Fauci. Biden. Harris. Hawking. Tyson. Dawkins. Hitchens. JRE. Trump. Peterson. Winfrey. Obama. You believe these people have special access to knowledge. They do not.
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Some anecdotes to further persuade you:
After dropping a patient at the receiving hospital, I usually head to the EMS lounge. Inside you’ll find snacks and a place to sit. Often, there are policemen typing up their reports on their indestructible laptops. I have reminisced with these guys about how, when measured by time, more time is spent writing than being a “cop”. Everyone chuckles and agrees and then they fervently resume typing.
The same goes for the clinicians. Half an hour with a patient results in at least twice as much time on paperwork and documentation.
I went to a locksmith proper the other day and while there asked him, “What do you actually do all day?” His answer? “Drive around. All I do is drive to people who are locked out.”
I am certain that you can add to this list of apparent vs. real work yourself.
Do you see how it applies?
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We give away so much power to others because we believe the lie that they have special access to knowledge.
The policeman isn’t super-powered. He does what his boss tells him, and also can read and write. The nurse does what her boss tells her, and reads and writes. The locksmith opens locks and drives around—not much reading and writing. The physicist looks at light through prisms or their equivalents and reads and writes. The mathematician rearranges ink on paper or characters on screens until he is pleased and reads and writes.
There is no such thing as a general scientist anymore. But if there was, they would admit that they spend the most of their time reading what others have written—which is likewise available to you and me.
I implore you, faithful reader. Stop believing the lie. Convert to Baptist. Life is far more beautiful and meaningful when you keep the power. You’re not stupid. They’re not smart. Instead, they have been lying to you. And you have been believing the lie.
It Sounds Like My Wife and I
As the family listened to Zelensky and Trump last night at dinner, though I knew my wife (Dark MAGA) could tell Trump(/Vance) won, I also had to chuckle because the argument Trump/Vance made was almost precisely the one I often find myself making.
“Recognize the facts!” we say in unison to the weak.
Unlike all the hypsters and hucksters, I am not worried about the future on the world or family scale. But I do confess that in both situations I am not sure what happens next. In my marriage, all I see is predictable error after predictable error. Will this end in tragedy? Probably not. But maybe.
What will happen on the world stage? I don’t know. But I like the historian (can’t recall his name, Stephen Kotkin?) who said, “War is always a miscalculation.”
Quit Complaining About the Eggs
Quit complaining about the price of eggs.
How, you ask? Easy. Eat steak.
Now that the prices are comparable, I have been eating 1/2 petite sirloin steaks—perfecting a cast iron pan fry—for breakfast as the rest of the country questions themselves into lunacy.
And I like it! Who wants eggs, when you can eat steak?
Urge is Returning
I haven’t felt like writing much of late. It wasn’t writer’s block that stopped me. I always have plenty to say. It was the fact that you’re not supposed/allowed to share patient data and so I couldn’t say much more than I did about my last work week. And then, while I often like myself better because I indulge in providing the forever internet precise examples of the terrible realities of marriage, sometimes I just can’t keep sharing them, which, yes, implies last week was doubly rough. So those two things kept me quiet.
But.
I just clicked on a video of Kamala stumping to some thespians and the way she gets to her point is to say, “Nature abhors a vacuum.”
I mentioned in earlier posts that I would someday give my reasons for reading the Great Books of the Western World (and classics in general). Immediately, then, fulfilling my vow came to mind. After all, Pascal is the “great” who singlehandedly took down this claim that “nature abhors a vacuum.” How? By treating it earnestly. He merely asked, “How can nature have a feeling?” (It is totally appropriate to think, “That’s it?” Yes. That’s it. We, all of us, have a duty to call out confusing assertions—though giving the benefit of the doubt to the author is always the best until you are certain they mean what you initially thought.)
See how that works?
But then (getting back to me and my desire to make a small contribution to this world) I thought, “So what are you trying to say? That the Great Books are necessary to know she is a moron?” To which I answered, “Good point.”
I don’t know how any knowledge of Pascal is needed to recognize how stupid Kamala Harris is. However, if pressed, I could admit that knowing Pascal and how that particular phrase really did motivate him to end one strain of stupidity may be valuable when talking to an educated (at least a proper Bachelor’s) Harris supporter. The tactic being, “You know Pascal destroyed that notion which was previously holding science back, right? Nature doesn’t love or hate. It doesn’t emote or have purpose. You do know that, right?”
