Golf, Nick Foles and Great Second Chances

Father’s Day fell on June 15th during the two thousand and eighth year of our lord.  Or we could call it the common era if that suits you better.  Ultimately that’s what this is all about:  what suits you better.

Golf was always a favorite pastime of my family.  I imagine that you think I’d tell you it was a favorite pastime of just the unfairer gender except that the most fun I’ve ever had playing a round was with my sister.  We didn’t take every shot, we never once looked for a ball we lost, and sometimes all we did was putt on the particular hole.  I don’t know that she would say it was one of her favorite pastimes, but I will tell you that her playing was one of my favorite pastimes.  I don’t know how to label that, but labels ruin things.  

At this point I would apologize to every other person I’ve ever played golf with, but I’m just not sorry.  My sister understood the spirit of the game in a way that none of the rest of us did.  She played for fun.  Almost as if “fun” was some real person we were trying to appease.

So now I have to tell you Nick Foles the Super Bowl MVP and champion, you’re on a long list of men who couldn’t stack up to my sister’s golf spirit.  That being said, the round we played was memorable and unless you have some terrible memory for pivotal days in your life, you’ll remember that round for the rest of your life too.

Careers have a funny way of getting off track no matter how well you aim at your destination.  Outside factors we all call “life” seem to push us off our game.  When it happens we gather ourselves the best we can and recalculate our new route that targets our same old goal.  That’s pretty much how my dad and I play golf.  We approach the tee box thinking about a career goal we can call “a par”, but then outside factors called “a flawed swing” cause our ball to be pushed off course in a swift motion I like to call “a shank”.  You walk over to your shank, recalculate the distance to the goal I call “a par”, shank again and move on.  Golf and careers are something some people are good at and others shank at.  Some shank worse than others.  It just happens.

On Father’s Day of 2008, I promised to take my dad out for a round of “career reenactment”.  At that time I had a turd of a career going at a little place called Apple Computer Company.  In order to climb to a staggeringly mediocre career plateau, I had to work a schedule with Tuesday and Wednesday as my ‘weekend’.  That was a dirty trick Apple Computer Company, but the trick is on you because I got to play golf with Super Bowl MVP Nick Foles during one of your many ‘Apple fraternity initiation weekends’.  How do you like them apples?  You too Matt-Damon.

Being the big baller that I was, for Father’s Day I was able to get my dad and I on at Lions Municipal Golf Course on a busy Tuesday summer afternoon.  The course was full of so many ballers like myself that there was a wait at the first tee.  The golf pro that managed the course walked up to our Father’s Day pairing and informed us that we would be playing with the MVP of that little game called the 52nd Super Bowl.  LII.  A.K.A. Tom Brady’s last stand.  The ultimate prize game of prize games. Of course, this was the two thousand and eighth year of the common era, not 2018.  The golf pro didn’t know this stranger’s name and neither did we.  That being said, Nick Foles is a friendly fellow and he’s not shy either, “Hi, I’m Nick.  You mind if I play with you guys?”

Age cometh before beauty, right?  So Dad took his shot first, went past the fairway on a dog leg right but his ball still had a view of the green.  Good job.  That 3 wood seemed a bit much though, dad.  I switched to a 5 wood, aimed over the trees and made it.  Fantastic start.  Nick Foles grabs something like a 6 or 7 iron and puts the ball in play perfectly like you’re supposed to.  He pars the hole and we get bogeys.  Single? Double? Triple? Yes, sure.  One of those.

“Can I keep your score, Nick?” My dad asks.

“No thanks, I’m just playing for fun. I’m not keeping score.” Says the future Super Bowl MVP.

Nick proceeds to pull a cell phone out after those words and made a telephone call while he walked to the next hole.  As we rode to the next hole in our municipal baller-only cart, we thought he might be a little rude making a call during a golf threesome and he knows it too.  He gets off the phone before the next tee and apologizes profusely.  He tells us he’s a college quarterback at Michigan State and it’s not suiting him better than another school would.  He’s looking for a better fit for his career as a quarterback.  I don’t know what you think, but I’ll call his year at Michigan State a “shank”!  It’s okay though, we all do it.

My dad and I completely are familiar with this sort of shanking on a golf course.  Say no more Nick, that cellular phone call was far more important than this game Father’s Day career reenactment.

Next hole is a par 5.  Dad flubs it 50 yds, I crush it with some nice spin that pushes it onto the fairway of the adjacent hole and Nick casually hits a floater 350 yds down the middle of the proper fairway.  Best ball, Nick?  I kid, I kid.

Nick lets the father/son pros play zig zag while he putts it for par again and then he gets on the phone.  Eventually.. Dad and I save bogeys.  I won’t say which (quadruple) version. Meanwhile, Nick is on the phone getting his career path aimed towards the fairway again and he’s trying to save career par.  He tells us to go ahead.  Dad puts his drive to the right side, but it’s on the fairway.  Not too bad!  I step up and actually crush it for once for about 315 or 325 yards and just left of the fairway.  I’m a short chip away from being on the green.  I’m thinking, ‘beat that college quarterback’!  Nick got off the phone but this time you could tell it was good news.  He didn’t say what it was, but suddenly he seemed far more relaxed and focused on golf.  Nick Foles drove the green from the blue tees on the 3rd hole at Lions.  It’s listed as 393 yards.  I know what you’re thinking and no I don’t play from the blue tees.  At this point I realize that this young man is a freakish athlete.  Eye hand coordination like you wouldn’t believe and he’s strong enough to make a drive like that look routine.  He’s not even that excited.  He’s probably done this enough times that it’s half-expected.  

