My Life as a River

An Introduction to My Collected Works
(and madness)

From the abyss of a bygone era, I emerged—after many long hours of trudging through oozing bogs of mud-laden darkness, shivering from a cold and a shadowy wet which had sopped down my neck, back, and down my trousers—gathered through blended waves of sweat and drizzle beneath miles of dripping rock. The old silver mine tunnel and I were both exhausted and painted in the foul-smelling sludges of many flowing and hardened years. And after a long-anticipated adventure—they half-heartedly heaved me back into some altered, foreshadowing reality. Bursting from an underground umbra, into the blinding sunlight, it took several minutes for my eyes to adjust and focus upon the lengthy line of official looking cars, propped up by a few gun-toting sheriff deputies. They stood like soldiers—impatiently waiting for whatever hapless idiot emerged from that deep, unrelenting, yet beckoning conclave. The chasm of pasts drew me in freely, but now it regurgitated my ignorant once curious self into an altered, more curious path or burden of life.

As a young seventeen-year-old—I worked in maintenance at the Rustler Lodge, located near the bottom of the famous Alta Ski Resort of Utah. For years, I had also spent time with my friends exploring the old neighboring silver mines, honeycombing the alpine mountainsides, where dark bronzed mine dumps poured out their drudge between the lonesome slopes of meadow plaited wildflowers. Driven in the late eighteen-hundreds, these hoary workings tempted me inward with their intoxicating vapors of hard rock toil and history. When I hiked up to those tunnels and climbed on worn wooden ladder rungs in tottering shafts, hunching over—through short and winding tunnels, I felt like I could feel the presence of a more unsettled—desperate age. Eventually I would emerge a thankful soul for the opportunities which might begin to hover about one unassuming young soul like me. And on every one of those journeys, a new forked passage would hold out an auspicious hand—as another harsh or rewarding challenge, or a deeper and darker exploration of myself.  

My goal in this stage of my yet unformatted life—was to travel the miles of deep underground workings which made up the old Cardiff and Wasatch Drain Tunnel mines. Nobody had stepped-up to explore or accomplish such a task for many years, so I—like many clueless teenagers, anxiously awaited my somber haunting within this lonesome rock hewn excuse of a twisted stone and mud saturated fortress.

Driven below all the old silver mines perched high upon the long alpine ski slopes, the drain tunnel emptied water from their deeper (once flooded) catacombs. It also provided a common point to transport their precious cargos of rich silver ores. This long tunnel—situated beside the steep and roaring Little Cottonwood Creek, amounted to a sizable percentage of the stream flows at that high elevation. It had also become in its tattered and abandoned life, the source of supply for drinking water at the Snowbird Ski Resort and other adjoining villages. From a million drips can birth the introductory seeps and songs of a long mountain river. A river which plunged down in its steep canyon walls to supply the populated patchwork of Salt Lake valley below.

My journey of discovery managed unawares—to contaminate the entire stream in a bright orange discharge—kicked up as I sloshed the miles of water and sludge laden workings. Caused because of years of acidic water, dissolving away countless tons of iron sulfide ores (i.e., iron pyrite). In simple terms—I managed to trigger the shutdown of the local water systems and even affected an entire water treatment plant at the mouth of the canyon—which fed into Salt Lake City. And this single pivotal reason was why they were all so affixed, anxiously waiting for my dirty, pathetic face to emerge from the remains and safety of my dark hidden vestibule!

Now, there is a whole backstory here—which I have neither the time nor willingness to present in this work, but there appeared a kind engineer, a Vice President of Snowbird, who saw my meager potential for “some possible good,” and he called off the growling wolves. He took me in, providing me a much needful job, and he became one of my first life career mentors. I spent the next 22 years or so, working in that canyon learning the public water supply industry and managing the water and wastewater systems servicing those world class ski resorts. I obstinately labored to clean up the polluted mine discharge with various water treatment facilities, met some good friends, and I believe I left the place far better off than when I started. I had “paid for my sins,” over those many exhausting years, and eventually became “fully rehabilitated.” And, without that strange opportunity—I would have likely persisted on as a “ski bum,” and to lurk the depths and endless haunts of those darkened muddy passages beneath long hot summers. My path’s course was tested, and I found my calling—delivering clean drinking water—providing some of the stuff of life, and it oddly began at the edge of a steep and troubled falling river. For me, this was an obvious course adjustment or correction. But still—many choices in life are not always so straightforward.

Like many of us—our lives are composed of numerous forks we encounter upon the strange or stirring paths of life. Our choices may shape us and can even bend our sense of space and time, depending on the fork we pursue. We commonly refer to these junctures as a “choice” between “right or wrong;” “good or evil,” and some are appropriate choices. But many of these alternatives can be (and usually are) both good (or both bad), or simply a choice between an elusive better and a best!

 In Robert Frost’s (overly analyzed) poem, “The Road Not Taken,” we, like most people, straightforwardly interpret those familiar words as a longing to take the more correct path in life—and we reflect and admire upon the consequences of making such a proper or opportune judgment. But let us read and ponder upon this marvelous work a little bit closer:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Too often we quote only the three last lines of the final stanza and much of the important context spills past us. I interpret this simple work as meaning that either fork in that evocative path could be or become correct, for both “equally lay” a course to another worthy life adventure. It is the choice we make—exercised about some faith and confidence that will usually guide us through to newer opportunities, vocations, or friends. Another simple yet cogent quote, attributed to the late Yogi Berra, which I believe could condense Mr. Frost’s and my thoughts down to one single statement, has abetted me as I confront some of my limitless choices or mind-numbing challenges in life:

“When you come to a fork in the road, take it!”

With this theme in mind—I still believe we must all stand for our values and ideals in our personal choices, if the choice is based on such a question, but many choices are not. I find it troubling that recently many in our society have chosen to embrace the far extremes of considerable social, economic, and political issues. We often forget how to compromise and work united on essential solutions—potential keys to our countless ills. Today many profess a weakness of compromise, and that everyone needs to stand for their perceived “one and only path.” This strange belief in my mind, is the weaker one and could eventually fail within its own heaping landslides of perverted egos, conflict, and excessive pride, not to mention the long-term harm of a loudly divisive nation and world!

