I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

Most scholars believe Ozymandias was another name for Rameses the Great, who ruled Egypt through at least five generations of his subjects. Absolutely powerful, rich, prolific, and successful, he was revered as a god, but he could NEVER have seen how he, too, was living at the pathetic end of a good thing. After Rameses II, there was a succession of increasingly weaker pharoahs, ultimately leaving the door open to invaders from the north culminating with the ROMANS, the rapacious Romans, who killed Cleopatra, the last pharoah (pharoahette?), locked the whole place down, and sort of kept Egypt as their own personal larder…which they sucked DRY. Old Ozzy didn’t see it coming, but it was out there nonetheless…waiting to destroy what he had built, planned, hoped for, and thought would last FOREVER.
Dazzled by endless reassurances of his primacy, Rameses never saw it, and you know, to me he sounds a lot like those idiots in Washington. Like him, they don’t know or see it, but it’s out there…and IT’S COMING! I’ve lived through the end of so many good things: the end of innocence, the end of trust, the end of social civility, the end of freedom to proclaim your beliefs without scorn, the end of common, proper English, the end of FAMILY as a central, stabilizing hub, the end of excellence as a goal for education, the end of promise, the end of fiscal responsibility…and the end of hope.  The ”lone and level sands” are swirling in; I just pray there’ll be another poet like Shelley somewhere out there in the future to document our fall so eloquently.

Driving through our subdivision early in the morning is like driving through a cemetery…all those dead blow-up snow-globes, Rudolphs, carolers, and saddest of all, SANTAS. Santa deserves special treatment because he’s in essence our modern-day interpretation of a SAINT, St. Nicholas, who did good things and became inextricably associated with Christmas. Of course, nowadays, he’s only a fat guy in a red suit who’s visit salivating children greedily anticipate on Christmas Eve.
When it’s light and people are moving about, all those decorations glitter and stand proud, but late at night when nobody’s looking they grow dark, deflate, and die. I find house decorations pretty…but kind of silly…I mean…ICICLES? In Louisiana? I haven’t seen anything like a real icicle since I was a boy. We had a coulee behind the house…for you sophistocates, a coulee is a slow moving, and I mean SLOW moving stream. Anyway, we had one, and every winter my brother and I eagerly watched it to see if we could ice-skate on it.
Of course, we didn’t have skates…IN LOUISIANA, way down at the bottom of our country…just a SHADE above tropical? Hell, sometimes even the deciduous trees didn’t answer the call, but If the ice EVER got thick enough, we flew across it in leather-soled shoes. Most of the time we kind of broke through, but now and then…NOW AND THEN…when it was an inch or two thick, we did our best to imitate those figure skaters we had seen on TV…just not nearly as gracefully.

And on those days we had icicles…REAL ICICLES…eight or nine inches long at least, and broke them off, coated them with sugar, and ate them, but these days they’re only memories. We haven’t seen a decent icicle down here for years, but that doesn’t stop the house decorators…only now they’re PLASTIC, electric, and disturbingly FAKE. I have a REALLY heavy coat…arctic capable…but the only time I’ve ever worn it was in northern Arkansas. It just doesn’t get cold enough down here anymore.
It seems appropriate for all those tacky icicles to dim at night and all those snow globes and Rudolphs to die, but the SANTAS, our last link to what this season really means? In Christian theology, Christmas celebrates the birth of Jesus, but these days the image-makers choose to shun Him, pissing off Christians and I suspect some Moslems…because Islam reveres Him too, deeply actually, along with the Holy Family. They don’t see things EXACTLY the way we Christians do but reverence is reverence…and worthy of respect from EVERYONE. Of course, there’s no chance in hell the faith cops see it that way.
Driving through the early morning carnage, I can’t help remembering those living manger scenes on church lawns: Mary, Joseph, Wise Men, angels, sheep, and cattle acting out the first Christmas beneath a star put way up high, usually in a tree…with a little spotlighted manger containing a beautiful Jesus doll. I mean…what did you expect…a BABY? It got COLD in those days, and parents don’t like to let their babies suffer…certainly not in the name of Christmas.