Nick would later tell us that he was given the chance to battle for a starting position at Arizona.  The football powerhouse Arizona State?  No, the football powerhouse Arizona.  I’m not sure how this puts him at ease, but I’m worried for him.  Arizona is terrible at football.  

Foles only played the first nine holes with us and his sister picked him up.  He didn’t even own a car.  He couldn’t have been a nicer man.  He kept apologizing for the calls he was making earlier in the round and explained his situation at the same time.  You could hear in his voice that he knew he had that special something, but he needed someone to give him a chance.  Arizona was going to give him that chance even though they weren’t traditionally a strong team.  

I followed his career knowing how gifted he seemed to me.  He won the starting job at Arizona and played three years.  During those years, it seemed like the better Nick played, the worse Arizona seemed to fair overall.  First year he threw for 2500 yds and the team went 8-5.  Next year, 3200 yds while the team wants 7-6.  During his senior season he threw for 4300 yds but his team was 4-8.  Here he is, just a stud of an athlete and his team fails to even make a bowl game.  This is the year he needs to shine for the NFL draft, but the team didn’t seem to be suiting his career very well.  And that’s because we all know football is about winning.

During the NFL Draft in 2012, the Eagles drafted Nick Foles in the 3rd round with the 88th pick overall.  At this point he would have a chance in the sport of football, but his chance was just to make the team.  Not lead it from within the huddle.  He started his career in the NFL backing up Michael Vick.  Vick got hurt and suddenly Foles finally had a chance at making it this world.  As a starter, his team went 1-5 and things seemed less than promising.

The next season began and he was back on the bench to backup Michael Vick.  Third game into the season, Vick gets hurt again and Foles takes the reigns against the New York football Giants.  He wins the game and wins the starting position for the rest of the season.  He wins 8 games as a starter and only loses 2.  Nick is finally winning in this sport where winning is all that matters.  He even ties an NFL record by throwing 7 touchdown passes in a single game that year.  Three in any given game would be considered ‘good’ but he’s thrown seven!  He’s playing an amazing game for sure.

The third year of Nick’s NFL career begins and he wins 6 out of 8 games, he injures his shoulder after being sacked multiple times, and he’s out for the year.  The offseason comes around and Nick Foles is traded away from Philadelphia even though he’s won 15 of 25 games as a starter and 14 of 18 as a non-rookie.

The St. Louis Rams start him and it doesn’t go well, he ends up playing one game for the Chiefs the following season and even though he does well his place within the organization doesn’t stick.   

Eventually Nick Foles finds a new home in an old place.  He’s back in Philadelphia and he’s a backup to Carson Wentz.. the heir apparent to the club.  Nick watches from the sidelines as Carson leads the club to an 11-2 record, but Carson gets hurt.  Three games remain and Foles does his job.  They make the playoffs, win enough games to make it to the Super Bowl and suddenly Nick is in the biggest game of his life as the starting quarterback facing the winningest quarterback in Super Bowl history, Tom Brady.   

The game was close, but Nick was better than his counterpart.  He won the MVP and the right to hold the dearest trophy that any football player can hold above their head, yet next year he might be on a telephone asking coaches if he’ll be given a shot to lead the team.

Nick Foles, this time I hope they call you while you’re on the course.  You shouldn't have to be calling them.  And if you need two inferior golfers to play alongside you while you field calls about your career, my dad and I would be happy to do it.  That being said, if you want to truly enjoy a game, my sister should be there too.  She inherently knows how to play the game the right way.

Game 7

Game 7

Astros versus Dodgers

Someone out there might pat you on the back for getting close. They might tell you that they’re proud of everything you did to get here. You’ll remember that moment, but they won’t. They’ll forget how hard you worked, they’ll forget all the amazing things you did just to keep the tournament going, and they’ll forget that tiny little error you made that cost so much. Sure, no one blames you. The error was truly small, almost unnoticed. So they’ll forget, but you’ll remember.

You know who gets to forget about all their mistakes, who forgets how many people have patted them on the back, who has so much happen to them that they forget how they acted amongst the commotion… a champion. In our current world of participation trophies, there are so many that lose sight of what winning really is. 

Life is tough, but we’ve created so many shelters for failures that failing doesn’t cut very deep. It’s made us soft, it’s made us entitled, it’s made us over confident, and it’s made us weak. There are aspects of where we are as a society that make me incredibly proud. People believe in their rights and act on those beliefs, but they fail to understand why they have those rights. People are incredibly lazy these days, they don’t do in-depth research and old timers know it. That’s why we have a President that can say “fake news” and people know what he means instantly. Our President has a horrible reputation, but we all know in the back of our minds that some of that reputation is pure sensationalism.  If you turn on the news right now, just for a few seconds.. what did you hear?  Facts or an opinion? Try it.

Sports is covered by the news. Turn your channel to the sports news and you’ll hear opinions. Sure, some facts will be presented, but the opinions you’ll hear will absolutely try to diminish those facts. That’s where we are. That’s who we are. That’s what we’ve become. You don’t deeply care for facts, you care about the opinions that have allied with your own. Opinions that can come across in a 2 minute video, or be read in less than 140 characters on twitter, or be expressed in a meme that takes seconds to understand. 

Nuance is dying. The little thing you didn’t do is being ignored. The champion is glorified by fans that didn’t even take the time to watch. The loser gets awarded and life goes on. 

When I was young I had this soccer team called ‘The Wings’. I loved that team. I loved the name, I loved the uniforms, I loved the coach and the families that showed up to watch us. It felt great to be a Wing, but none of that was quite like the love I had for my teammates. If they scored a goal, I scored a goal. If they stopped a score, I stopped a score. If they made a mistake, I made a mistake. If they won the game, I won the game. Winning is fun, losing sucks. 