Sadly—many in humanity are also losing their ability to debate issues freely and appropriately or have a meaningful dialog which could result in a fruitful or lasting change. Name calling, including the vilification of science are becoming a new standard, and the depth of any issue becomes buried in some showmanship and our favorite “reality TV” like production or news opinion. Extremes pander only to their extremes—and forget the real people who need help the most. And by confining all reason to only one correctly perceived politic, it is resulting in the insult and loss of the more moderate, pragmatic, and quieter folk like myself, a demographic and critical dynamic you never wish to misplace or forget.

 With that weird preamble—allow me to walk back out of that dark portal again, and into a more formal introduction and its relevance to my poetry. I am not good with starters, particularly those which involve myself, so please bear with me, and allow me to briefly introduce this small slice of me. An introduction which may kindle a brief setting and background to this long and diverse work, as well as why this collection of poetry is essential to me, and hopefully at some juncture in the remarkable chapters of life—to you.

I need to begin by explaining that this work is a challenging undertaking. It has taken many years and is the first time that I have really felt that I am exposing many, if not most of my secrets and weighty vulnerabilities. And yet, I realize that this is not uncommon among writers, and needs to effectuate—yet still, I am ever hesitant to proceed. So, with that brief disclaimer—let me more formally dive into the tracks of my deep, dark waters:

I have always been a profound thinker, even from the earliest shadows of my scattered remembrances. From my childhood on, my mother often reminded me to stop “daydreaming” and to “focus more” on the present or the important “tasks at hand.” These same pleas ring in my ears today—both at work and at home. And regardless of the current settings, still my imagination records or plays on, and will usually become the lone victor, leading me down many passageways, most rewarding, but some also—predictably uncomfortable, dark, or disappointing.

These dreams lead me to explain that the author who most influenced me when I was young, and who fed or abetted my fantasies the most, was Ray Bradbury. I read everything he authored, many times. From the first time, I read The Martian Chronicles, I became fully engrossed in his style and form, and more particularly, his mesmerizing creative writing skill. I honestly felt that I was living within all his short stories, not just on that desolate red planet, but in it—or wherever his science fiction craft would transport me. Today in science—Mars appears much closer.

It is also more evident to understand some of the many other writers who had some influence upon my early life, namely: Arthur C. Clarke, Isaac Asimov, Carl Sagan, Douglas Adams, Kip Thorne, and of course, Stephen Hawking. As a natural evolution—I began to relish all things about modern physics and its child—astrophysics. Even today, I sleep beside a whole bookcase of many such works, some of which read like textbooks. Science is an escape, whether fiction or fact and when bored by those who bloviate upon their excruciating hubris’—I often reflect upon a quote by Isaac Asimov:

“People who think they know everything
are a great annoyance to those of us who do.”

I am not boasting here, as I never proclaim that I know more than others—to the contrary, but like many others, I just loathe hearing endlessly from those who act or claim they are the experts of everything. I always believe there are many corridors (or forks) they have failed to venture upon. And I hope that much of my writings forged herein, offer some keys to hidden doorways and curious paths we often overlook or avoid in our journey. Paths less traveled, more often than not—lead to greener things and open insight into more diverse understandings.

Studying scientific works has also given me a new hope for technology in our world. I see its fruits as a blessing from God to everyone, but only if we will have the patience and courage to nurture and accept it. Casting its truths aside over religious or political squabble may result in our eventual pain and demise. Charles Bukowski rightly stated:

“The problem with the world is that the intelligent people
are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence.”

Presently—scientists need to “suck-it-up” and step out more—even if reluctantly, into the frays of the untested and unremarkable world of politics, if only to unify and save us from society’s bloviating voices of scientific doubt and the weeps of our warm and tiring planet. Katharine Hayhoe has become my hero of this fresh revolution of thought.

In school, we as most, read poetry from many of the classical writers. And like so many young people, I recall the handiworks of Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Walt Whitman, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and others. I admired how one inspiration, Emily Dickenson could describe in her beautiful but lonely words, the world and conditions surrounding her, and how to live different yet happy in challenges of man and nature—even in a stimulating or haunting way. (She taught me the value of the em dash!) If I could cross her with someone like John Muir, or Bob Dylan—you may discover buried within me, the tiny seeds of some distant poetic influence.

Thinking farther back—my very first poetry, which I still possess or recall, seeps from weathering fragments of my mother’s old brown accordion folder of school treasures. It appears to have begun in the fourth grade, and many of these are amusing, or just inanely silly. But they slowly ripened into something a bit larger. In seventh grade, my English teacher provided some encouragement. One small poem, in particular, had a little red note attached, stating: “please see me after class!” Mrs. Green then told me that this was as good as anything she had read and that I should pursue this infantile talent some more. But she also stated, “why must it be so dark!” Oh, how she failed to realize that all boys that age only focus on death and destruction. It is simple and ubiquitous in the confines and conversations of youth. Yet, after that suggestion, I authored a small poem about a color— “Blue;” which began my first dip into the many manifolds of bright and promising waters reflecting its eternal solitude of sky.

Now, much later in life—I treasure merely hearing or reading from the many modern and diverse “free form” poets. The beloved works of Mary Oliver have tutored me in simplicity and purity of form. And poets like her are rising everywhere, and their songs, from varied points of view, could heal our troubled societies if we but read with a heart. I wish there were more of them, to drown out the apathy and hubris that floods the careless undocumented hallways of social media and ever-competing news feeds scattering their opinionated bundles of crass word rubbish.

In my lifelong professions (landing unsuspectedly in the Water Engineering and Information Technology fields—as implied above), I strangely evolved into the realm of the classic technical writer. In fact, my technical writing college professor mentioned to me that I should pursue such as a lifelong vocation—but for me, that path would become an anathema to tread. Still—I unenthusiastically stumbled into that as an offshoot of my work. I have authored numerous engineering reports, technical studies, and other tedious analysis. And I could proficiently write an instruction manual for virtually any type of mechanism, contraption, or elaborate system. Or a municipal development code. But over time, I could see that this type of writing would ensnare or rob from me any possible creative instinct which might kindle in my dammed-up mind. Feelings trapped deep inside of me, struggling to emerge from the labyrinths of my pasts. Mr. Bradbury kept calling me from a long-forgotten void. Poetry and prose-poetry eventually became my outlet, or defense, from anyone ever adjuring me again, “you should have become a technical writer!”

