a few philosophical meanderings:

If the existence of God is the only thing that gives existence meaning, what then gives meaning to the existence of God? Ultimately, existence must be justified by existence ; the purpose of being is to be.

Now, whether that is enough is the unanswerable question. Being and non-being, the infinite and nothingness -- those are our choices. On or off. To be or not not to be.

There, indeed, is the rub for, if we exist as part of the infinite, 'off' becomes unobtainable. That we do exist can not be changed. We are; that is that. Our fear (or desire?) should not be nonexistence -- complete death -- but the nonacceptance of our being, our not-becoming.

So we may accept or reject our existence yet we will exist, regardless. Should we not then embrace existence wholly? I mean not this, our everyday life, though that should be lived in its entirety as well (as much as possible, of course). I speak of accepting our eternal existence, accepting the fact that we always were and always will be, outside of time, outside of this universe, as part of the totality of being.

Which may and properly should be called God. The 'Word' (logos, which can mean 'idea' as much as word) that was with God is not only Jesus but all of being.

I know that fighting against existence, embracing nihilism and rebellion, can be an attractive proposition. We didn't ask to exist, after all, did we? There is a part of us that yearns to embrace nothingness and the final peace it offers. An empty offer, offered by emptiness.

We can always end this life, this phase of our being. What, though, is the point? One might as well wait for it to end on its own and live it in the mean time. The pain, the joy -- they mean nothing and they mean everything. They are who we are, insignificant specks in the infinite yet every bit as important as each other insignificant speck.

I make no pretense of knowledge as to what comes next. I know only, believe only, that existence is, was, will be, that we are a part of the eternal God, one of the infinite persons in which 'he' manifests.*

What better choice is there but to recognize the infinite within us rather than deny it? What better choice but to become our true selves, who we are and more than we are?

Stephen Brooke ©2010

*God, of course, encompasses all things (and more!) and is therefore he, she and it.

CRIME

Your rhyme scheme
is a crime scene,
said the poetry police.
It's doggerel,
as you know well,
this activity must cease!
Please desist
and don't resist,
no, not another verse.
When write is wrong,
the right to song
only makes things worse!

Stephen Brooke ©2010

Hey, at least I'm writing something...

I think it is wrong to make everything equidistant from the listener with too many mikes. The pasting-on effects end up like bad Photoshop work on graphics and photos -- too unbelievable. ~Tony Faulkner

Faulkner is a respected engineer of classical recordings and was referring here to orchestral music (incidentally, I'm not sure how verbatim the quote is -- I think it was someone's take on a recorded interview) but it applies to much of what we hear these days. The typical song on the radio is the aural equivalent of a photoshopped picture.

It's certainly a good thing that modern recording technology lets us 'fix' some things but, for the most part, I believe it is carried too far. Give me a little reality, please, and hold the autotune!

WARNING: Steve should probably stick to poetry and gardening but sometimes I...don't. :)

When Obama's State of the Union address and Apple's iPad launch were scheduled for the same day, one of the writers over at Slate asked whether technology had become more important than politics. Well, I've some news for you: technology has always been more important than politics.

History is driven largely (entirely?) by economics. Which is a meaningless statement, in and of itself -- a bit like saying that illness is caused by disease. Though, at various times in various cultures, witchcraft and other causes were mistakenly blamed for illness.

Similarly have 'great men' and such been named as the movers of history. Great men (and, of course, women) may rise to the occasion but they are not the force behind it. They may shape history but it would all end up much the same if someone else were at the helm.

For it is the human race that makes history, not individuals. And what the human race is interested in is living. Yes, surviving is part but not all of that -- one might say that all the rest of living, i.e. the pursuit of happiness, is a support for survival. At any rate, we are driven by the need to feed, clothe, house and protect ourselves and our families.

That is, in essence, a matter of economics. Individual choices may be influenced by any number of factors but the choices of groups always come back to this one basic need. There have been many theories put forth to explain the mechanisms by which groups attempt to fill this need but they often seem wanting and/or simplistic. People do tend to like simplistic, which helps explain why Marx's class struggle theory caught on.