Usually there were carols piped in, and the participants moved back and forth completing the whole re-enactment in about thirty minutes. We loved it…because we loved the story…and because sometimes it was funny, particularly when the wise men turned too quickly and you could see a flash of long johns just above their colorful boots…but mostly because it reminded us that Christmas was a lot more than present-getting season. It was also about the birth of Jesus, the personification of love.
Jesus is all about love…SURELY not all about freezing newborns…even though He nearly did that Himself…if His parents hadn’t found a warm manger for Him…kinda steamy, I always picture it, with smells of the Earth enveloping, welcoming Him. Believe what you will, but I choose to thank God for Jesus and honor Him on His birthday. I mean…what else is a Christian…or a good Moslem to do? Both religions keep Him way up high, and I suspect they’re as annoyed by all this foolishness as we are…you know…people trying to expunge the name of the Being who BOTH religions reverently believe presides at the Last Judgment.
Somebody’s going to grouse about calling Christmas His birthday, so I’ll address that pre-emptively. I know December 25th isn’t REALLY His birthday; the History Channel never seems to tire of telling us that date was originally a pagan winter holiday confiscated by the Church, and I THINK I can vaguely remember reading somewhere that Jesus was PROBABLY born in the spring…mid April…ties in with the historical record of the census…like that matters a big whoo.  It’s not about the DATE, people; it’s about WHO was born then and what HE means to the world.
Even more than love, Jesus has been the purest expression of PROMISE I’ve been able to find on my journey, and to tell the truth, I RESENT the faith cops’ decision to try and SEPARATE Him from Christmas, constantly at it, always ready to POUNCE on some poor minister, religious group, or even innocent children when they DARE try and honor His birth. I can’t help wondering what those awful people actually believe in, but the answer’s most likely NOTHING, locked in the illusion of CONTROL and POWER. The only thing they seem to lack is hobnails, but don’t worry. They’ll be wearing them soon enough.
Got a flash for you faith cop people. YOU’RE going to die, too, and even if you’re the most DEVOUT athiests the world has ever seen, wouldn’t you like your legacy to be a LITTLE BIT more than having destroyed a soft, beautiful, and reverent holiday zillions of people cherish? Let’s see…you’re against crosses, Baby Jesus in his manger, those poor Magi, angels, ANY expressions with the REMOTEST religious connection. What’s next? Stars? Carols? Cattle? SHEEP? Maybe even gifts…no, not gifts…they KNOW they’d lose that one…and those gifts help the economy. Faith cops are ALWAYS worried about things like the economy.

So I say keep those Santas on the lawn blown up all night….they’re the last remaining PARTICLE of real Christmas those faith cops seem willing to allow…however prostituted it may be. Let them stand defiantly all night and NEVER DIE…even if it kicks up the December electric bills a little, and personally, I hope people don’t surrender to political correctness and give up on Nativity Scenes. FIGHT for them. They were charming…and INNOCENT…and I, for one, mourn their passing, whatever those horrible people might think.
YOU…FAITH COPS…PAY ATTENTION! You gonna get COAL in your Christmas stockings, but I think you already KNOW that…and don’t give a rat’s ass about any of it…you, the self-styled guardians of truth, despite CENTURIES of philosophers, visionaries, luminaries, historians, novelists, artists, and physicists who haven’t been able to decide EXACTLY what that truth is. And you know what? I’m gonna piss you off even more…because I’m gonna PRAY for you and your silly, artificial posturing and politically-correct ways. Millions of blow-up lawn Santas keep telling me that’s EXACTLY what I should do!
Civilizations grow from what they build upon, not what they DESTROY.