Inexplicably, my life leisurely became assembled upon numerous contrasts and paradoxes (or branches). My childhood desire to live my life out as a hermit, ensconced in a small cabin hideaway, deep in some wooded and lonely mountain, (which, in a way, has poignantly happened) provided me some early inspiration. But other interests developing through time, slowly superimposed themselves, and have left me conflicted. To tear apart and to build things, to mine out a mountain, and to protect a such fortress. Light and dark, cold and hot, wet and dry, the depths of the earth, then upward, into the pinnacled realms of outer space, and finally one of the greatest of juxtapositions—rock and water, with their diverging shape, nuance, touch, and texture. Over life, as these choices presented themselves—I often appeared to straddle both forks on the path and explore both consequences if possible—or I would attempt to forge a more bohemian trail between both.

This effort fostered a small talent—to find meaning in a world, within all its nesting creations, and it caused me to discover an incredible body of symbolism and metaphor tangled about me and our beautiful planet. A home which never fails to surprise me, shelter me, and encompass us all, without any real prejudice. I feel that these images, floating in my mind would become a significant loss to me, as well as many others if I failed any attempt to poetically express them or document them in some appropriate or strange way.

Through these resounding thoughts, I found early on the love of my life, a woman who was much more mature than me, and who has kept my feet on the ground, helping me (as my mother once did) to focus my attention on the stuff which really matters. For that single non-conflicted and pleasant decision, and all which has flowed from such moment—I am forever grateful. I could fill a heavy volume with just the love poems I have penned and left upon her pillow over our years. A few of which I hope, fit expressly in these sacred confines.

On a more personal side—I am reticent, introverted, and at times, an insecure individual, who thinks or escapes into secret places, not unlike those deep caves. But in such cavernous diversions, I continue to intensely read and study the works of many scientists and religious teachers, and climb upon many of their high mountains, to imbibe in their approaches and challenges. I have stood upon such physical and spiritual peaks, treacherous, yet conquerable; stone citadels, with which I have fashioned much of my life. And I strive to seldom waiver from the secure footholds they have established. Yet I still approach much of my trials in a peculiar strength—formed in the heated forges of a longer yet patient weakness.

For I, like many, am not without numerous problems and challenges we face today, especially in an often complicated and dissonant world. My family and I have struggled through many physical and emotional issues and pains, yet I try to find some light or purpose, even if only a tiny candle warms me in my hope. And as soon as I begin to feel, even in the least bit sorry for myself, I always find many others who have walked a much fiercer or thorny path than any of my insignificant and trivial steps of stone.

My beautiful mother and two of my children have fought the painful manacles of cancer. One of my young daughters still battles these demons, while the rest of my family seems to wait innocently within secretive chambers for the lurking sounds or ache of some possible and terrible cancer toll. Another daughter suffers with a fierce autoimmune disease. All my lovely family struggles with some type of physical, mental, or emotional affliction. Parenthood never gets a break when children are grown. The ancestries of love and affection must pass on in perpetuity to assuage the ailments of all its posterity—forever.

Twelve years ago, my body and lungs, have wrestled with the curse of sarcoidosis (an inflammatory autoimmune disease) and its little gift of pulmonary hypertension. This has prevented me from doing much of the activities I grew up experiencing—but “it” has also forced me to live much of my adventures, vicariously, through other people’s eyes and experiences, which I have become eternally grateful for. All these trials and happenings have brought more clarity and resolve and faith, to my current state in a tenuous and tender mortality. And like so many others with physical afflictions, it has helped me to place a priority on the things which really count, and not on things I can rely on with money. These challenges have forced me to write more—something I can attempt, without the excess exertion of my physical body. The mind, on the other hand, presents an effort which continues to be rightfully excruciating.

I have also fought long and hard to deal in some positive way with depression and its common offspring—anxiety. This enemy will occasionally and unexpectedly rob my mind of any hope and cast my hopeful future into its dark and cold prison cell of despair. I have battled many dark days, with drugs and other mechanized defenses of my own device. Some work a bit—while others often fail. I believe these types of diseases are unique to each victim, so my methodology to deal with its cold clasps may not always work for others. However, writing has become one of my fiercest weapons in this endless battle. And in our recent divisive political climate, my writing has become prolific and fierce! Yet, when all else fails, I have often needed to rely on a power far more significant than my pen, a kind and understanding wife, who is my best friend, as well as the companionship and grace of God himself. Often, my journey, which began in a brutal and illogical battle, has needed to end—upon my knees.

In this physical and spiritual quest, I have through some effort of discovery and prospecting, found God’s love in much of the smallest, or simplest, and forgotten places, His works and creations abounding in our magnificent and natural world. In my struggles, you will find telltale signs of this war between dark and light in many of my poems. And when you are war-torn by the craterous ruins of depression, you may like me, tend to quickly run back into the skeletons of past heated skirmishes. Yet if you write, it is often one of the best defenses which can last—especially when you return often to read and reflect upon your own thoughts, losses, experiences, and especially your pivotal triumphs.

I should also warn my readers that, while I love to write, I have never felt that I am much of a writer. I struggle with issues and difficulties, which continue to plague my thoughts and words. But, with that acknowledgment, I passionately believe that we should all write more (or begin to write). Putting into words (in any style) our thoughts, our stories, our dreams, and our challenges, does have a strange healing effect. Like an aroma of arousal—writing is the portal into our complex minds, our hushed memories, our feeling hearts, and the depth of our very souls.

When we look back upon the extending fence lines of our words and ponder upon them, we will all learn more about our inner selves and personas. Not to mention what others will learn. Often our written words are all with which we gift to our posterity, generations after we have passed onward. And some of those may find a new friend—or hope in us when one is most needed. So herein, I reluctantly attempt a play of sorts, to leave a little piece of myself to family, to friends, and to others looking for any humor, wit or wisdom, spark of light, or a tiny ember of a future needful hope and light of life and warmth.

I must also provide another inane or silly confession. I have an abiding fear, nearing an obsession, that I am going to lose my mind! I know this may be trite or not amusing, and I am by no means close to descending into the realms of a hypochondriac. I do anything to avoid doctors and any of their diagnosis or resulting prescriptions, but this thing is a deep-seated fear. I struggle—even herein, to find the right words, a scuffle that in my younger years I never experienced. In my aging voyage however, I feel like one of the only ways I can combat that fear is to again continue to read and write, to forge onward—absorbing newer things. It does seem to help somewhat. Therefore, in this stage of my life, I delight in every single word which I can present or condense upon, in any decipherable order, especially because I have a tough time remembering or distilling upon words, I once thought easy to arrange or invent. I just wish I could speak!