Not that it's particularly relevant to this discussion, anyway. People survive. People get better at surviving and survive longer and have more offspring. Getting better means better technology. Technology and economics are always deeply interconnected, forever symbiotic.

So technology is more important than politics, far more important. Always has been, always will be. Politicians, political parties and systems, whole countries, come and go. None of them are as important as the invention of the many tools that help us survive and prosper and even, sometimes, kill each other. They shape our lives, they shape our societies.

Universal health care/insurance may be an admirable political goal but is it anywhere near as important as the medical discoveries of Jenner, Salk, Pasteur? The birth of modern democracy in America was an event of major import but could it have happened without the thousands of technological advances that raised the wealth of the middle class in Western society?

The iPad is hardly an important technological advance so, perhaps, it was less important that day than the president's speech. It is part, however, of a very major and continued technological revolution that has touched everyone's life, no matter how isolated they may be. And this revolution -- as others before it -- will ultimately lead to political change as well. It will shape history.

Stephen Brooke ©2010

IN MY continued and somewhat fitful program to organize my old songs, I came across this one I wrote about twenty years ago. Not really a very strong effort but it has its moments -- enough to consider doing something with it anyway.

THE FORGOTTEN FARM

In a hidden forest valley,
Where a reckless river ran,
Lay an untilled fertile farm
Belonging to a rich old man.

He would retire from the city,
Soon, he said, to work his farm;
And though it rarely will come true,
Such a dream can do no harm.

Remembering only what he wanted,
Not the toil nor being poor,
He'd plow the earth as his father taught
A restless boy, long years before.

He never wound up his affairs,
And never noticed how time creeps.
One day it took him by surprise --
Now he neither plants nor reaps.
Perhaps it's best for dreams are happier,
So much happier, when one sleeps.

Still the river runs unheeding,
Still the pines grow on the hills;
All men's dreams are soon forgotten
But men dream on and ever will.

Stephen Brooke ©1991, 2010

Although the date on my copy said I wrote it in '91, I think that is when I worked it up with a tune. The actual lyric, I'm pretty sure, is older and originally written as a poem.

On a completely different subject, I used to 'follow' other blogs, do the RSS thing and so on, but I've found that it is actually a lot simpler just to put all the pages that interest me in groups of tabs and open them up every day or two to see what's going on. So if I'm no longer on your list of followers or friends or such, that's the reason -- chances are I'm still visiting from time to time. :)

PICKLE

I thought it would be a piece of cake,
as easy as pie, make no mistake,
but life is hard and fate is fickle --
now I'm in a pickle!
How did I end up where I am,
to get myself in such a jam?
Tried to change but I'm short a nickel
and now I'm in a pickle!

Oh, I'm in a pickle,
yes, I'm in a pickle;
I reached a fork in my rocky road
when my piece of the pie came a la mode,
I guess I reaped no more than I sowed --
yes, I'm in a pickle!

When he plants, each man supposes
everything will come up roses,
but those roses sure can prickle;
now I'm in a pickle!
I poured some chicken soup for my soul;
you came along and punched a hole.
Now it's slowed down to a trickle
and I'm in a pickle!

Oh, I'm in a pickle, etc

I sipped champagne till you burst my bubbles;
now I have a glass half-full of troubles.
It's all gone flat when it used to tickle;
now I'm in a pickle!
If life were just a bowl of cherries,
the apple of his eye is who a man marries;
but it's true, life can be fickle,
and I'm in a pickle!

Oh, I'm in a pickle, etc.

Stephen Brooke ©2010

Another somewhat silly song, albeit a bit more ambitious and crafted than the last I posted. There was a generic sort of tune going through my head as I wrote this but I may attempt to work up something with a tad greater originality. The idea, of course, was to play around with an array of cliched phrases. Btw, this is first-drafty and subject to change.

addendum: if some of this seems familiar, it's because I posted a poem last year using some of the same phrases and ideas.

ANOTHER PERSON

You made me what I am today:
lonely and depressed;
The reason I turned out this way,
sad and over stressed.
You told me that you couldn't stay,
your needs were not addressed,
And ever since you went away
it must be confessed...

I'm another person
and not a worse'un,
I'm another person
yes I am!
I'm another person,
even stopped cursin' --
If you ever come back
you'll see I am!