The Wings, my Wings.. we played in a tournament one weekend. It was one of the many three day weekends we get in this country. We played games to qualify for the big playoff, then if we won a couple games in the playoff we would get to the final, then we got to play in the final. Easy, right? Well, we played on Saturday and qualified for the playoffs. On Sunday the whole team was there and we played our butts off. We were in the final and the final was set for Monday. Most my teammates had parents that had the type of jobs that expected you to work the holiday. Lucky enough for me, my parents had the whole weekend off and we were able to show up right on time. Time to stretch and warm up with 6 of my teammates. Across the field from us was a team of 14. Soccer requires you to have at least 9 players or you’re disqualified. The countdown to kickoff was quickly approaching. Suddenly Clayton shows up and we have another Wing. That’s only 8 players and the ref is ready to call it off, then Clint comes sprinting towards our sideline. We can begin the game by rule. We start the game 9 vs 11 and play desperation ball for 15 minutes. We’re starting to tire out and John comes running up. We have a 10th. John was the boost we needed. He got tackled hard in the middle of the game and broke his collarbone. He went to the sideline, got wrapped up by his dad and went back out with us. John finished the game with a broken collarbone. We won the game 2-0. 

At the award ceremony they gave out medals to both squads, but the coveted trophies only went to us. They were big, gold and bold. It was something to commemorate our achievement that day. Later we lost, we didn’t get the trophy, and it sucked. The feeling of losing burned even more because we knew what winning felt like. That’s what’s missing today. The burn. Humility. Knowledge of what it took to get to the top. True respect for overcoming failures. A true understanding of the meaning of hardship. We're missing the respect for the world that was built for us before we were even born.

Tonight is game 7. Your opinion about this game is irrelevant. The fact is, it’s going to be a huge boost to whichever team wins. The fans will pat the players on the back, they’ll remember all the big moments it took to get to the top, these players will never be forgotten. The names become household names, these men become giants, the decisions become magnified. There’s only one winner and civilization rears its best side when there’s only one winner. The majority is humbled to work harder, be better and try again on some future pathway. There’s nothing wrong with losing, but there’s something wrong with claiming glory for your loss.

Game 7 teaches a fabulous lesson about life, about the value of opinion, and most importantly.. about ourselves. This is the only chance. You can't argue to get the results changed. There's no party for pity's sake. There are no do-overs. Game 7 isn't like life, it is life.

___

To buy 'The Pod' by Andy Graham just click this link:  http://a.co/4eLlhtu

     

Dunkirk, Publishing My First Book and The World Series

Dunkirk, Publishing My First Book and The World Series 

"Well done, lads." an old blind man says to each returning soldier that passes by while handing out blankets.

"All we did is survive." replied the soldier.

"That's enough." the blind man answered back.

That's enough. 

What else do you ever need other than to survive?  Sure we all want more than just to survive. And it feels like we're missing something if we don't have more, but do you really need it. Almost everything we seek is comfort, but when survival becomes the goal you have enough because you have it all.

Survival is victory. It might look glamorous from the outside, but on the inside it's nothing but scraping, clawing, cutting off what you don't need, holding onto what you can and doing your best over and over. There's no excuses left because those are useless. There's no apologies in victory because survival needs no apology. Everything you had to give up to get there is lost. You can't get it back. The victory is simply accomplished by surviving. Staying alive.

This is the story of Dunkirk: The British and French allies lost an entire country to the lightning fast and disorienting style of fighting that the Germans had perfected. So much was lost. Lives, equipment, bases, land, advantage, and hope, but they survived. There were 400,000 English and French soldiers pushed back to the beach with no quick way to leave. They just had to survive somehow and that's all they did. But that's what victory is. Surviving.

The World Series is about to start. The Astros and the Dodgers will be facing off starting Tuesday. They'll play a best of 7 series to find a victor. Both teams have already had to cut players off their roster. They don't need them and can't use them now like they could before. They've sustained injuries, lost command on some of their pitches, they've lost the rhythm of their swing that was so easy to find before, then they're suddenly thrust in front of the best opponent the other league has to offer. They're not the best the league has to offer because they're perfect. They're not the best because they won the most games. They're not unbeatable. They've simply survived. And whichever team survives the longest gets to open bottles of champagne and pour it on their teammates. They get to hoist a beautiful golden trophy. They get to be called 'champion' for the rest of their life, but they don't get any of that unless they simply survive. Survival is victory. 

I just published my first novel called 'The Pod'. I was having a conversation with someone about the struggle of publishing and they told me "You've gotta start somewhere." I was a little offended that my entire journey to this point was 'starting somewhere'. As if this was the start. The ideas that stem from my work didn't just start here at publishing.  It came from a lifetime full of experiences and suddenly I was starting? I'm in the middle of a lifetime of work. I may be closer to the end than a beginning, I have no idea, but I'm not starting out. I spoke to my Mom and Dad about the same struggle and my dad said 'it doesn't matter, you're a published author'. My Dad is right, I am a published author. However this isn't some point of celebration to me. Don't get me wrong, I'm incredibly proud of this work, this story and the art all around it. But getting to this point wasn't glamorous. 

I lost a lot during this time. It's hurt my relationships with people, I lost my best friend, I spent far more time with a computer than people, I lost sleep, lost hope, lost most of my money, I'm going to have to sell my house, I've lost drive to get involved in a new project, but I'm here. I survived. 

My editor tore my book to shreds. Said I was too crass, said my book was too long and had too many characters. So back to the book, back to editing, back to making it the best it could be. More time, more money, more loss. Another love in life walked away, but I fixed the story and it's better for it. I tried to get myself a publishing agent. I even hired someone to find me an agent. She refused to help me because my book was an epic. She wouldn't touch poetry because agents wouldn't touch poetry. -A little more hope down the drain. Then before all hope was lost, I met a marketing guy outside a hotel in Austin by chance and he told me I still had options. He relayed that my project was still alive. He connected me with someone that had a game plan for me and so now I'm a published author.