So much of my strange and different life experiences lie in fragments throughout this collection. Scattered about, I pray that they will hopefully possess some grander meaning. Some are worthless, others mundane, but there is a bit of genius hidden in the depths herein. In this spirit, one of the primary purposes of this work is to help readers and friends gain a little bit of understanding about themselves—by spending a moment to learn a bit about me. All my quirks, and my beliefs, including my family and those who have shaped the dyes, cast the concrete, and constructed my weathered being, are colorfully painted in these strings of short and lengthier verses. And we may discover similarities.

The collections in this book, consist of varied selections, of over one thousand of my early writings, up into a few years my retirement. These span an exceptionally lengthy period of fifty years. And in this stretch of time, there were dry years—a total dearth of any thought or writing, as well as recently, some wetter years. Because of this vast timeline, you will again find many of these scattered works of lesser quality or understanding than others. But everyone should find something which rings home or could fit a personal struggle or victory of life. And those treasures, I expect, will surely be measured differently by everyone.

As I assembled many of the poems and prose-poetry, I found some common threads in many of these—but none as mutual as my dependence and fondness for water. Water in its purest form is life, and its purposes sent me exploring in life, eventually shaping my lifelong career. In fact, I have spent much of my life, attempting to “fit some small piece of a river into an ever-constricting pipe.” Through such experiences, I could see a maturing relationship develop with these wet things, and particularly the rivers of my life. The power of one oxygen atom and two hydrogen atoms, bound together in a perfect unified angle and shape, form a natural standard and cultural metaphor of all life, and cradle all its vast knowledge. Where would we be without this simple and often unforgiving molecule, born within the depths of stars hanging within a dark and haunting sky. To travel vast lightyears of distance to provide the force or glue which binds all of God’s creations. Tying us into a unified package of purpose and love.

From these settings and those described in more detail in this book, I formed the basis for much of my wonderment—upon the intricate complexities of the world, nature, and truths of science and life. And these very intricacies, are what bestows upon us a variety and beauty, within all things which seek for a comforting nourishment of any faith and truth.

This effort has also helped me to focus more on the things which really matter, to not be bound down by possessions, technology, news, social media, and the like. To avoid the traps which big data and information, utilized by unworthy hands and evil eyes has placed before all of us in these concluding and challenging days. Such complications and confusions should push us all to look more to God and to His extraordinary creations, for lasting redemption from despair, anxiety, and the societal troubles which have plagued and will continue to afflict so many of us. The dark side and its enduring captains of putrefaction are relentlessly trying to draw our attention into their digital flotillas of addiction, and away from the simple joys of enduring family and dear friends.

I have also included many experiences from my life’s spiritual perspective and yearnings in the most profound sanctuaries of my soul. I was raised in a good Christian family. As a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (known by many as the Mormon faith), I have tried, to the best of my often-weak ability, to carry these thoughts, choices, and actions into my later life, during the times I have depended on my faith the most. This unique theology also allows me to drift beyond the confining veils of this earth and wander purposefully into the vastness of the ever-expanding universe, to carry my dreams and hopes farther away—to realms often incomprehensible to many other faiths.

Because of my genuine beliefs and love for those of family and community, my wife and I serve long and hard in numerous church and school and community organizations and causes. We have found that in life, you may take a path of entitlement, where you believe everything is a God gifted right, a right of freedom to do what you please, whether in the end—it may hurt you, or it could even hurt others. We, on the other hand, took the fork in which we feel like we all have a God given obligation. A responsibility to care for others, our country, community, the health and safety of a nation, and lastly, for us individually. This is a hard fork to spin upon, but the rewards can last long after the selfish rights of one’s own inward desires have weathered away into the dry flowing sands of time.

This religious spirit of duty has also helped me and my wife to connect and grow closer to our distant ancestors (through genealogical and family history research), the very people who have molded us by their dreams and genetics into what we are today. As we have explored more deeply into their life triumphs and challenges, we have found that we are much like them, and as such, we draw closer to them in many things. Their lives and spirits have become a significant analogy to my dream of an infinite river, extending deep into the past, with countless tributaries feeding our souls with their diverse spirits and unique DNA. You will see this theme in much of this collection regarding a so-called holy or special river, which eventually flows onward towards our final ocean—to become or to engulf us all in its everlasting home of graceful peace and security.

While active in my religious beliefs and conservative community, I am also, paradoxically odd, or different in another way which I must explain. My path to recognition and praise of the power and grace of all creation, including my firm belief that we are all charged with its proper stewardship and protection, including its billions of inhabitants, has molded me into one of the few but proud, liberally, and often more progressive and environmentally conscience members of the Church of Jesus Christ. And on a smaller scale—this process is not unlike the constant protections we offer our own home and family. I freely admit I am a Democrat, though not necessarily a party loyalist (I try to avoid “ists” and “isms” and hold a firm disdain for the divisions which prevail in both political parties today), we do exist; however, there does not appear to be many of us, particularly in Utah. And I may be one of the few active ones in my local congregation. Some hide out within this stigma, but I believe it best to show unequivocally that Jesus Christ’s truths and love rain down equally upon many sides of diverse beliefs and races of children.

And while I am a more liberal soul—I am not extreme. I am more left of center, but again, more progressive, because I believe we should all utilize our modern brains, scientific discoveries, and technologies to provide some real progress in social reform and improvement of the human experience or condition. The old guard on the far extremes enjoy labeling each other as socialists or fascists. Proof they can never leave the shallow and binary edges of politics and migrate into a newer, freer, liberated century. Good leaders may be found on both sides, and they all share faults. And I will always remain—steadfast in who I am or who I could become.

Which also may explain why people have often referred to me as “different.” Because it would appear that I have followed a divergent path, or a “left-hand fork” in life. Not a wrong path, just a different one. And in any decent dialog, we could all stand to learn from those who have taken a risk or affirm a different idea, or life approach. No harm done, and as mentioned before—both sides (or many sides) can be correct, especially for the person whose destiny may await such a course of discovery.

I suppose in religious terms: I would mingle more with the goats, instead of the sheep. (And I know much about goats—I used to raise them!) While a bit more defiant, recalcitrant, they think differently, and in simplest terms—while capricious, they remain in their distinctions, very loving. As this may frighten some, it is a reassuring path for me. Besides—I admire goats, amid any imperfection they have, they are kind, loyal, and dedicated to the companionship of us insecure human types.

