Head-dibs

500 years ago today, a man made a public post that made him the "unfriend" of many for his post ignited a revolution that was already waiting to happen. Someone merely needed to open the door, as it were. Many lost their lives because of his post but more lives were changed because of it. Yes, long before the advent of the internet and social media those kinds of things happened. Augustinian monk Martin Luther (1483 – 1546) did not agree with the Church's practice of selling salvation (among other practices). Already quite religious, Luther thought he understood most Bible doctrines until he began actually read scripture in order to teach it. His practice had been to simply do and think as he was taught, to believe as he was told. Since reading the Bible he could no longer agree and wanted to address errors being propagated by the Church so he literally protested by publicly posting his grievances. He wanted to talk. And so began the Protestant Reformation.  Listen ...

"A thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy. But I came to give life—life that is full and good." (John 10:10) "Five times I received at the hands of the Jews the forty lashes less one. Three times I was beaten with rods. Once I was stoned. Three times I was shipwrecked; a night and a day I was adrift at sea; on frequent journeys, in danger from rivers, danger from robbers, danger from my own people, danger from Gentiles, danger in the city, danger in the wilderness, danger at sea, danger from false brothers; in toil and hardship, through many a sleepless night, in hunger and thirst, often without food, in cold and exposure. And, apart from other things, there is the daily pressure on me of my anxiety for all the churches. Who is weak, and I am not weak? Who is made to fall, and I am not indignant? If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness. The God and Father of the Lord Jesus, he who is blessed forever, knows that I am not lying. At Damascu...

In raiment coarse and rough endued A cord his only ceinture rude With scanty measure for his food His feet withal unshod For the poverty of Christ he yearns From earthly splendor he dost turn This noble troubadour has spurned Despising all for God Within a mountain cave alone He hides to weep and lying prone He prays aloud with sigh and groan For peace to fill his heart New signs of highest sanctity Singing praise exceedingly Beautiful and wondrous to see The troubadour to sing The troubadour of the Great King Then seraph-like in heaven’s height The King of Kings appears in sight His soul in passion’s awesome night Beholds the vision dread For it bears the wounds of Christ and lo While gazing on a speechless woe The hidden marks upon his soul Now wound his flesh blood red His body now like the Crucified Signed on hands and feet and side Transformed in life to love and die With Jesus Christ our Lord New signs of highest sanctity Singing praise exceedingly Beautiful and wondrous to see...

I'm sailing down the summer wind I got whiskers on my chin And I like the mood I'm in As I while away the time of day In the lee of Christian Island Tall and strong she dips and reels I call her Silver Heels And she tells me how she feels She's a good old boat and she'll stay afloat Through the toughest gales and keep smiling But for one more day she would like to stay In the lee of Christian Island I'm sailing down the summer day Where fish and seagulls play I put my troubles all away And when the gale comes up I'll fill my cup With the whiskey of the highlands She's a good old ship and she'll make the trip From the lee of Christian Island Tall and strong she slips along I sing for her a song And she leans into the wind She's a good old boat and she'll stay afloat Through the toughest gales and keep smilin' When the summer ends we will rest again In the lee of Christian Island When the summer ends we will rest again In the lee of Christ...

"I tossed about until Charley grew angry with me and told me 'Ftt' several times . But Charley doesn't have our problems. He doesn't belong to a species clever enough to split the atom but not clever enough to live in peace with itself. He doesn't even know about race, nor is he concerned with his sister's marriage. It's quite the opposite. Once Charley fell in love with a dachshund, a romance racially unsuitable, physically ridiculous and mechanically impossible. But all these problems Charley ignored. He loved deeply and tried dogfully. It would be difficult to explain to a dog the good and moral purpose of a thousand humans gathered to curse one tiny human. I've seen a look in dog's eyes, a quickly vanishing look of amazed contempt, and I am convinced that basically dogs think humans are nuts." (Steinbeck, p. 269)

Theodore Roosevelt best remembered as the 26th president of the United States was born this day (Oct. 27) 1858. But he was so much more than the President. He shaped this country in ways that many will never know, for he was a man who studied life. Early in his own life, though times of personal fragility when life expectancy was not very high, Roosevelt's fascination with the world in which he lived laid a foundation of what grew to be an uncanny strength. It might be argued there are four kinds of hunters, the first being the kind that hunt for food. The second kind of hunter are those that hunt for sport, for the challenge of acquiring a trophy. The third kind of hunter is the kind that sought to understand the world. The fourth and final kind of hunter are those that  that don't know what they are doing . Period.  Roosevelt was very much the first three, but the third (The Naturalist) was the core of his being. He hunted to understand, foremost. He collected. He r...