But enough about me. All I did was cut back and survive. I will be fine. This is about 'The Pod'. Will people care enough about it? Will it still be around later? Do people think it's not a real book because it's not printed on paper? Is it good enough? 

I don't need 'The Pod' to be a best seller. I don't need everyone to love it. I don't need to be wealthy from it. I need 'The Pod' to survive. And I don't know how to do that. I can't make it survive.

A few people told me that I needed to see 'Dunkirk' and that I needed to see in the theater. The entire movie is so tense. I don't recall any stretches where I felt like I could relax. I couldn't even bring myself to take a short restroom break. I had to know if these people would make it. 

From start to finish you're watching people survive, but there are also incredibly important people in the story that try to help. That's the beauty of humanity. Some of us see a hand asking for help and there are people out there that will grab that hand. The motivation isn't always known, but the result can be staggering at times. In the movie, a man and two boys cross the English channel in a yacht to go retrieve whoever they can help. They find a mess of men floating and pick up whoever they can. Fire suddenly erupts on the water surface.  At the same time the fire erupts, one of the two boys has grabbed the hand of a swimming soldier that's still in the blazing water. The boat has to flee the fire as the boy and the soldier clasp hands. In a moment where all could have been lost, the boy gives the soldier a hand and drags him up. The soldier survives.

Right now I'm begging you now not to let go of 'The Pod'. The story wants to survive and it needs your help. How can you help? Read it. Give it a chance to become your story. Tell friends and family about it. Give it as a gift. Write a review about it. 

I can only do so much. People aren't going to believe me because I'm selling my own work. I have a conflict of their interest which is their time that they value and they want to know their time is worth it. It is. It's a great story, but I can't prove it. Only you can do that by telling them. They think I'm a liar and I don't lie. So I need you to tell them.

Thanks for your help. I need it.     

"Well done, lads." an old blind man says to each returning soldier that passes by while handing out blankets.

"All we did is survive." replied the soldier.

"That's enough." the blind man answered back.

  

Johnny Cash and The Renascence of Edna Millay

Johnny Cash and The "Renascence" of Edna Millay 

If you look at history, feminism has never died off, it just keeps having a renascence.  There is so much in a name and Edna St Vincent Millay was as much her name as she was her beliefs.  In the photographs I've seen of her, Edna was an extraordinarily beautiful woman.  However, let me take that back.  Not the extraordinary part or the beautiful or the woman part, the Edna part.  She called herself Vincent and people deserve to be called what they want to be called.  Vincent, from the photographs I've seen, was an extraordinary and beautiful woman both separately and together as words.  Yet her words may have been far more beautiful.  She could weave a tale that could draw your attention, pull your imagination into it and leave your mind at peace.  All the while, the story Vincent wove might stick with you longer than you would've imagined before you started the piece.  

Vincent was born Edna St Vincent Millay, her middle name a testament to the hospital that had saved her uncle's life not long before her birth.  By the time Vincent was 12 years old, her mother decided to divorce her father and she and her two sisters moved about the country impoverished by their situation, but were blessed beyond their means in classical literature.  When they finally settled down, Vincent began to write and from the onset she was famous.  First within her school as she published in the school magazine, later she would win awards on a higher platform, then she was published in a popular children's magazine at the time.  Next came the poem that would give her the notoriety that she deserved, "Renascence".  The word renascence is the rebirth of something that's been dormant for a time.  I won't talk more about the piece, but if you're interested, it's far better than this blog entry.  I wouldn't blame you for stopping here and looking it up.

From the time Vincent was in high school up until later years in her life, she was interested in women.  By the time she had graduated from Vassar College and starting to establish herself as a New York City literary artist, she made it openly known that she was bisexual.  Just a few years late she'd publish a collection of works called 'A Few Figs From Thistles' that explored female sexuality and feminism.  It was highly controversial, but also helped her gain more notoriety.

At the height of her notoriety, Vincent wrote her Pulitzer Prize winning poem, "The Ballad of the Harp Weaver".  The poem is so visceral, so real, yet impossible.  But when you're done, the reality of its impossibility is actually embedded into the part of you that understands a mother's love.  

Eighteen years before the legendary feminist poet Vincent Millay died, Johnny Cash was born.  Both Vincent and Cash shared the experience of poverty at a young age and both used performances of written word to escape poverty's renascence forever.  Both lived through enough economic struggle to express it in ways that stick with us.  Both struggled with love and rejection for who they were.  Both developed pen names to further there artistic works and both understood the power of a mother's love.  "The Ballad of a Harp Weaver" is about the depths of a mother's love.  Both Johnny and Vincent recorded themselves reciting this beautiful poem.  I like to believe that Johnny may have been trying to give poetry and Edna St Vincent Millay a 'renascence' with his performance.  And for my personal sake, I hope poetry has a renascence once again after I'm able to publish 'The Pod', a story told in prose about whales facing adversity on a journey to find higher meaning in life.

Here Johnny Cash pays homage to Vincent and her piece, "The Ballad of the Harp Weaver":

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CXW7v0ab_18

You're No Different Than A Reed Flute

"Lost in the Symphony of Life"

by Andy Graham

There's a natural longing that all humans have for something. Something that we don't understand yet.. and we spend our whole lives trying to figure it out. We spend our time trying to figure out how to fill this void so that we can... so that we can.. can what? Well, truthfully we don't know what we'd do if we filled the void because no one ever has. There's never enough money to fill the void, never enough food, laughter, sadness, sex, never enough joy or togetherness. So many things feel like they come close, but they never actually fill the void because it only grows as you get closer to fulfillment. Something out there always knocks you down, someone ruins the moment, and somehow, someway the good thing you wanted to last forever.. stops.