Notwithstanding—my river’s fork is a very lonely one, as I am sure others like me will attest—yet we eventually find our peaceful abodes, amidst a clear conscience. I remain steadfastly, a different or unique voice in a unified choir of God’s divine mission—where the ultimate power of life is molded in a perfect unity of good among all sides of a cause. Such endeavors in faith as God’s handiworks of peace and love attest, will always rise to victorious outcomes.

For readers who are members of my faith or wish to discover a little bit more about its peaceful and fulfilling lifestyle—let me offer a few words of particular interest regarding what many today believe is incompatible, namely science and religion. As well as a belief that you can be religious and concurrently lean to the left or be more progressive in your religious indoctrinations.

I feel amazingly comfortable wearing my skin of religion and science, and because of my philosophies, I find them compelling, compatible, even necessary. That God created all things, over billions of years, using natural laws of physics, to me, is one of the greatest wonders and beauties found in a vast and often misunderstood universe. I do not fully comprehend why this simple truth needs to remain so surreptitious. Perhaps we need to stop thinking that everything is always so “black and white.” The color palate of God’s brush or touch is infinite, even in our puny mortal eyes, and there still await colors to be discovered in His vast and uncharted spectrum of the paints of the eternities.

In this world of profound scientific thought—I can still stand up for my faith and my dependence upon the love and grace of our God, a wise and intelligent God, in all life, and in all the glorious things that make Him, who He is. And I can do this while demonstrating His enduring love for all of us through His scientific gifts, which in fraught trials of arduous discovery, can allow all of humanity to distill truth and to rise in mists above conflict, to become unified in meaningful progress. And such works further elucidate the myriad of His profound creations and foundations of a vast anthology of learning, health, joy, and lasting happiness.

Members of my faith are often more personal to a real and living God than others, including the concept of a heavenly and spiritual family, of which we are all needy partakers thereof. The thought of a spiritual Father and Mother gives me peace and a surer perspective that keeps me grounded; helping me solve many of my complex conflictions and peculiar perplexities. Should not we all try to emulate such an uncomplicated yet splendidly pure and straightforward model of an authentic and resilient spiritual life?

···················· 

This very religion sprang up over 200 years ago, with the yearn and curiosity of a young fourteen-year-old boy. As a child of a poor farming family in upstate New York, young Joseph Smith began his quest for deeper knowledge by reading a simple, yet poetic passage in the Bible, in the first chapter of James. It reads (in my own poetic form):

If any of you lack wisdom,
let him ask of God,
that giveth to all men liberally,
and upbraideth not;
and it shall be given him.
But let him ask in faith,
nothing wavering.
For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea
driven with the wind and tossed. [Emphasis added]

To me—James was a poet, as well we often tend to forget the creative talents which gleams in the post arranged verses of some of those early Jewish and Christion writers.

Examining this passage further, we understand that: God gives his wisdom (and love) liberally to any who ask in faith. And if such be of Him, why not all of us? Can we not give of ourselves more, or of our words, or comfort, and hope more? And it would appear that we could do so more liberally, and not based on a uniquely conservative model! Young Joseph heeded these simple words and retired to a sacred grove in the woods to pray. There he received a personal and divine manifestation of truth through pure revelation—which guides millions of God’s devoted today.

Why many Christian religions only rain the buckets of their sermons upon conservative and far right-wing dogmas is well beyond me. I feel as though many often put their political beliefs ahead of their religious beliefs. Obscuring the source and the spirit of their purest of devotion. Caring for everyone, whether the poor, the refugee, or whomever, is a central doctrine in our religion as well as many other religions. A famous biblical quote from Matthew chapter 25 rings louder in my ears every time I hear it. From the Bible (NRSV) I quote:

"When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left.

Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.'

Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?'

And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’”

Are we to ignorantly suppose that those on His right were only conservatives? And sheep and goats aside—who seriously are the hungry, the thirsty, the strangers, the naked, the sick, and the prisoners? They are among us everywhere—often they are within our own families. And who are the “strangers welcomed in” are they not the refugees? Members of my faith, of all people should relate to such a plea—for we began as a religious movement cast out from our own country. A threat to the local status quo because of their zeal to possibly cast different votes. Deprived of rights and freedoms enshrined in our most sacred of founding documents.  Suffering the ultimate in voter suppression, in a loss of property and lives!

And not to belabor the fact—but along with numerous teachings in the Bible, similar, even more lucid teachings appear in another of our vital scriptural cannons: The Book of Mormon. In the first chapter of the Book of Alma of that sacred work, we read:

“And they did impart of their substance, every man according to that which he had, to the poor, and the needy, and the sick, and the afflicted; and they did not wear costly apparel, yet they were neat and comely… And thus, in their prosperous circumstances, they did not send away any who were naked, or that were hungry, or that were athirst, or that were sick, or that had not been nourished; and they did not set their hearts upon riches; therefore they were liberal to all, both old and young, both bond and free, both male and female, whether out of the church or in the church, having no respect to persons as to those who stood in need.” [Emphasis added]

Need I elaborate more upon the Christian charge to care for everyone? But wait! Not only are we charged with such liberal care of our fellow human family, we also have a divine responsibility to the same care of our earthly home which houses such humanity.

Concerning the testimony which our selfsame and often weary planet declares of God, we also read in the thirtieth chapter of Alma, (in the Book of Mormon):

“… all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator.” 

I have realized these same simple truths, whether examining the incredible power of the simplest microscopic bacterium, to the physics involved within the motions and time manipulations of massive black holes. Embedded within the most profound and secreted spaces of our galaxies we can always discover more enduring and universal truths.

In the book of Genesis, we come to realize God saw that all his creations were “good,” and he rested and adored them.  He also gave us dominion—to care for, to use properly, and to be wise stewards over all his handiworks. A creation lovingly planned and labored upon over billions of years. A very handiwork which also testifies of Him. Likewise, so should we. Why would we unnecessarily harm such superlative beauty and sanctity of life which affirms to the world that He is the omniscient creator and loving God of the universe and us? We must not destroy the delicate and thin blue shell of our protective atmosphere, or climate—as with the inviolability of the air above we should not damage sacrosanct waters beneath—which deliver to us life and everlasting beauty. Stewardship of our planet is merely a secondary reaction to the purest of care we endeavor to achieve with its own society. Genesis begins with our charge; the Book of Revelations foretells punishment to those who destroy the earth. Cover to cover tells the story, accountability, and the penalty.