Photo Credit: Goshawk Communications Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there’s nothing else to gaze on, Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore, Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon, Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar? Have you swept the visioned valley with the green stream streaking through it, Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost? Have you strung your soul to silence? then for God’s sake go and do it; Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost. Have you wandered in the wilderness, the sagebrush desolation, The bunch-grass levels where the cattle graze? Have you whistled bits of rag-time at the end of all creation, And learned to know the desert’s little ways? Have you camped upon the foothills, have you galloped o’er the ranges, Have you roamed the arid sun-lands through and through? Have you chummed up with the mesa? Do you know its moods and changes? Then listen to the Wild — it’s calling you. Have you know...

"Even if you’re going to live three thousand more years, or ten times that, remember: you cannot lose another life than the one you’re living now, or live another one than the one you’re losing. The longest amounts to the same as the shortest. The present is the same for everyone; its loss is the same for everyone; and it should be clear that a brief instant is all that is lost. For you can’t lose either the past or the future; how could you lose what you don’t have? Remember two things: i. that everything has always been the same, and keeps recurring, and it makes no difference whether you see the same things recur in a hundred years or two hundred, or in an infinite period; ii. that the longest-lived and those who will die soonest lose the same thing. The present is all that they can give up, since that is all you have, and what you do not have, you cannot lose." (Marcus Aurelius, "Meditations" 2:14)

What would you like on your headstone? What would your epitaph be? I pray mine would not be some trite witticism but something that says, "Yep! Without doubt, that's him." Edgar Lee Masters pondered life and death in his poem, "George Gray." I have studied many times  The marble which was chiseled for me--  A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.  In truth it pictures not my destination  But my life.  For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;  Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;  Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.  Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.  And now I know that we must lift the sail  And catch the winds of destiny  Wherever they drive the boat.  To put meaning in one’s life may end in madness,  But life without meaning is the torture  Of restlessness and vague desire--  It is a boat longing f...

Everett Ruess, 1914- 1934 (Presumed dead) "I have not tired of the wilderness; rather I enjoy it's beauty and the vagrant life I lead, more keenly all the time. I prefer the saddle to the street car and the star sprinkled sky to a roof, the obscure and difficult trail, leading into the unknown, to any paved highway, and the deep peace of the wild to the discontent bred by cities . . . Say that I starved; that I was lost and weary; That I was burned and blinded by the desert sun; Footsore, thirsty, sick with strange diseases; Lonely and wet and cold . . . but that I kept my dream!"

Did you ever have a longin’ to get out and buck the trail, And to face the crashin’ lightnin’ and the thunder and the gale? Not for no partic’lar reason but to give the world the laugh, And to show the roarin’ elyments you still can stand the gaff. Don’t you ever feel a yearnin’ just to try your luck again Down the rippin’ plungin’ rapids with a bunch of reg’lar men? Don’t you ever sorta hanker for a rough and risky trip, Just to prove you’re still a livin’ and you haven’t lost your grip? Can’t you hear the woods a-callin’ for to have another try Sleepin’ out beneath the spruces with a roof of moonlit sky, With the wind a sorta singin’ through the branches overhead And your fire a gaily crackin’ and your pipe a-glowin’ red? Don’t you often get to feelin’ sorta cramped and useless there, Makin’ figgers and a-shinin’ your pants upon a chair? Don’t you yearn to get acquainted once again with Life and God? If you don’t, then Heaven help you, for you’re a dyin’ in yer pod...

Orionid Meteor Shower 2017: When, Where & How to See It This Weekend Bundle Up!