A funny thing happened today. I had a lot to do and got up very early, and when I was leaving just after dawn, I looked up at the sky and closed the outside door, the one with the doggie door Angel and Baxter use…but NEVER that early in the morning. That was maybe around 6 or so. I went all over the place, got the oil changed on my Jeep, checked out my mom’s malfunctioning central heating, got a haircut, then on a whim went to Scott to get some boudin and gratons. By the way, they were WONDERFUL, but when I got back home around noon, I was in for a surprise.
Turns out, I had LOCKED Baxter out for most of the morning, and it also turns out it had rained…and he was soaked and PISSED when my lady finally let him back in, not just pissed, ROYALLY PISSED! It’s kind of fun watching a little fur ball be pissed. I mean…WHAT CAN HE DO? Strut around and growl? Baxter NEVER growls…and barks even less, but later in the afternoon when I decided to take a nap, he was up there in the bed with me, growling and barking almost constantly at Angel, not a full-throated bark, more like a yodel, which seems to be his idea of barking.
Even funnier, he seems to blame Angel and my lady for what happened…not me, and when my lady gave him one of my worn-out socks to woo him back into her good graces, it seems he decided I was his only friend…and that sock was his own PERSONAL, reassuring treasure. He’s STILL carrying it around. Of course, when my lady calls him, he IGNORES her, but all I have to do is lift a finger and he’s RIGHT THERE, tail wagging and eyes dancing.

His brain is the size of a walnut, but his sense of personal pride is IMMENSE, a little dog with TONS of attitude…and apparently a pretty good menory…even if he doesn’t always get the subtleties all that well. Of course, my lady, the ultimate tree-hugging animal lover, is devastated. “YOU DID IT,” she says. “and he blames me…WHY?” “Dunno,” I answer, “but it looks like you got a problem. It’s gonna be interesting to see how long he remembers all this.”
From the way he’s been acting, I suspect it’ll be a lot longer than she hopes. Actually, the only REAL victim I can see in all this is Angel…completely peripheral to Baxter’s personal tragedy and totally innocent…but somehow included in his circle of blame. The only one he lets off SCOTT FREE is me, and of course, I milk it every chance I get, petting him lovingly, giving him treats, letting him sit on my lap while I work the Sudoku in the morning paper…to my lady’s and Angel’s UNENDING dismay.
I keep telling them it’s incredibly EASY to fake out a little bitty dog, but it doesn’t seem to give them any comfort. My lady wants FORGIVENESS, which I think is both unnecessary…and much to abstract a concept to fit comfortably in a dog’s NOW consciousness…while Angel only wants peace and quiet, which isn’t likely for quite a while either, and I don’t really want ANYTHING…just the love and adoration of a little dog who feels like he’s been screwed.
I don’t know how to tell him this, but he’s in for another shock pretty soon when we take away those little Garbanzo beans he seems to treasure so much. My lady is torn about it, but I’m not. Little studs whiz all over the place, and I want to do it BEFORE he starts lifting his leg. I know it’s going to make him pretty unhappy for a while…probably a long while…this dog seems to keep a grudge…but I’m trusting on my luck holding…and him blaming my lady and Angel again. Makes sense to me; he’s ALREADY decided they’re the bad guys.
If he understood complex English, I’d explain to him that it’s all part of the drill. How you deal with the trials and frustrations ALL sentient creatures experience becomes a measure of your intrinsic value to the biosphere, but I’ll just have to let the philosophy ride. He’s has to work things out on his own, however dogs do it, but I can pretty much guarantee you, particularly after the next deed is done, he’ll be only SLIGHTLY friendly to my lady when he wants to be fed and to Angel when he’s bored out of his skull and wants to play. My lady keeps trying to explain to him that he’s got it all wrong and they’re on HIS side…but like I said…not a CLUE.
And now she’s blaming ME…for being thoughtful in the grey morning hours, mindful of the impending rainstorm, and doing my best to keep them all safe and happy when I left the house, but actually, I think she’s kinda pissed, too, mostly because I’ve enjoyed such hilarity from the whole situation…while steadfastly remaining the ONLY FRIEND he acknowledges at this point. I keep telling her, “He dog;we people…there’s a DIFFERENCE,” but it doesn’t help…and that’s more the pity. Dogs can be hilarious…and a lot of fun…but you can’t take them too seriously. It’s IMPOSSIBLE to explain things to a walnut.