I have a fear that during the final millennial glory of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ upon the earth, the righteous will be tasked for at least a thousand years to clean up the planet we have spent only a couple hundred of years to selfishly injure, contaminate, and even obliterate. It will become our final sacrifice. Again—I could spend an entire book on this topic, but hopefully, these windows into my more “liberal” soul, will with any luck, provide enough of an introduction to me and my attempt at some form of a purposeful life—or compelling narrative, within such path.

····················

To proceed onward in this passion—I have spent much of my youth and older life hiking, climbing, and exploring the vast mountains, rock, and deserts of Utah, including many miles of its deep underground caverns. My searches for God’s beauty and solitude have led me on many a path, to the highest peaks of the State, the desert canyons of the south, and deep and dark underground passages which litter the underground outlands of the areas deep mining wealth. Not unlike Alma’s yearning above, I have found much of nature’s colorful glory and profound gospel truths as I meditate upon God’s magnificent creations and His virtual blueprints of design everywhere. These opportunities have helped me understand the divinity and love that Jesus Christ has for all His creations, not the least of which—is us. These varied settings present a rich backdrop to much of the poetry found in this book.

In such numerous adventures of life—I have also learned to find my “North Star” in sundry ways as I navigate my way through these real and personal wildernesses. I have learned (often the hard way) to effectively use many of the tools which God has granted to all of us. I am not saying I have always been successful in my pursuits, and I like most others have had my share of failures. I have often needed to learn feverishly, add the pearls of wisdom of friends, and repot or retool to try again. My own intellect and understanding tests often, but I have continued along my path and found success in varied achievements. The tools which have guided me are numerous handbooks and maps (many of which I drew myself). I have developed many survival skills to get me through the most arduous of situations, and last, but not least, I have relied on my compass or more appropriately in today’s age of technology—my GPS.

Similarly—in our spiritual adventures, including life’s arduous climbs or spelunking through dark, dragon-infested, and depressive passages of reality, we rely on similar tools. These are the word of God, whether through His past written wisdom in scripture or His present prophets, apostles, and other gospel-driven servants of today’s faith. Our moral compasses remain on course through the constant availability and usage of clean and wholesome information and uplifting literature.

The criticality of the defenses in our times, require farsighted, immediate, and purposeful readiness of many of these guiding tools. They are the arrows in our quivers of protection and have become our brightest lights in the darker and deeper passages we encounter. Their proper use is a significant shield from the inevitable weaponry—the stones, and the electronic debris cast upon us by that evil, yet short-lived one. These gifts can help each of us discover our own sacred groves where truth can be felt and acted upon through a still small voice of the Holy Spirit of God.

With all the demands and enticements (including addictions), confronting us on social media, our lives are seemingly bombarded by constant distractors, which can muffle out the valuable directors. Just another one of the significant conflicts which dances merrily upon our busy lives. My prayer is that some of my words can offer hope and light that may act as a compass (or GPS), to “direct us,” rather than “distract us,” and to guide us to those secret or sacred groves of a sanctuary flowing in a spirit of needful meditation and prayer.

As you ponder upon these words, may you also find a new or a renewal of your relationship with God and your ancestors—including your posterity and their courses and effect upon our natural world. Links which are real and can often require some deep contemplation. All these remarkable concepts are more closely related than many of us think, and as you approach these realities, you will find the peace and delight which originate in the natural creations of everything—carefully planned out and assembled on a foundation of love and kindness.

The virtues which bring us into the heart of this natural world also help reveal its many secrets, as well as Him, a personal God, and Savior, who carefully and lovingly designed and created it all. In fact—even the very randomness of so much of God’s creations, verify to me a purposeful objective to provide beauty and glory we could all depend a bit more upon and learn from through its delicate variety and honest diversity. If everything was perfectly predictable and orderly—we would assuredly fail to learn and to love. Disorder to us may be a planned precision to Him.

Speaking as one of the least worthy servants of God—of all the blessings I possess, these little verses have been, and continue to be a delightful escape—which heal, affix my heart, and fix me. They, in turn, allow me hopefully, to assist in the possible healing and repair of a few others.

Embraced in an understanding of the natural cycle of life, we could all learn—as a society of God’s children, to thrive and flourish together, while surrounded by poverty, hubris, social injustice, and worldly despair.

····················

I have speckled this book with some stranger works—introducing you to some of my thinking or writing challenges. While it is easy to bathe in the glorious light and workings of a natural and spiritual world, I have also attempted to pen some thoughts on my encounters with the typical or hidden processes experienced within many of our common career paths or labors.  It is not easy to put graceful words to the operation and function of the least creative of things, like the systems of machinery, electricity, plumbing, and science into poetry. Perhaps this is why people who work in the literal trenches should not attempt to become poets. It is a challenging venue, but I come from a perspective that is—a bit unusual!

I have occasionally interspersed my works with some political satire—even mockery. For that I apologize, but it has been a catharsis to my soul, to wander into crooked halls where many dread to tread. I remain determined, to call out the morals of some weak leaders which many feel beholden to, through simply fear or by a mutual and pathetic necessity of some convenient means. I have not named anyone, but it will become evident whom I am referring to. And I do not mean to offend anyone’s core political belief. All sides of politics are welcome in my realm, religion, and as a friend. Again, our future society will depend increasingly on our innate ability to talk, to come together in common good, to benefit everyone.

While our water and rivers are typically calm, clean, and filled with numerous cogent metaphors, they expose at times: turbid, rapid, rambunctious, dangerously fearsome, and disheveled states—both naturally and symbolically. Water has calmed many but has also started fights, wars, and legal conflicts. I have spent many years defending in prolonged, protracted, and costly court battles, the rights of us to use water legally, versus the rights of the water itself, including the natural life which thrives upon its nourishment or mere presence. In hindsight—I have not always fought on the most upright side. 

These skirmishes have left me again—conflicted and genuinely torn, between the needs of us as a society, and the needs of other incalculable forms of life and the environment, which selflessly attempts to sustain us. I have found in the end, and often sadly—that water does not really flow in pipes and canals and reservoirs, nor does it flow by gravity downhill. But flows upon the backs of those who have vast pools of money to throw upon the torches of dearth which became a mere obstacle to their future speculations or gaudy development. These have left me in a conundrum of rapidly flowing words—harsh and straightforward words. Water is transforming its clear image into a dumb idol, like oil or gold.