Yes, my dear, I've really changed,
now my faults are few;
Or at least they're rearranged
and not so easy to view.
Don't look at me like I'm deranged,
I mean it, yes I do;
No reason for us to be estranged --
just pretend I'm someone new!

I'm another person,
I've been rehearsin'
To be a better person,
yes I have!
So won't you drop
that grudge you're nursin'
And if you come back,
you'll see I have!

Stephen Brooke ©2010

It's good to be creative again after a bit of a dry spell. Even if its just a silly song that might pass for one of Garrison Keillor's throwaways. I've played with a tune for it; maybe I'll finish it off after a while.

THE SUMMER before I went into the first grade was when I first heard music on the radio or records that I can still recall. Before that, it's a blank though I remember a great deal of my life otherwise, right back to when I was two years old. No recorded music.

However, I do remember my sisters singing earlier than that. Grandfather's Clock. Rock a Bye Baby. When exactly those memories start, I'm not sure; only that they are part of the house where I lived from ages two to six.

We moved from that home in the summer of my sixth year. In the new house, where we remained less than a year, I can remember hearing Burl Ives. Indeed, I learned to crank up the record player and play the 45 of 'Little White Duck' over and over. From there on, lots of music is in my head. I learned to sing along with Art Carney on 'The Song of the Sewer.' Now there's an early influence for you.

And Kirk Douglas singing (sort of) 'Whale of a Tale' from Disney's '20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.' Everly Brothers and Patsy Cline discs that belonged to my older siblings. More Burl Ives, such as 'Goober Peas.' Phil Harris!

So I certainly wasn't an early bloomer, music-wise, no toddler-with-an-instrument or anything like that. But then, there were no players in the family. Oh, Mom is a pretty decent pianist but went without one from her teens until her forties.

That was an important year for me, there on Diana Avenue. Yes, I started school, which I hated immediately and never changed my mind. I do not do well under other people's regimentation. Perhaps because I'm so thoroughly regimented on my own. I do like to do things my own way.

The year also held the earliest migraine I can recall. I've no doubt there were earlier ones, I just wasn't self-aware enough to understand and remember them. The same with my life-long insomnia. Life-long till I found an effective antidepressant. Effective against migraines, anyway.

I also recall, that summer, really getting into playing with my toy soldiers in the long sandy swale out front. Caves and ditches and walls and little men strung out over yards of terrain. I guess I was more interested in setting up the scenarios than actually putting my guys into action. Apparently, I spent hours out there talking to myself. Oh, I still do that, don't I?

What, I wonder, would I hear if I could eavesdrop on my six-year-old self? Would it be interesting or just nonsense? Knowing me, possibly both.

* * *

a short and somewhat silly poem:

MINORITY

Each of us is
a minority
of one.

Where is that
affirmative action
when we need it?

Stephen Brooke ©2010

* * *

It's the time of year to be looking at seed and nursery stock catalogs, making lists and getting ready to send orders! I should have my first in the mail in a week or two, probably to Vernon Barnes up in McMinnville TN. I've been ordering from them for years, as did my father before me. One of the few companies out there that still does business purely through a print catalog.

I'm thinking I'll go heavy on the hedges and ground cover this spring. Honeysuckles, more PG hydrangeas. Definitely some more blueberries -- I've four now and another four should give me just about the right size patch here. Well, I'd like more but there's only so much room. I may attempt some more mulberries too, continuing the row I set out last spring. Though I have figured out that it works better to get the trees in early fall and give them a couple months of slightly cooler and wetter weather rather than trying to start them in the (usually) dry spring here. Maybe I should just keep them in pots through the summer.

I dug up all the bulbs just before the cold spell and will replant them in a sunnier spot soon. They had been, mostly, in the somewhat shady bed in front of the porch. They'll go under my mom's window now. Lilies and Asian lilies and amaryllis. There are already cannas and day lilies there. I also used the cool weather (cool, ha, it was downright frigid) to transplant my roses, some still in pots since they came from Steinhatchee. More roses are something else I'm going to get but perhaps not till fall. That would be Robin Hoods or something similar for hedging.