We embrace the things we trust when this repeating cycle rolls around and as you become aware of the emptiness again, you're awakened to that same longing that was there before. Every human thinks they deal with it differently, but we're all the same. We're all connected by that same void. Sure, I'd agree that we all try to fill it in different ways but the inability to do so is unbelievably common. Many turn to the story of Jesus, or the laws of science and nature, or the teachings of Buddha, the living practices of Muhammad, to consumption, to entertainment with the countless diversions available, to the evidence of the Yin and Yang found everywhere in the Tao, many  meditate to get in touch with an inner peace, or make sacrifices to find balance, I'm sure I cannot cover everyone's method, but I can tell you that we all find the void again. You can attribute this void to whatever you need to, but the well known whirling dervish, Jalalu'ddin Rumi, attributed this void to the separation from God when becoming human. To paraphrase, he said 'we were like the reeds who were separated from their roots and whittled into flutes'. He said that 'just like the reed that becomes a flute by having a series of holes drilled into its figure, mankind also has various holes forged into our hearts that are hardened and toyed with throughout our lives'. These holes that are covered and revealed motivate us to go where we go, do what we do and react the way we react. So just like the wind that blows through the reed flute and makes a beautiful song of longing for those unknown memories of the moments when, in their reed hearts, they knew they were attached to roots, there is also a wind blown into us. It's a gift given to all creatures like ourselves that are animated by powers greater than ourselves. We're animated into this song called life, animated by some maker, some life force. This is how Rumi saw us.. as mere instruments that ALL long to be one with our musician once again. The separation isn't something that Rumi knew how to rationalize and he didn't have the answer for this most difficult question, but I'm confident he recognized the 'music' that flowed from his and other's hearts around him. And surely he attributed the beauty surrounding him to that musician he could never see. He simply and only knew that he loved his musician.

There's something about music that can move through us unlike words or pictures. It's like being touched by a loved one. It can send shivers through your spine or embrace you when you're hurting. Certain drum beats will remind you of the heart in your chest, the perfect trumpet melody can remind you of your voice, and when a rosined horsehair bow is caressed just the right way across the strings of a flawlessly tuned violin, it can make every hair on your body stand up. It's unbelievable what instruments can do all alone, but to hear them played beautifully together.. well that's something else. If you're not angry or frightened, it's so difficult to shut music out, especially when it's trying to find a way in to tickle something inside you and use all your hardened holes to remind you of why they're here.. to feel something. To feel excitement build, or maybe to feel lost love again, or remind you of someone you love at home or next to you, or maybe you could feel the tension you still harbor, or that sweet release once again, it could be any array of human emotions. The emotions we're so frequently forced to ignore.

Rumi's metaphor about the reed flute is something that I think about from time to time, but I'd like to believe that you could use this metaphor with any musical instrument. The reed flute is an easier metaphor because of it being crafted from one cutting of a rooted plant, but life is so often about borrowing from one another in order to determine who we are. We're shaped by others, so why can't the metaphor be more like us. More complex. Like a violin. There's pieces of maple, spruce, willow and rosewood that go into a violin. There's also layers of varnish, stains, polish, the material for the strings and that's not to mention the horsehairs that form the bow or the rosin that applied to the horsehair that creates the friction. Without the friction the rosin creates, nothing beautiful will play. To me, that sounds more like a human. Thrust this violin into a symphony, give it a musician and suddenly the violin is alive, but it's the musician that make any of it possible. Without this musician, the violin can't go about doing what it was made to do. With the grace of this musician, it's been given life!

This violin is not alone.  There's a symphony of life right there with this violin. The conductor lightly taps the music stand as the various other instruments in the ensemble ready themselves, and the violin waits to come alive with noise. Without a given notice, it's wedged between a cheek and shoulder. Other violins are raised in the vicinity and together they all play a note. The cellos answer and both begin to bounce quarter notes to one another, clarinets fill in the spaces, then flutes and oboes flutter across the measures giving you a sense of questioning, then the horns voice an answer, and just when you find the rhythm of the song, the percussion waltzes in and let's you know you were right. You feel all the sadness going away as you begin to lose yourself. Your sadness is gone because you are lost in the music. You're lost because you were not you for a moment, you were the symphony. If only you could lose yourself permanently, that would be something wouldn't it? That's the endgame of the Sufi, to kill the self yet remain where you are. You can no longer hate because there is no you. You can no longer judge because there is no you. You can no longer long because there is only we. And then you can start to see that together we are all mere instruments being played in tandem with all the other instruments around us and together we are playing the beautiful song of life. Humanity is more diverse than any beautiful symphony and while I find unbelievable beauty in a philharmonic orchestra performing Tchaikovsky's 'Swan Lake' while amazing ballet performers choreograph and wrap the stage with storied tragedy, these performances will never outshine the audience. This is because the audience is never to be outdone. Ever. If you find yourself lost in the music of life, tell us about it. There are gifts that await and those gifts are the audience that will never be outdone.  
         
I'd like to thank Rob Landes for his performances on youtube, especially the one in Bangkok, Matthew McConaughey for turning himself into an instrument in The Wolf of Wall Street, Luka Šulić and Stjepan Hauser of 2Cellos, Angèlia Grace, and Samuel Barber (ThatCelloGuy on youtube check him out!) for inspiring me while I was coming up with the concept and writing this piece. You are all beautiful.   