The water industry has also positioned me in a course reality, while ignored by me in my innocent and younger years, it has recently ripened into a tree which hangs over me in burdening arches of deep concern and self-doubt. While I spent my life in a worthy water supply profession, giving life to people and our lush greeneries, in my older years I am plagued by a festering trouble in the world which finds no reprieve.

Women and children in many third world countries still spend their days hauling water upon their weary heads and backs. While I provide water to the wealthy, the few, and the thankless, millions more struggle on for a clean drink. The lack of clean water, only available in a turbid and teeming cup, born in sweat and tears casts my shadow or legacy before a crossroads of inner guilt and angry hopelessness. Which path can I tread which could drill a clean well or lay a simple, small pipe to those mothers and children? Thoughts as I plan another million-dollar project to serve those who seldom appreciate its cold or its pure life-giving essence.

Like salmon swimming upstream, fighting the currents of an endless river, I often feel like I fight to return to my beginnings—my roots. To achieve our goals, we all often fight the rapids and challenges boiling up in the rocky drops of some precipitous gorge. But as I age, I seem to spend more time in the reactive state—catching the currents and letting them carry me down to my destination, often praying to just stay afloat, or even in the boat.

This is where life is much like a river. We decide where we want to paddle, and in which direction. Do we fight the tides and breakers? Or do we flow with the waves? Each are necessary and knowing when to push against the waters, or to flow within them—appears to be one of life’s grandest of confrontations or secrets.

····················

This collection of poetry has become a portrait or songbook of much of my life, and recognizes the many people, family, and mentors who have been my guide. I am deeply indebted to them and much of my work dedicates to their lasting memory. 

And while some of these writings may read at first glance—very deep or highly involved, please do not retreat. Give them some time or return after reading and ruminating upon them for a while. The words will eventually seem to congeal into a unified; purposeful hope—like a longing or spiritual desire—a seed which thrives and blossoms within all of us. Like these verses, we need to retrace some of life’s footsteps, to learn and discover more about our purpose, perspectives, and path, and to leave a trail of our “breadcrumbs” of challenges defeated, wisdom, and inspiration to others.

In my many journeys and explorations, I still attempt to discover something new and leave something pleasant for others to enjoy. Usually, that means transmitting nothing discernable except a wisp of young, often forgotten curiosity. I have always had great affection for these profound words of Ralph Waldo Emerson, a bearing which has been a guide throughout much of my life:

“Do not go where the path may lead,
go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.”

In other words—do not be afraid to venture into the different, greener, or less traveled realms, but remember to leave a clearer trail of added support and empathy for the plight of others who may become lost along the way. Every discovery should result in a mentorship, or a friendship, to guide others to even more excellent happenstances along the countless forks of life.

As stated previously—the superlative fork in my life was one I took that brought to me my one true love and family. And scattered throughout this work, you will find pieces of an endearing love story. It reappears frequently—it is the cool water which helps to provide me lasting peace and comfort.

My little collection often exclaims its words in numerous conflicts and challenges. I like to think, that if we can use faith as a guide in some higher and more purposeful power, the choices we make, as poised on the forks of life, will lead us to “greener pastures.” Even if the branch began in the “upper left-hand forks” of our ever-expanding river.

In this less traveled basin or headwater, a devout religious person like you or myself, will find some ridicule and despair along the banks of more liberal waters. It will not seem to make any sense, given the generosity and lovingkindness of a God with outstretched and very patient hands. But it does happen. If you are like me, you will begin to question your insanity and reasoning. You will feel as if you are not seeing the world correctly, and you may begin to doubt yourself and even God. Don’t! Put on your “big kid britches” and take joy in your difference, your uniqueness, and your irreplaceable outlook to the world with its variety of gifts and challenges. God does!

Your enemy is not the world or its people, it is the narrow mindedness of just a few garish and bellowing distractors. It only takes a few egocentric foghorns to fill the airs of our sky with a painful mind-numbing noise. Ignore them and find the peace and contentment in your own liberal grace, your liberal smile, your liberal hand, and your liberal faith. There will always be others who will look to your reasoning and outlook for their loss of hope or survival.

And if you are not in any way “liberal minded,” then simply reflect liberally upon these plain and simple words. They can become rewarding to many. I am not trying to change any mind or politics or policy. But you will hopefully understand both sides better and attempt to become like me, more of a bridge. More tolerant of all sides of a worthy political or religious dialog. As said previously—the inability to see both sides and to never compromise is the real and enduring enemy which freely roams upon the face of our planet today. And we could all learn to be better at appreciating the human legacy or the vast undervalued world about us.

We also must never judge life on the premise of whether you are outgoing or inward thinking—whether you are an extrovert or an introvert. Some of the greatest business successes in the world are founded on an understanding and partnership between an introvert and an extrovert. This only occurs once both of their gifts become valued and utilized in a compromise of success which benefits others. We would all be better people if we understood that there is also a place in God's work and His kingdom for the quieter souls of the earth like us.

When we gaze back upon the outcome of all things—we will more humbly discover that there is no religious right or left. Nobility in the realms which lay beyond will be based on our abilities and intentions to all point our spirits and souls upward, and not from side to side as political winds may attempt to dictate. And I believe that to God—it will not be a competition between the political dogmas of the left or right, both the good and the bad can find shelter behind each of the partisan partitions. It will likely become more a journey of undisputed truth between right and wrong.

To the younger and millennial “liberal souls” of this world, I dedicate my work primarily to you. Studies and polling have shown that the majority of you are more caring, empathetic, concerned with our environment and the futures of you and the rest of the planet’s inhabitants. This is no fluke. You will be the chosen which must save us older souls from ourselves, and our greed.

Before the Savior’s crucifixion, He told his apostles about the last days, and how men’s hearts would surely fail them. He is talking about faiths impending domination of its enemy—fear. Do not panic. Have faith and determination. Step up and become involved, do not forsake public service and especially religion. Like me, you may feel in the minority, but let the world and your religion understand that you care and are nonjudgmental. It is in our united effort of kindness, walking in the footsteps of Jesus Christ, that all sides become united. Unity possesses the indomitable willpower to save us all and to save our planet!

And while we are honored to be gifted with a more liberal soul, we should also strive to avoid the extremes and avoid becoming militant. We must never become weaponized by evil hands or become radicalized by the spread of partisan schisms so prevalent in the world today. Wars have been fought over less issues. Let us continue to be proud in the blessings of our security and not forget who we are, and especially, let us not retreat from our most common of core values.

