Grand Design or Incredible Chance?

As I jogged on a nearby path in a local forest preserve, I couldn't help but take in the simple grandeur all around me.  The beautiful fall foliage, clean smells of nature and clear blue sky allowed my mind to drift as my foot falls pounded beneath me.  Magnificent yellows, golds and reds burst forth from maple and oak trees, while small purple wild flowers swayed gently in the constant breeze.  A shallow creek flowed over small and medium sized rocks while ducks and geese floated along its waters.

I breathed deeply enjoying the scents nature had to offer and wiped away a couple of tears torn from my eyes by the wind.  When my heart was steadily pounding in my chest and my breathing began to labor, I focused my mind on everything around me.  I paid close attention to the crunching of fallen leaves as my feet landed on the select few in my way.

At some point and time during my jog (I don't recall how long I had been on the path) I considered how perfectly in synch everything seemed to be.  It occured to me that those who do not believe in a higher power are looking at things too simplistically.  If you consider that our planet's orbit around the sun had to be just right to support life, that conditions have to be almost exact for a planet to support water, that our sun has to be a particular size so as not to burn us up or freeze us to death, then you are dabbling in the arena of unbeknownst statistics.  Taking it a step further, were you to look around you at all that nature has to offer, from the tranquil grasshopper thinking about which plant to jump on to the racoon scavenging for food to a grown man with average intelligence jogging in an area attempting to soak in his surroundings, then you have to believe in a higher power. 

I definitely am not attempting to preach at you, faithful reader, only offering my perspective into and on life.  The natural order of things seems to me to have been meticulously thought out and perfectly made.  That all of this may have been left to chance defies logic, or at least my logic. 

As I continued my jog I caught a drift of a skunk and thought that God must have seriously twisted sense of humor.  A couple of jogs ago I ran right behind a small possum focused intently on whatever it was trying to catch.  I remember thinking that either that was the dumbest possum in the world or perhaps it was deaf.  No matter which, Darwin obviously wasn't always right when he thought that only the strongest would survive.  I didn't mess with this nasty looking little animal and he simply stared at me as I continued to run past him.  Was it divine intervention that kept us from having a scuffle?  I don't really know, but I do know I trodded on leaving the little fellow to his own devices.

The next time you find yourself outside the confines of some man-made creation stop for a moment to decide for yourself if everything around you was a result of chance or maybe some grander design.  You might amaze yourself with your answer.

Insomnia Strikes Back

Insomnia is not funny.  Other than getting to watch movies I haven't seen for fifteen years or so, there's no benefit I can find to the disorder.  There's only so much of the news I can take, only so many bizarre websites to peruse and only so many books I can read.  Yes, I can find no good reason for an inability to sleep when my body feels run down.

The fact that I can't shut my mind down is perplexing.  Staring blankly at a darkened ceiling is extremely boring and frustrating, as is replaying the day's events over and over.  Why is it then I am forced to suffer?

There are some who will remain nameless who would claim this is my karma.  Others still prefer more poetic reasons and call the insomnia my albatross.  Perhaps they who call it the strange dead bird are correct, as I sit here typing about the strangeness of it all to you.....the faithful reader. 

I imagine my brain as lit Cloud City, a nerdish allusion to George Lucas' Star Wars films, where the planet is inhabited by humans and other space creatures in buildings high in the planet's sky.  There are miles and miles of blue sky and warm clouds, occasional buildings interrupting the aesthetics of it all.  Radio transmissions cross the sky from com link to com link, as do the synapses firing across my mind not allowing me to drift into a peaceful sleep.

And now my thoughts continue down memory lane, thinking of The Empire Strikes Back, admiring Han Solo for being frozen in carbon by Darth Vader.  When I was younger I used to imagine that Solo would have gone insane while entrapped in the carbonite, but I was wrong.  Han was able to sleep to the point of temporary blindness.  How I long to be temporarily blinded after sleeping for a year or two.  I imagine he was pretty hungry after being thawed though, but that really doesn't have anything to do with what I'm talking about here.

So, I'm hoping to drift off in a while.  Maybe Darth Vader will visit me tonight and he and Boba Fett will allow me some time to rest.