But on the whole, I can admit I just get excited when I see morons more clearly than before. It’s like the clarity is exciting, not the ugly picture.
Anyhow. The urge to write is returning. Not quite back. But this is feeling good.
As a parting gift, here is some Pascal.
Rougher Work Week
In Heat, the cop played by Pacino returns late to the ritzy bar his wife lingered at and she starts in with, “And I bought into sharing. But this isn’t sharing. This is leftovers.” (Or what is the same.)
Pacino responds, “Oh I get it. You want me to come home and tell you that some junkie just put his baby in the microwave because it was crying too much. And somehow this will…” and on and on. (Or similar.)
Later in the movie while desperately trying to keep someone he knows alive, he says, “Not you, baby.”
Suffice it to say, these scenes, not the particulars but the emotions and complications, come straight from real life—which I would say is exactly why I love that movie and have always loved that movie.
In real life, as I have written before, my own reaction is a sudden and unaccounted for need to cry. I didn’t this time. But all the necessary variables were in play.
There is a great desire to ask, “What can fix the scene(s)?” Or “How can we help people?”
But I have come to believe, “This is the scene. You don’t fix it. You don’t help. You just play your role. And you hope that your society has good roles.”
From the earliest age I knew my role was “anonymous, systematized, called-in relief”.
It’s mostly rewarding.
My 4-Yr Old Recognized Beauty
She FT’d me as they were walking into the garage to leave for mega-church. The door opened, and the way she holds the camera it was difficult to not notice the barely cloud-speckled blue sky. Then I saw she did too. And without prompting she said, “It’s a beautiful day,” and faded almost into a hum, “in the neighborhood,” which is of course from Daniel the Tiger or whatever the name of the Mr. Roger’s-based show is called. (Not that she has seen it in several months since I tossed the TV, but I feel like being clear that she isn’t an abstract idea floating around in the aether, but a little girl.)
Anyhow, it’s true.
And that’s the point I want to make to all you anxiety-driven, suicide-prone, depression-claimants. Take a look at the lilies of the field. If my four year old can see them, then surely they are there.
The Left’s Only Sound Play
Like how comedians must stick to particulars to be funny, the Left must stick to generalities to regain power.
The Left’s only sound play is to claim as a baseline, “Well, whichever Republican was elected after Biden would be perceived as doing well, comparatively.”
This is sound because it is essentially true, it concedes reality, and, importantly, it provides the currently missing foundation for the future. It also undercuts the “cult of Trump” with exacting precision, no small desire of the Left, though not essential to the cause. For readers with the ability to see nuance, it also offers a distracting element. No one is talking anymore about whether Trump is even a Republican. But the Left should want that debate to resume because any interruption of focus counts in the quest for power.
Will the Left use such sage advice? Of course not. Why not? Because they, as we all saw for four years, are not of sound mind.
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Why share such sage advice? Why spend time considering it? Because I desire the history books (which will draw heavily from this blog…) to show how even the meekest of those with common sense knew what the Left needed to do, but the Left was intrinsically weak.
Examples of Good Obituary Lines (Fiction)
He could go weeks without eating a vegetable or piece of fruit, and I don’t believe he ever ate more than two whole apples, bananas, or any other fruit in a single day for his entire life.
When she was four, she developed a habit of interrupting every member of her family—and most strangers—whenever she felt like it.
He could read the comments on YouTube for hours without ever finding motivation to give more than a thumbs up.
After graduating college and getting a job, he found it impossible to order from Subway without getting cookies.
Sometimes, when reading a book by himself, he would laugh out loud at an irrelevant idea that came to mind.
He never wore a hat in the sanctuary.
She often got irrationally angry the moment someone started talking—and sometimes just at the sight of certain people.
He could not leave a campground without uttering, “How can you tell the Boy Scouts have been here? You can’t!”
She hated being reminded of anything she ever said.
Nobody who had received a gift from her would have guessed it, but she was never taught how to wrap presents.
Not long after hearing a good idea, he routinely could be found sharing it, along with an original—and untrue—story behind how he thought of it, with others.
He started his habit of daily exercise the same week that he ended it—and was happier for it.
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Do you see? The obituaries or eulogies need to be filled with love. When you say something that is A. Untrue and B. General (like, “He loved life” or “He was loved by all”) you merely show that you didn’t even know the deceased, that you didn’t ever notice them even.
Do better. We all deserve it.
Captain’s Log 