Ancient Astronomers and Hallows of The Solar Eclipse

My writer friend Dave Floyd, another friend ours Dal and I went treasure hunting back in 2013 down in the Rio Grande Gorge of New Mexico. We were hunting for the notorious box of gold that Forest Fenn hid and left clues for. The clues sent us packing it into the gorge with hopes of finding overnight wealth. I was equipped with plenty of camera gear and I was focused on making a documentary film. As you hike through the gorge, you'll notice that the paths are not well worn. Over what I gather is some 29 million years of formation, the Rio Grande Gorge has been formed where the North American and Pacific tectonic plates have been rifting. It's clear that as these two young rock walls have separated, that the integrity of the newly exposed surface was not very reliable. With the river cutting through the rift and sweeping away small amounts of sediment over time, the walls crumbled in lots of places. The resulting landslides can be seen every hundred yards or so and in order to go traverse the canyon, you have to do some horizontal rock climbing over jagged boulders. There are plenty of beautiful hikes in this area that are far easier on the knees and so you see very few people walking those river banks even though it's undeniably beautiful. It's also well documented that there are ancient petroglyphs throughout the region and it's not uncommon to run into them if you hike it in. The glyphs were created by the Pueblo people who still have descendants living in the area today. With that background being laid out, during our hike, I had been gathering shots to be able to edit into the feature I was working on. I found myself being left behind by Dal and Dave. I had just packed up my camera and noticed petroglyphs that lined up peculiarly on the rocks. If my memory serves correctly, I believe I remembered one that was clearly the sun (circle with rays), then a sun and a circle, then the circles were together and the sun rays were gone. I was in a hurry and focused on a documentary, so I saved the glyphs to memory until it had dawned on me what I'd just seen:  An ancient petroglyph visually explaining a solar eclipse.

Western Civilization has this amazing history of conquering and destroying knowledge. We know that Ancient Egyptians used papyrus scrolls to collect their teachings. Most, if not all of those scrolls were moved to Alexandria during a period of Macedonian occupation. Alexander the Great was a great believer in knowledge and after conquering Northern Egypt, no doubt he would have amassed papyrus scrolls as part of his war trophies. We know that Ptolemy, one of Alexander's bodyguards, was put in charge of the city of Alexandria following Alexander of Macedonia's death. Ptolemy's dynasty ensured that the Ancient Library of Alexandria would flourish for many years. Great Greek philosophers of the era would visit Alexandria because there was no other place in the world with so much knowledge collected in one place. Citizens within the Ptolemaic Dynasty would often adopt the name Ptolemy. Even Egyptians that became part of this Macedonian Empire did this and adopted greek names. One of these Egyptians was the famous astronomer, Claudius Ptolemy who is simply known as Ptolemy (100 A.D. - 170 A.D.). Confusing yes, but these two people were not the same. Ptolemy the astronomer is attributed with writing 'Almagest', a book on astronomy that was taken as gold by astronomers around the world for centuries. Somewhere between Caesar in 30 B.C. and the Muslim Conquest of Egypt in 642 A.D., the papyrus scrolls all burned. Had it not been for the greek visitors who made copies of some of the scrolls, nothing would be known about the contents of that library.

Babylonians from 1700 B.C. kept careful records of Earth, Venus, Mars, the Sun and the moon.  They were able to predict lunar eclipses with their findings. Unlike the Egyptians, the Babylonians kept some of this information on stone tablets and stone held these findings for us to observe and applaud today because stone just doesn't burn quite like papyrus. Stone stood the test of time, but the downside of stone is that it's difficult to pass proof of complex sets of knowledge to future inhabitants.

The Ancient Chinese have vast records of celestial findings that date back as far as 750 B.C. and an explanation of a solar eclipse can be found in 120 A.D. I've found a mixture of information about their findings that seem to indicate they may have been able predict when solar eclipses occurred, but there seems to be more research needed in order to verify this claim.

Thales, a philosopher from 600 B.C. is said to have accurately predicted the solar eclipse on May 28th, 545 B.C. He is noted in history as a great thinker that disassociated scientific observation from mythology. He studied in Egypt and came back with a way to determine something incredibly complex. Unfortunately we have no explanation of how he was able to predict the eclipse so accurately. So much knowledge has burned in the fires of time, but we know that we will not be the first nor the last to observe this phenomenon that is a solar eclipse. Today we can accurately predict and post date eclipses going back a great deal of time. This can be an incredibly useful tool for historians that can match dates with recorded observations and be able to know more about what recordings depict. For example, it's now widely believed that we can confirm that the six year war between the Kingdoms of Lydia and Medes ended on May 28th, 585 B.C. This is the day that soldiers of both armies put down their weapons and stopped fighting as they witnessed Thales' solar eclipse. Perhaps that if that did occur, that many saw it as a bad omen. But if Thales prediction was known, maybe the knowledge that it was going to be a once in a lifetime occurrence for them, that it was worth it to stop fighting and enjoy the event together rather than fighting their way thru it.

I hope you know there's going to be a solar eclipse this Monday, August 21st, 2017. In central Texas the eclipse is going to occur between 1:00 pm and 1:15 pm central standard time. You'd have to wait for years to see the next one so don't miss out. Unless you're saving someone's life, stop what you're doing and go check it out. It will last less than 7 minutes and it's bound to be a pretty cool experience. You can think about all the moments in history where people stopped what they were doing and looked to the sky for meaning, then you add whatever it meant to you.