My string career began in 6th grade (I played trombone for a short while in 5th) and was nurtured through High School by Mrs. Llewellyn. Over the summer breaks, Mrs. L. made me tapes to keep me inspired and practicing. One of those tapes contained a recording of Elgar's Cello Concertos performed by Jacqueline De Pre and I nearly wore that tape out (Samuel Barber's "Adagio For Strings" was also on that tape and that piece touched my soul). That concerto captivated me so I listened to Smiley as much as I could, as many recordings as I could find or have made. She was my muse back then and from time to time, I still like to listen or watch her "play" at play. Jacqueline would be 72 this year, but she died at age 42. Her career was very short due to Multiple Sclerosis and she ended her professional career at 27. Nevertheless, she inspired me. So on this anniversary of her passing, I hope you'll take some time to be inspired by Smiley. At least start a...

There is a saying, “favor is the currency of God.” If favor were the result of fate or destiny then due to the impersonality of fate or destiny, favor becomes meaningless. If favor were the outcome of a game or even good deeds, then favor would be a wage. Favor is the “currency” of God, a blessing. The life of Sir John Davies (1569 - 1626), the English Renaissance lawyer and parliamentarian under Queen Elizabeth (and late contemporary of Sir Philip Sidney) is a wonderful illustration of one who received this blessing of favor. Davies wrote and published in 1599 a book called  Nosce Te Ipsum , or “Know Thyself.” When Davies was presented to King James (yes, the same King James of the 1611 Bible) Davies was already a favorite of Queen Elizabeth. When King James inquired if the man before him was the author of the  Nosce Te Ipsum , the King "embraced him and conceived a considerable liking for him." Davies was later appointed to be Solicitor General for Ireland when he was ...

"We have inherited many attitudes from our recent ancestors who wrestled this continent as Jacob wrestled the angel, and the pioneers won. From them we take a belief that every American is a natural-born hunter. And every fall a great number of men set out to prove that without talent, training, knowledge, or practice they are dead shots with rifle or shotgun. The results are horrid . . . . If I were hungry, I would happily hunt anything that runs or crawls or flies, even relatives, and tear them down with my teeth. But it isn't hunger that drives millions of armed American males into forests and hills every autumn . . . . Somehow the hunting process has to do with masculinity, but I don't quite know how. I know there are any number of good and efficient hunters who know what they are doing; but many more are overweight gentlemen, primed with whiskey and armed with high-powered rifles. They shoot at anything that moves or looks like it might, and their success in killin...

Through the woodland, through the valley Comes a horseman wild and free Tilting at the windmills passing Who can the brave young horseman be He is wild but he is mellow He is strong but he is weak He is cruel but he is gentle He is wise but he is meek  Reaching for his saddlebag He takes a battered book into his hand Standing like a prophet bold He shouts across the ocean to the shore Till he can shout no more  I have come o'er moor and mountain Like the hawk upon the wing I was once a shining knight Who was the guardian of a king I have searched the whole world over Looking for a place to sleep I have seen the strong survive And I have seen the lean grown weak  See the children of the earth Who wake to find the table bare See the gentry in the country Riding off to take the air Reaching for his saddlebag He takes a rusty sword into his hand Then striking up a knightly pose He shouts across the ocean to the shore Till he can shout no more See the ...

The final battle scene in "Last Of The Mohicans" was filmed at the top of these falls near Chimney Rock, NC. Enjoyed a nice hike to see the 400+ foot wonder up close, with a nice view back across the valley.

source: wikipedia Out of the night that covers me,  Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.

An old man, going a lone highway, Came, at the evening, cold and gray, To a chasm, vast, and deep, and wide, Through which was flowing a sullen tide. The old man crossed in the twilight dim; The sullen stream had no fear for him; But he turned, when safe on the other side, And built a bridge to span the tide. “Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim, near, “You are wasting strength with building here; Your journey will end with the ending day; You never again will pass this way; You’ve crossed the chasm, deep and wide- Why build you this bridge at the evening tide?” The builder lifted his old gray head: “Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said, “There followeth after me today, A youth, whose feet must pass this way. This chasm, that has been naught to me, To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be. He, too, must cross in the twilight dim; Good friend, I am building this bridge for him.”