***SPOILER ALERT*** Athiests, I suggest you click away…NOW! Go play a game or something.
My lady told me NEVER to write anything like this. She’s timid about the internet; you know, eyes everywhere reading what I’ve written, but what the hell…I LOVE a good fight…so here goes. I believe in God even though these days it’s not fashionable, but as you might guess if you’ve been reading this blog, I’ve NEVER been a slave to fashion. Anyway…when I was practicing medicine, I saw far too much I couldn’t really explain away…old men and women with no possible way to keep on living who told me they were waiting for specific members of their family to arrive, and when they came, the patient kissed them, said goodbye, and died.
How on Earth can ANYBODY do something like that? Those people were spent, used up, FINISHED, but somehow they hung on. Not only that…they KNEW they would hang on. I also remember one particularly traumatic night in the emergency room when I was trying to help a man in heart failure after a massive heart attack. He, too, was used up, and while I issued a stream of orders, he lay there, incredibly peacefully, until at last he said, “Yes, Lord, I’m ready!” Then looking up at the ceiling, he died. We all looked up there, too, but all we saw was acoustic tile and surgical lights.
Even though it’s really spooky, I’ve come to understand there are more things going on in our reality than ANYBODY could ever explain, influences we don’t know understand or appreciate, even miracles…take ESP, for instance. I know after this a lot of you are going to say, “That’s it! He’s gotta be nuts!” A predictable response…and you have a right to your opinion. My personal insanity is not outside the realm of possibility, but I promised myself I would always be honest with you guys, even when it makes me look a little wierd. One scary night I had an unexplainable experience, something that has mystified me ever since. I’ve written about it before, but it was a BIGGIE for me. It happened during hurricane season.
For weeks people had been talking about a tropical depression in the gulf, and of course, we stayed glued to the weather news on TV. One morning when I was driving to work, the news guy said, “Well, it’s not a depression any more; now it’s a hurricane…and it’s name is CARMEN,” and when he said the name, it was like a flashbulb went off in my mind. After kind of a white blur, I saw myself lying on the sofa in the parlor, my dog at my side, playing with an old transistor radio I hadn’t seen for years. To tell the truth, I was POSITIVE it had been lost forever somewhere along the line, but there it was, so clear, so precise…almost like a photograph.
About five the next morning, we were awakened by incredibly forceful wind blowing outside our window. Now, our bedroom is way at the back of the house, perilously close to two massive old oaks, and when I heard the wind screeching and the oaks groaning, I told my lady it was dangerous where we were and we should move to the guest bedroom in front…as far as we could get from those complaining trees. After we had settled in, I slept a little, but soon awakened. It was getting light, and I wanted to see what was going on, so I took a pillow, moved to the parlor, and stretched out on the sofa next to a large window, my dog following me.
The storm was violent, and while I was watching its fury, my lady got up, came in, and said, “See if you can find out anything with this,” handing me that old radio I didn’t know we had any more. She even brought me a battery, and while I was searching, trying to find an active station, I realized. “This is what I saw…EXACTLY!” I told you it was spooky. “Where the hell did you get THIS?” I asked. “It was In the bedside table drawer,” she answered. “There’s a lot of old stuff in there. Does it still work?”
What was that all about? I wish I had wriiten it all down before it came to be, but of couse, I brushed it off at the time. The whole experience was too precise, much too accurate to wish away, and it showed me how things are happening all around us all the time, unexplainable things I’ve learned to accept and cherish…just like the presence and promise of God. Wasn’t it Shakespeare speaking through Hamlet, who said, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy?” Cool guy, Shakespeare…and one SPECTACULAR writer. As usual, he was right.