We are loving and we defend the life, welfare, and health care of all, at all times. We fight poverty and neglect and seek lasting opportunity and hope. We esteem and foster scientific thought and its resulting achievement while striving for the free education of all. We respect all opinions and dialog. We protect the earth’s environment which houses and protects us. We are humble, the peacemakers, the forgiving, and the light which shines in darkness. We are diverse and nonjudgmental, eschewing the discrimination of all. We protect democracy, a fair vote, the poor and the disenfranchised, and we defend the rights of all to exercise their cherished and traditional religious liberties and beliefs. No labels, no classes, no walls. Freedom is paramount, including the freedom to choose virtue, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Remembering equal rights for all, an obligation of service to our country and neighbors, fair labor, an open hand to immigrants, and an open heart and home to the refugees of the world. Because in a way—our ancestors all tarried somewhere as refugees. It has been said that America is not really a place—it is more of an idea. Let us make this idea our cherished ideal. This is who we really are and let us never be downtrodden or ashamed by it!

I hope to assist you and all the younger generations to help find the peace and confidence you need in a purpose driven spirit. A spirit which elevates your soul. Empowers you to dream on and to help others who struggle, including our cherished planet. Let us all strive to find our friend and our compass and to follow it liberally, quietly, and joyously!

Now onto a final subject: The poems and writings herein are not in any particular order as per time of date composed, with the exception of the first one and the very last one. Some also appear organized by a similar topic or heading.

This volume also represents my complete works spanning an anthology over a 50-year period. It is provided with many historical works, including key thoughts of my personal history, as contained in this rather drawn-out introduction and some long prose poetry pieces. I also expect to break much of this work up into several smaller more readable volumes which flow with more familiar or relatable themes. This activity could also eliminate some of the sub-standard and older works that tend to leave their enervating marks herein.

Another influence upon my writing occurred after my retirement in late 2019. After this event, as the opening curtains of the great pandemic were unwrapped, I went through a period of prolific writing. More so than in any age past. I attribute this surge to the many struggles I was having both spiritually, mentally, and emotionally.

A raging sickness of body was comingling with a raging sickness of politics. The results were a cacophony of garish anger and ostentatious lies. While the pandemic forced us indoors, the protests and angst of a never-ending election forced me to retreat even deeper within myself. In the early stages of this confining quarantine—I again discovered recompensing comfort and solace within the written word. As stated previously—this activity became my own self-treatment for the dark despairs and angsts of life during this period of history.

In this couple year period, I gradually changed much of my style. A change that took place initially without my knowledge. From a typical course of free form poetry—it emerged slowly into an even greater form of freedom. I suppose that the anti-maskers and anti-vaxers wore their mark into me, and I became and anti-conformist writer. My own protests against the loss of civility and reason are seen in my verses.

You will recognize all these scattered works of my mind by their unique signature. I stopped capitalizing lines, and for the most part—I ignored most punctuation. I cast all the rules I grew up with aside. It became my own rally in contradiction of the rank and festering composts of fake news, social media posts, and fake rallies. All signatures in the mindless proliferations of a shortsighted, arrogant, narcissistic, and despotic policy of politics. A politics purchased by the wealth of corporate executives which depend upon its small oligarchy of vast protections. And one which ultimately—can only reap what it sows.

Enough of the predicted and expected signs of our current times! These challenges are immense—but they will also bring the glory of a new hope, a new redemption, and a new change. I pray that I can be found in that more expansive voice or choir of light.

Looking into the future—I am trusting my course in life will lead me into a fresher adventure. And while my words drift within a river or continuum which seemingly stretches between art and music, I feel as though I am floating this burden as my last “spiritual will and testament.” My final testimony of a power of love borne within tender hearts of us and heavenly parents. My longing for my family and readers to learn of the intents of my old soul and a dream of a common harmony of souls.

I also hope that in this older venue of life, I may endeavor to write more, including finding perspectives I never imagined, to ponder and to inscribe thereon. It is only through this process or continuous loop with my companion in life and in heaven, that I learn brighter things, things forgotten, missed in life, or to re-learn simply because of my stubbornness. But perhaps—I am simply trying to find a closure in the never-ending twists of a complex and convoluted life.

As we all age in our bodies and soul, and as the world about us ages in its tireless clamor of good words and good works—let us learn to emulate some of the words penned by an aging apostle of our Lord Jesus Christ, in the New Testament of the Bible. When evil surrounded him and blanketed many paths of light and hope, Paul stood up amid a minority of good, and stated so eloquently to our times, feelings often felt in the deeper recesses of my heart:

I have fought the good fight,
I have finished the race,
I have kept the faith. [2 Timothy 4:7 NRSV]

I can only hope to echo those same words in my finale of a productive and worn-out life!

My dream in such a mature time is that we can all live more upon the mountain, shaded in the voice which emanates from the Master—basking in the poetries of the Sermon on the Mount. To be humbler, kinder, purer, simpler, and less judgmental. And within our parched and thirsty world, we could all pour ourselves out more liberally as graceful waters—not unlike God’s living fountains of hope and compassion—waiting to become consumed by the numerous who thirst.

But while doing so, we must also become stronger and resilient in our beliefs, even if in the minority, and become a sturdy rock of faith in God as well as in all the citadels of science which could protect our lives and bless us with truth and light. Never forgetting that in finality, we must liberally pour our hearts out, far beyond the bounds of ourselves, as friends.

A relevant quote is a perfect thought to end this story upon:

“We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over.” Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

The most unlikely of friends remains in the worlds eye, religion and science, yet both can become a perfectly balanced duality of a real and a purposeful life. Fully satiating our hearts and minds together is liberating to our souls as well as to all of those we associate with and bless. By building upon truth, hope, and inspiration together, our empathy—the very core of our physical beings and our spiritual essence will run over or flow on forever—like a pure, widening, calming, and endless river of infinite peace.

May we all depart our own portals of darkness and emerge in the lights of our own path and a renewed hope. And may we also find joy and peace within the meandering flows of my subtle word craft, as we explore the boundaries and magnificent tributaries upon rivers which will often emanate from that picturesque and peaceful “upper left-hand fork” of life.

 Your Friend and Brother—Doug Evans
(Another Stray Poet Entangled in Nature)