On the premise that life is precious

Picking up a random phrase from the other day, when I thought about writing “a dark and desolate tale of monsters with two legs and weapons and oppression on their minds”:

Do politicians get up in the morning and think, “How can I steal more liberty and further oppress the oppressed today?” When Adolf Hitler was a kid, did he want to be an evil dictator when he grew up? Do world leaders love to kill people and break things, or do the bomb and missile manufacturers make them an offer they can’t refuse?

If it’s illegal to make bombs in your basement, why do we let people build factories to make bombs by the thousand? By “we,” of course, I don’t mean you and I, because I do not condone bomb-making and I’m pretty sure you don’t, either.

I think we try to teach our kids that life is precious and to be respected. Households of my faith should be telling kids to love God and love their neighbors, and that the word neighbors encompasses their enemies. Of course, we probably have to define the word encompass for them, and if they’re young enough we may even have to explain what an enemy is.

It’s my opinion that the average human wants to live and let live, and we suppress the urge to kill on those rare occasions when something upsets or angers us enough for violence to enter our thoughts. Only the sociopaths who rise to high levels of government feel comfortable with the idea of killing other humans, and those are the ones responsible for most of the killing in this world.

You have to have a screw loose in the first place to consider yourself worthy of ruling other people, and so it’s no surprise that it’s government leaders who are fine with making life-and-death decisions about people they’ve never met. They have so many screws loose that it’s a wonder anything is still attached.

A Halloween fantasy

Throwback Thursday — Sept. 29, 2024. You may have noticed I have started using Thursdays to spotlight past blog posts that have found their way into my books. Two years ago I wrote a novel by writing a different chapter every day for 34 days. This is the beginning of the post that became Chapter 2 of Dejah & Summer in the Time of Magic. My two golden retrievers have suddenly started talking, and Dejah mentions that there seems to be an inter-dimensional portal in the back yard …

“Eww, you need to pick up back here more,” said Summer, who was the timid young dog.

“I’ll take care of it after we deal with this inter-dimensional portal that Dejah found near the garden shed,” I said, watching my step anyway.

“It’s right over here,” Dejah said.

“I’m still a little freaked out that you’re talking,” I admitted.

“That freaks you out, but not the inter-dimensional portal floating in the air?” Dejah said.

“Well, I have to say that adds to the freakout factor.”

We reached the garden shed. Sure enough, some sort of round glowing thing was hanging in the air, kind of a cross between the Guardian of Forever in Star Trek and the Stargate in Stargate except without the artificial structure forming it, and we could see another world through it. Not an alien world — we could see grass and trees on the other side — just a different world.

“Hang on,” Dejah said, looking up through the portal. “What’s that?”

“I don’t see anything.”

“That’s because you’re not looking from down here.”

Then I saw what she meant. A shadow fell across the opening, and then a huge, scaly foot appeared. It was ghastly and gnarled and looked more like a tree trunk than animal skin, with three clawed toes.

The foot began a cautious descent through the portal into the back yard.

“I’m going back in the house now,” said Summer, and she scampered up the stairs to the deck.

– – – – –

You can read what happens next by clicking back through my blog archive to Sept. 28 through Nov. 1, 2024, or by asking your favorite bookseller to order Dejah & Summer in the Time of Magic, ISBN 979-8-9863331-8-2. You can also just buy the ebook and start reading now by clicking on this link. In any case, thank you for your attention and happy reading!

Phooey on yesterday

If I had a page and a third standing between me and the rest of this glorious day, what would I write? 

Would it be a poem about sunshine and bird song and the changing of seasons? Or a dark and desolate tale of monsters with two legs and weapons and oppression on their minds? 

Or would I sing a song of love and joy and patience and all those fruits? Or an essay about “how freedom means to sometimes follow higher laws” (quoting a song I wrote 40 years ago that still resonates despite the split infinitive)?

Or would I finally work up the nerve to tackle unfinished business? Or stop and take the dog for a walk; she is after all leaning in with puppy eyes and anxious sighs? No, the whole point was to finish my morning journal pages and then walk the dog.

Why do some days feel “together” and others, like this, feel discombobulated? I guess that’s just how humans are — we frustrate ourselves on a daily basis. “Oh, I missed my chance — I forgot what I meant to say or do — woe is me, well, maybe tomorrow.”

And then another day passes and we wake and say, “Well, phooey on yesterday, today is here and off we go.” 

Every day will fall short of what we wish it could have been, but every day is a new opportunity and another blank page, so if we shoot for the stars at least we will get a few inches or feet or miles off the ground, and pretty soon we’ll be flying, flying I tell you, and at the very least we’ll reach the bottom of the page and give that patient dog her wish.