For me, trying to look backwards and see it for myself on Monday, it means this: people aren't stupid now and they never were. We're not any smarter than older civilizations, but these days our knowledge is easily shared and spread. That's the difference between us and them. If we had all the papyrus scrolls from the Egyptians, we might have a much fonder respect of them. Their ability to think was never tested by modern science because they were never given a chance. The same could be said of a lot of opposing views that out there in this world. Sure, you can resist knowledge and destroy all ideas that come from opponents like we've always done in the West or you can listen to your opponent, learn from them and be stronger for it.

Ptolemy is one of the few connections that the modern world has with Egyptian science. This is mostly due to the great minds that visited and copied his works for themselves. So because of them, we know he predicted within a factor of 20, the distance between the Earth and Sun.  Considering this was in 150 A.D. and that the Sun is 92 million miles away, I'd consider his educated guess within 1/20th the distance to be pretty good. He was also able to predict that the world is round, that other planets and stars were spheres as well. He formulated the idea of the equator and longitudes, but instead of degrees he used hours from sunrise to sunset so the equator was 12 hours and the North Pole would be 24 hours at the summer solstice. This was one man almost 2,000 years ago. Imagine if we didn't seek to destroy our opposition all the time, what our world could be capable of? If we saw value in everyone being involved in our intellectual marketplace.. what would that look like? I'm not saying peace, love and everyone wins. I mean, you tolerate differences respectfully so that all can mutually benefit.

  

"The Closeup Hazel Eye of Many Shared Histories"

by Andy Graham

I'll leave you with my favorite little factoid about this. I haven't read this anywhere so no need to credit anyone. The maximum theoretical amount of total eclipse time is 7 minutes and 32 seconds. It takes 8 minutes and 20 seconds for light to travel from the Sun to Earth, so the first moment that you see the moon block our beloved Sun, know that the Sun has already sent at least 48 seconds worth of sunlight to wake your senses from this eery scene that the position of the moon is creating.  

Washington, Turn, Washington, Charlottesville and Robert E Lee

After writing this book where my whales represent religious and social equality as a main theme, I felt like I should say something about what's happened this weekend where a white supremacy group invaded a town to try to spread some kind of message. My sister lives in Charlottesville right now and I was nervous about what she was experiencing amongst all the news. She has two young children and a husband that probably all felt this quarrel's hate. I tried calling her several times during the day and there was no answer. I couldn't think straight, I just wanted to know that her family was okay. I had volunteered to work on a race committee that day and as I sat waiting for the chairmen to spout off directions, my thoughts were in Virginia. Then she called as I was waiting. Relief. She shared all the events she experienced and none of it made me feel good, but knowing she and her family were fine, I could think again.

I was born in Baton Rouge and unquestionably it's part of the old south but it didn't really feel like it, then my family moved to the small town of Joliet in Illinois, then we moved just outside Washington D.C. to an area called Fairfax County. I was right around 10 years old and impressed by all that seemed to feed into and drive the control center that is our government. Our home was just about 25 miles from the capital. The capital of the country that so many of us hold near and dear, regardless of our opinions of how things should go. Regardless of where we're from or who we vote for or what sides we've taken when issues with policy arise, America is our shared home. Over 200 years ago, issues with policy arose in Colonial America that many people believed were worth fighting for. Worth fighting for freedom, worth the risk of danger and at that time, a lot of underlying issues between colonies got ignored because the birth of a new nation justified ignoring them. Once this uniting cause ceased, our nation of many states began arguing over policy and it has only stopped when we've faced a unifying cause.

The final episode of the series 'Turn: Washington's Spies' just aired on Saturday and I completed the last installment of the episodes. The show stars Jamie Bell who plays one of Washington's most important spies, Abraham Woodhull, a spy in the Culper Spy Ring during the Revolutionary War and the series also covers Major Benjamin Tallmadge, played by Seth Numrich, who was charged with leadership of the Culper Spy Ring by none other than George Washington. (Please note that Tallmadge was only 22 years old when the Continental Congress declared independence from Britain.)  As I was watching the closing moments of this series, it dawned on me that the entire time I was writing 'The Pod', everyday I was also reading Ron Chernow's comprehensive biography of the Father of Our Country, George Washington. The biography is simply named 'Washington: A Life' and its coverage of his life begins before the birth of George and includes events that occur a few years after his death as well. It's an honest approach to his life, it hides very few details about him and covers both the good and the bad aspects of an imperfect man's life. And while we can look back and judge the man with today's standards and see just another slave owner that commanded over a war without ever engaging his opponents fairly, we can also look back and see that he was clearly the only man in the world for the job. Now he's become the beacon for self rule that has spread around the Earth like wildfire. His leadership and the countless good decisions he made on behalf of a young nation are the reason that we still have one to claim as our own. He made unbelievable sacrifices for us throughout the Revolutionary War because his properties became unprofitable. It cost him unknown amounts of money, but he hid his debts from society because they needed him to be the foundation that we're still built upon today. In addition to financial sacrifice, he also lived most of the 8 year war without his beloved wife Martha. He had so many strong beliefs that were incredibly forward thinking as we moved away from imperial rule. He believed in the inclusion of all our diverse people, in a government that pays its bills, in centralized government and military,  a government separate from any type of church rule, and he believed that free speech was necessary for free people to rule themselves. As a writer, I hold free speech near and dear. And I hope in some ways that Washington's character rubbed off on Narwhal, the leader of 'The Pod'. It could be my little way of saying thanks for all he did so selflessly.  