Will Someone Pass the Prozac?

Whatever shall I do with myself after the election?  So enamored with news, polls, statistics and political conversation, I fear spontaneous human combustion when I have nothing else to hold my attention.  Yes, I realize I still have Alabama football, but even the regular season will be over at the end of November. 

I have begun researching counselors and therapists to get me through the rough times, my detox certain to set in on November 7th.  Prozac and Wellbuten may be my friends for six months at least, perhaps more.  Romney-Obama.  Obama-Romney.  The chant echos in my head and comes to me in my dreams.  At what point in my life did I start caring about this stuff?  Why can't I do anything in moderation?  Why can't I get my wife to stop watching O'Reilly or Hannity?  When will the NFL be fun again?

Gallup, Pew, Rassmussen and Politico.  The presidential elections have captured my attention the past sixteen years, but moreso the past three cycles.  Joe Biden has become one of my favorite politicians ever; I would love to have this guy over for dinner and a beer.  No, I don't agree with him politically, but wouldn't I be the hit of the neighborhood if I could throw a party with Uncle Joe as my keynote speaker and guest?  I've got to compose a letter to him.  Perhaps he'll pencil me in after January!

The University of Alabama is 5-0 thus far this season.  They shut out two football teams in back-to-back victories, and during every commercial, during each time out, I found myself turning to news channels or checking some of my favorite news and political websites for information.  Those who know me probably fear for my personal safety after reading this.  It's scary!

I don't know.  Maybe I should plan a weeklong hiking trip.  No phone, no internet, no television, no human interaction.  Perhaps deep in the woods I could convulse and shake with no witnesses then return to my normal self, my addiction finally kicked. 

But in the interim I have twenty-nine days left to sate my thirst for everything political.  I can watch Ryan and Biden debate then watch the President and Romney go at it two more times.  I'll remain glued to the television and listen to the radio in hopes my candidate is winning in the polls and pulls through in lavish fashion!

And now, I must turn my attention to the most recent USA Today poll of likely voters. 

Paper or plastic: A deeper look at publishing

As many of you know, I enjoy writing.  For me, it serves as an outlet of sorts as ideas form in my mind, get shuffled around and begin to take shape.  Writing is a conduit into other worlds, realms, dimensions and lives unavailable in my current physical state.  How's that description for deep thinking?  I would quote myself, but that's simply self-righteous and way off topic, so pardon my transgression.

I enjoy telling stories; some believe I embellish (Kerry Lee) and create fairy tales from real life events.  Personally, I consider my stories to be accurate reflections of true events, colored in real life pastels for your amusement.  Much to the disdain of a few who have read what I think of as a humorous autobiographical look into a lot of silliness that has occurred over the course of my lifetime, I continue down the path of publishing peril.  What this means is someone has read my conglomeration of stories and warned me not to pursue publication.  That warning has been heeded because I need to do some (a lot of) re-writing.  Taking the excellent advice my friend has given me and using that advice as a gift (after licking my wounds from the resounding verbal kicking he gave me) has been beneficial.  His "gift" has allowed me a lot of time to reflect on my writing style and how I present my stories in written form.

I've also been forced to ask myself "why," as in "why do I do this?"  Why would I take time to put into words what I can articulate orally so people can read it?  Writing has become, or has been for a long time, an addiction for me.  Pen to paper or keyboard to monitor is no different than a painter and his canvas.  This is how I create and I thrive on it.  But there's a bigger piece to the publication of my words and stories that gave me pause for some introspection.

Seeing our, or my anyway, work published in hardback or electronically is a rush.  Knowing people are reading and enjoying what I write is a form of self-indulgence and ego boosting like no other.  I can admit my linguistic narcissistic pleasures to everyone as my epiphany has fully revealed itself to me.  As with most twelve step programs, admitting you have a problem is the first giant leap you'll take!  I wonder, however, if other writers will admit the same or at least take the time to self-reflect on why they write?

So there it is--you have looked into my writer's soul and seen my Achilles heal.  I feel better now, but this albatross will once again drape my neck and the words will have to be written.