Either God exists or he doesn’t. Let’s look at the black side first. If He doesn’t exist, where did all THIS come from? Cosmologists say the big bang most likely occurred when one universe bumped up against the edge of another reality and spawned a new one, us, but where did those OTHER bumping universes come from? Always there…without ANY beginning…just always there? And NOBODY created that other place? JUST ALWAYS THERE? And you think THAT makes more sense than a Creator? Give me a break!
Whichever way you look at it, neither idea makes sense. Either there are a lot of universes bumping into one another, creating new ones, eternally, without beginning or end, or a Being made the whole thing, also eternal, without beginning or end. Get used to the idea. SOMEBODY or SOMETHING has always been here…eternally…without beginning or end, but we just can’t wrap our minds around that sort of puzzle. We’re too finite, too clothed in personal experience to get beyond what we can see and feel and remember. Personally, I think it’s all part of TIME, the illusion we’re locked within. That’s what Einstein called it…and he hasn’t been wrong yet.
They say God’s in the details, so let’s run with it. The incredible thing is our reality exists thanks to the perfect balance of the four fundamental forces of physics. If any one of them were even SLIGHTLY out of whack, none of this would have come into being…none of US, either. Random chaos without purpose would be hard-pressed to come up with so elegant a system, and what about the mathematical certainty and perfection of our galaxy, our solar system, and our planet? Like the best clock ever devised, they move, circling in precisely determined orbits and rotations…so predictable scientists can predict solar eclipses THOUSANDS of years in the future.
You may say, “Okay, so the universe is mathematically perfect…and by the way is and always has been…without creation or end…just there…kind of a mystery for our little minds,” but that’s actually a leap of faith, albeit an egocentric one. How DARE you bumping, eternal universe people make fun of those who believe it was created? They’re making the SAME leap of faith…just in direction you don’t happen to agree with. The fact is we CAN’T figure it out, and maybe we’re not meant to. Maybe each and every one of us is supposed to work it out for ourselves however we can, even fearfully late at night when the bedcovers offer only empty security.
Love is the only emotion not chemically mediated in human beings, perhaps the only thing we can actually create, and once allowed in, it transforms us, growing, enveloping us in the beauty of truth, and changing our lives. You bumping universe preple are living in a really DANGEROUS world because if in fact it’s all random, with no Creator, no Supreme Being, why be good? If there are no consequences, why not be selfish, greedy, cruel…and evil? Most people DON’T because they instinctively understand that good is better than evil and love is more rewarding in the long run. Cruelty and evil just don’t sit well on the shoulders of humanity…while love and kindness fit us like a glove. Sounds a little like God’s wrapped up in all this to me, but that’s only MY opinion.
Sorry, Guys, but I don’t buy the random, eternal, never-created, bumping universe theory. There are just too many potholes in that road. People who believe in God also believe He’s the personification of love, and inherently cherishing that concept, they do what every religious luminary we’ve EVER had says we should. Love one another, do good to one another, help one another, and love God. I have no idea what motivates those random universe, godless people, but to tell you the truth, to me they’re even spookier than that night Carmen hit.
Maybe you doubters are right and I AM crazy…but I gotta tell you. It’s a happy kind of crazy…and isn’t happiness what we’re all looking for in the end? I say, when you find happiness, GRAB HOLD AND HANG ON TO IT! There are enough bad things lurking, waiting to come your way, so treasure whatever goodness you can find while you follow your path…and maybe when it’s all said and done, you’ll find life less painful, possibly even JOYFUL. At least, that’s been my experience. Life’s funny that way; you learn as you slog and trudge along…if you’re paying attention.
I sincerely hope the athiests have given up on this post by now. If not, I’m gonna get a lot of comments from them. Athiests can be REAL pests when you rile them up, almost as bad as mosquitos and horseflies…and just about as relevant in MY opinion.