Living near Washington D.C. as a kid, I've seen the White House, the Capitol, the Washington, Lincoln, and Jefferson Monuments, both the original Constitution and the Bill of Rights. I saw so much of what Washington envisioned, but he wasn't there to see the government finally set up shop in the city in the year of 1801 because he had died 4 years prior in 1797. The design of the city is extremely well planned with streets coming in from 4 different directions that are all connected by an array of loops and parallel passage ways. It seems that no matter which way you come into the city, you can easily get to the center of it all. It almost seems like a visual representation of our government. However, roadblocks can be set up in a well planned capital and they are. It's frustrating anytime you run into a roadblock much less one that effects your every day life. Not having your voice heard can erupt into anger and over the years of our established democracy, people have gotten angry by not being heard. It's an ugly side to democracy that can't be avoided. Without roadblocks, no policy would last and a feeling of insecurity would certainly arise. Without having your voice heard and recognize, people get angry. That same sense of insecurity and same sense of anger is created by large groups of protesters.  It's that part of you that wonders what will come of this, but our Bill of Rights protects those that feel the need to protest and that is a point of strength in our country. That being said, the government does request that your protest be peaceable and if it is not, it's no longer protected. In other words, it is not within your rights to violently protest.

The United States Constitution went into effect in 1789, by 1801 we found ourselves in a war with the Barbary Coast (Ottoman occupied coast of North Africa) for 14 years, we had the War of 1812 that lasted 3 years, and then we had The Mexican-American War which lasted from 1846 to 1848, all the while we were expanding as a nation and living our Manifest Destiny. When things started to settle, the American people began to think about their differences again and in 1861, the Southern States went to war with the Northern States in the Civil War. Slavery was certainly a big issue in the debate, but that was part of a larger issue that boiled down to economic differences. The North couldn't live without the goods the South provided and the North wanted to tell the South how they were going to go about doing that. The votes in the North overpowered the South and so the South protested. They no longer believed their voices were being heard. Eventually, it all boiled over and became anger that fueled the Civil War on both sides. The casualties of the war numbered over a million combined. People lost a lot, especially in the South. William Sherman marched into the South during the war and while away from the eye and control of the Northern leaders, burned cities down to the ground. It was total war. Sherman's men stole food from anywhere they could find it in foraging parties, if hostility was felt by the commanders of Sherman's armies, they could destroy houses, cotton gins, grain mills, the soldiers were allowed to steal any livestock they wished to take including horses, and the recently freed negroes could be taken and put into the service of the army against their will. I'm sure many of you reading this think that the North was a bunch of angels that came down to kindly free the slaves and make everything better, but Sherman's Army was more like the apocalypse with army issued paperwork justifying any action. This treatment of the South was never rectified and trust me, there are people in the South that are still angry about it, angry about not having their voices heard even though they live in a democracy where everyone has a voice.

Fast forward to this past weekend, the White Nationalists gathered in Charlottesville and from what I can only gather by an educated guess, the group was there initially to protest the removal of General Robert E Lee's statue in Charlottesville Virginia. They came ready for a fight, this was never supposed to be a peaceable protest, it wasn't and now a few people are dead and many many others have sustained injuries. I can't help but believe that all of this could have been avoided had these White Nationalists followed the constitutionally protected guidelines and protested peacefully. Everyone in this country has the right to free speech, especially those you disagree with, so be aware if you oppose this idealism. You could rightfully be punished if you take this right from others. You have the right to be angry, you have a right to be heard, but you don't have the right to be violent. If you want to win this debate, whatever the hell it may be, it will not be done with violence. Now, I personally believe that no Robert E Lee statue should be taken down. The man fought for every state and every American in the Mexican-American War and is a hero for that, his leadership of the Southern Armies at the end of the war was such that when he surrendered to General Ulysses S. Grant, the armies he led followed suit rather than continue a bloody war that was only serving to hurt all sides. After the war he sought reconciliation with the North so that we could move forward together as one nation. After the war ended, Robert E Lee got involved with the Washington University, started by George Washington when he granted his Potomac Canal shares to the organization, and because of the donations he separately made to that educational system, the University is now called Washington Lee. It would be foolish to strip his name away and pretend he didn't exist. West Point has a barracks named after Lee and in general, the Northern states warmed up to Lee following the war. Clearly this man was not some pure entity of evil and this is not some good versus evil matter anyway where there is only right or wrong. He, after serving the United States Army in the Mexican-American War, struggled to choose a side in the Civil War. Certainly he was aware of the positive merits of the North's cause, but surely he understood that the South was not without merit as well. War is full of tough decisions and maybe Robert E Lee was the right man to decide to negotiate a truce rather than fight on and to me, that's what he should be remembered for. The man that ended the violence by conceding the fight when the fight was deep, widespread, and as old as our nation.

People aren't perfect, you're not perfect, I'm not perfect, but we all deserve to be remembered for our positive contributions to this world when we're gone. I hope that this weekend will serve as a reminder of what happens when we let violence try to solve our issues. Turns out that when you're protesting with violence, nobody can hear the meaning of your actions. The young men that fought the Revolutionary War were angry too, they were tired of being oppressed, but though they were not being listened to, they kept their heads and won a war where they were outnumbered, outgunned, out-supplied, but they were not outwitted. I will probably never agree with anything that this White Nationalist party has to say, but I'd suggest to any group that is outnumbered, outgunned, out-supplied, they can still keep their head and at least attempt to win in a peaceful game of wits. At least no one dies that way and you might be heard. To this group, I literally have no idea why you were there in Charlottesville and so the Robert E Lee statue was just a guess. That means your protest was a complete failure with me and probably for many others you tried to persuade. For now you're just a bunch of angry white dudes preaching hate for others and I pity you. You're missing out on the bright side of life.

To the young lady revealed as Heather Heyer that gave her life to opposing this protest, thanks for giving of yourself. May you be a beacon like George Washington whose memory may serve to cool tempers and give the a nation a boost that can help us move on once again. Your life may have ended because of anger, but may you live on in our hearts and minds because of a natural love that we all share with our fellow humanity. Your work is not finished.