I carry boulders across the day From the field to the ridge, and my back grows tired … I take a drop of sweat Onto my thumb Watch the wind furrow its surface, Dream of a morning When my furrows will shape this field, When these rocks will form my house. Alone, with heavy arms, I listen through the night to older farms. (an allegory on working through "writer's block")

"During the previous winter I had become ill with one of those carefully named difficulties which are the whisper of approaching age. When I came out of it I received the usual lecture about slowing up, losing weight, limiting cholesterol intake. It happens to many men, and I think doctors have memorized the litany. It happened to so many of my friends. The lecture ends, 'slow down. You're not as young as you once were.' And I had seen so many begin to pack their lives in cotton wool, smother their impulses, hood their passions, and gradually retire from their manhood into a kind of spiritual and physical semi-individualism. In this they are encouraged by wives and relatives, and it's such a sweet trap . . . . . . I have always lived violently, drunk hugely, eaten too much or not at all, slept around the clock of missed two nights of sleeping, worked too hard and too long in glory, or slobbed for a time in utter laziness. I've lifted, pulled, chopped, climbe...

Yesterday my wife shared this video with me. She watched it in her Public Speaking course with a view toward understanding the power of words. We've watched it many times already. It's worth the time. There are golden nuggets in what this man has to say. Words are powerful and why shouldn't they be? God created all things with a word (God said . . . and there was). Have you ever noticed that when God created, He named what He created--except for the animals. After God formed man with His hands, He said (in so many words), "You name them. Be creative with words." That's why words are powerful. That's why they get stuck in your head, in your heart. Used properly or poorly, words are powerful. Silence is powerful, too, which is why a wise man takes time to choose his words before speaking. Or at least he should. One should value silence as much as the words he chooses. The point I'd like to make, to include this in my blog series is this: be moved ...

credit: travelblog.org "How easy it is for me to live with you, Lord. How easy it is to believe in you when my mind reels from not understanding, or when my mind weakens– when the most intelligent people cannot think beyond the evening and do not know what must be done tomorrow. You convey to me the lucid assurance that you exist, that you will see to it that not all paths toward good will be closed. At the peak of earthly renown I look back with amazement at that road which by no stretch of the imagination I could have devised– A remarkable road through despair which has led me here where I too have been able to send mankind reflections of your rays– As for what I won’t have time or ability for– This means that you have reserved it for others."

The following is a non-comprehensive list of recommended books ranging from biography to philosophy; fiction and non-fiction; entertainment to "know-how" (arrange those in any order you wish). There is no one source for this list as most of the books are found in lists provided by various entities such as Penguin Books, The Great Books Of The Western World, or on a few sites I follow such as Good Reads, The Modern Library. Few that appear here are found on The Art of Manliness site. I do not endorse the content or message of every book named; however, this (let me repeat) "non-comprehensive list" acknowledges significant contributions of these works to our present our thought and culture. The list is divided into two parts: "Books Read" (what I've finished in this suggested list--not sure I could list every book I've read) and "Books On My List" (books that remain unread from a suggested list). BOOKS READ: The Bible (all 66 bo...

"Life is divided into three parts: past, present, and future. Of these, the present is brief, the future doubtful, the past certain. For this last is the category over which fortune no longer has control, and which cannot be brought back under anyone's power. Preoccupied people lose this part; for they have no leisure to look back at the past, and even if they had it, there's no pleasure in recalling some- thing regrettable. And so they're unwilling to turn their minds back to times badly spent, and they dare not revisit the past because their vices become obvious in retrospect . . .  . . . We are led by the work of others into the presence of the most beautiful treasures, which have been pulled from darkness and brought to light. From no age are we debarred, we have access to all; and if we want to transcend the narrow limitations of human weakness by our expansiveness of mind, there is a great span of time for us to range over. We can debate with Socrates, enterta...

What the heart of the young man said to the psalmist Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world’s broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act,— act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o’erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Foo...