I have no idea what time it is tonight, somewhere between seven and ten, I guess, but frankly, I don’t really care. You see, we FINALLY got to Galveston…Angel’s eye all healed up and my lady and me TOTALLY ready for some R&R in the salt wind, sun, and foaming surf. Of course, obstreparous Baxter is with us, but he’s young, and adorable…and learning quickly. Even the people he pounces on forgive him.
Just this moment I’m sitting on our balcony enjoying the sounds of the gulf and its seemingly ENDLESS expanse all the way to the horizon…salt water…the same stuff coursing through our bodies with every heartbeat…and incorporated so long ago we can’t remember, but when I’m sitting beside the sea, I EMBRACE it like a friend lost in the convolutions of eternity; I think most people do. Delivered over eons by asteroids and comets, the ocean is really our nursery, our liquid parent, and somehow when I’m here, I UNDERSTAND…and thank it…and God for working things out this way.

I know I can only see the surface and never really know what’s going on down in the comparatively small patch swirling below…thousands of births each day, for sure…and thousands of deaths, little bitty deaths, small fish devoured by birds or bigger fish, shrimp snatched up by crabs, even dolphins…my friends…gorging themselves on nature’s bounty, but for me, sitting in the midst of all this wonder, all I see is beauty.
A land creature, I understand the boundaries I have to live with, but Ialso tend to envy those other mammals I can see out in the surf, chirping, jumping, and celebrating their lives, happy and seemingly carefree. To them, what is simply IS, and they joyfully accept their lot. It’s impossible to impose human concepts of good, evil, opportunity, and necessity on what’s going on out there, so I’ll leave the sorting out to God. At this PRECISE moment, I’m totally ENCHANTED…which is where I want to be.

There’s something viscerally ELEMENTAL about an ocean…maybe because somewhere inside us there are memories, carefully hidden memories, or maybe only because it’s beautiful and exciting, or maybe because it’s a shadowy glimpse of where we all began and yearn to return to…a simpler world free from the constraints of wrongdoing, guilt, laws, and repercussions…our scrupulously maintained moral walls, but sitting just beyond the roar and foam, all those concepts kind of float away in the constant wind.  My eyes command me; what’s churning below is stirring…and beautiful…and endlessly FASCINATING.
I want to go there, jump into that surf and foam, taste the salt, join my progenitors, and swim, but my lady is implacable. “NO,” she says, “SHARKS!” (She’s not all that big on sharks.) But what sharks? There hasn’t been a shark attack in Galveston since God knows when…but she won’t be moved. I love her, and I know I HAVE to work out some kind of resolution we can both live with…so…I’m planning to go wading with her…and while she intently looks for seashells…as she ALWAYS does…I’ll slowly slip out into deeper water and swim like hell. At least, that’s my plan.
There are LOTS of dophins out there; she’s seen them, too, and we BOTH know they’re EXPERT at dealing with sharks. Our seabound, brothers aren’t deterred, so I don’t think we should be either. They kinda PUNCH ‘em in the belly…REALLY HARD, not hard enough to kill but hard enough to get their attention, and it ALWAYS works. Actually, it looks like they’re playing when they do it, but the sharks don’t seem to understand and swiftly swim away.

My lady worries a lot, particularly since I don’t choose to worry a whole lot about anything. The way I see it, life’s too short to burden yourself like that, but she compensates by worrying for both of us…and I’ve learned to live with it. Swimming out there would be FAR more fun than swimming in the pool at the condo…and much more philosophically enlightning, but…you know…it’s a nice pool…a REALLY nice pool…with chairs all around, a shower, and float mats for catching a little sun. What the hell? I’ll do BOTH…fake her out, swim in the gulf as long as I can get away with it, then go back, wash off, and dive into that pool.
GOD, I love Galveston!