"Your sort live as if you're going to live forever, your own human frailty never enters your head, you don't keep an eye on how much time has passed already. You waste time as if it comes from a source full to overflowing, when all the while that very day which is given over to someone or something may be your last. You're like ordinary mortals in fearing everything, you're like immortals in coveting everything." (Lucius Seneca c. 4 BC – AD 65)

"Charley is a tall dog. As he sat in the seat beside me, he head was almost as high as mine. He put his nose close to my ear and said, 'Ftt.' He is the only dog I ever knew who could pronounce the consonant F. This is because his front teeth are crooked, a tragedy which keeps him out of dog shows; because his upper front teeth slightly engage his lower lip Charley can pronounce F . The word 'Ftt" usually means he would like to salute a bush or a tree. I opened the cab door and let him out, and he went about his ceremony. He doesn't have to think about it to do it well. It my experience that in some areas Charley is more intelligent than I am, but in others he is abysmally ignorant. He can't read, can't drive a car, and has no grasp of mathematics. But in his own field of endeavor, which he was now practicing, the slow, imperial smelling over and anointing of an area, he has no peer. Of course his horizons are limited, but how wide are mine?" (S...

Proverbs 23:7 כִּי כְּמֹו־שָׁעַר בְּנַפְשֹׁו כֶּן־הוּא "For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he" (KJV) "For as he thinks within himself, so he is" (NASB) "for he is the kind of person who is always thinking about the cost" (NIV) "for he is like one who is inwardly reckoning" (RSV) "For as one that hath reckoned within himself, so is he" (Tanakh, 1917) "A man is what he thinks about all day long." (Ralph Waldo Emerson) "A man is but the product of his thoughts; what he thinks, he becomes." (Ghandi) “A man's mind may be likened to a garden, which may be intelligently cultivated or allowed to run wild; but whether cultivated or neglected, it must, and will, bring forth. If no useful seeds are put into it, then an abundance of useless weed seeds will fall therein, and will continue to produce their kind.” (James Allen)

Yesterday we considered Robert W. Service's poem, " The Men Who Don't Fit In. " Today's meditation focuses on another of Service's poem that harmonizes well with "the rolling stone" of a man who has his own place in the world, the man who is not like the rest. What separates the Quitter from the Winner? It's not motivation. Motivation is external, it is easy. Quitting is easy. Finishing is hard. One person may feel moved by this or that but the very same sentiment may not even touch another person. Motivation comes and goes. No, what keeps a man moving forward is discipline. Discipline is like a blade and every choice a man makes either dulls the blade or keeps it sharp. Discipline and strength go hand-in-hand. Think about how this truth surfaces in Service's poem, "The Quitter." When you're lost in the Wild, and you're scared as a child, And Death looks you bang in the eye, And you're sore as a boil, it...

Robert W. Service (1874 - 1958) a.k.a "the Canadian Kipling" and "the Bard of the Yukon" held this perspective: "The only society I like is that which is rough and tough - and the tougher the better. That's where you get down to bedrock and meet human people." Service's poem, "The Men Who Don't Fit In" tells the story of restless men who make their own kind of mark in the world. One detail not to miss: watch as Service moves from plural to singular, culling one man out of the herd (as it were) who makes the realization that he's not only grown old, but there's more life to live--but how will he do it? Makes me wonder if this poem influenced Stan Wilson to write, "can't lose my way, all directions are the same when i'm travelin' . . . I'm just a rolling stone ." Enjoy Robert W. Service's poem recited in the video (below), filmed with creative interpretation by Christopher Herwig while hikin...

"It's not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste much of it. Life is long enough, and it's been given to us in generous measure for accomplishing the greatest things, if the whole of it is well invested. But when life is squandered through soft and careless living, and when it's spent on no worthwhile pursuit, death finally presses and we realize that the life which we didn't notice passing has passed away. So it is: the life we are given isn't short but we make it so; we're not ill provided but we are wasteful of life. Just as impressive and princely wealth is squandered in an instant when it passes into the hands of a poor manager, but wealth however modest grows through careful deployment if it is entrusted to a responsible guardian, just so our lifetime offers ample scope to the person who maps it out well. . . . Life, if you know how to use it, is long." (Lucius Seneca c. 4 BC – AD 65)