On Heavenly Spheres

Where are we going?

This great spinning rock carrying us along?

Could it have a destination?

Does this globe know its course?

This dance with its sisters, and with the sun; an endless, graceful performance piece with music from the stars.

What are we, then, both onlookers and passengers?

Looking up, we know that beyond the veil there is something more.

A choreographer, who created these steps long ago. Also, as architect, built the floor for our waltz through the sky; set these heavenly spheres on their course, and insisted we hang on for the ride.


When everything is tragedy

This week more than twenty people lost their lives in an explosion. This week more than twenty families grieve the loss of loved ones. This week a world, once again, looks for reason and rationale. 

When everything is tragedy, where does one find hope? 

I don’t know the answer. I know that there are cries for justice. Cries for a cessation to needless killing. Cries for understanding, for tolerance, for recourse.

But where should we look? What is the meaning, the purpose? Why does it keep happening? 

It feels as if we’re on the edge of something, and pretty soon it’s going to tip. What will we find on the other side?

When everything is tragedy, where does one find love?

My Favorite Pearls

Wisdom. Where does it come from? It seems that much of the past fifteen months, for me, has been an unending quest for wisdom and understanding. As of yet, I’m still coming up short. Mostly I quote Socrates (as Plato has written): Ἓν οἶδα ὅτι οὐδὲν οἶδα.” All I know is that I know nothing.

Yet, over the years, people have given me advice in one shape or another. Maybe I’ve read it in books, or seen it on television. One of my favorites has done little more than make me smile, but sometimes that’s all advice needs to do. So I wanted to provide some of that here.

The early bird gets the worm

Obviously. The earlier you start digging in the dirt, the more likely you are to reap the spoils. 

Measure twice, cut once

I’ve never been one for construction, but this can applied to many avenues of life. It’s about being precise – even if it takes a little longer in the beginning to get it right, it saves time and money on the other side if you aren’t redoing your work.


Quite possibly the simplest yet most profound peace of advice I’ve ever gotten, and it still shows up for me today, to remind me how important breath is. In my singing, and reading of music, I’ll see hand-scrawled notes indicitating breath marks in the music telling me to breathe. When I’m feeling overwhelmed by external forces, breathing slowly makes the anxiety manageable. If I’m lifting weights, or holding a yoga pose, and it’s becoming impossible – focusing on the slow breathing gets just one more out of me, whether repitition or moment of concentration.

Don’t sweat the little stuff, and it’s all little stuff

This was a book that I never read. But the advice is sound. There are very few things in life that can improve if you worry about them. And when you start worrying about something, suddenly the problem is obfuscated and you can’t focus on the real issue anymore. It seems to happen a lot in relationships, where the one thing is the problem, but every other thing starts being seen in the negative by not fixing the actual problem. When life seems too much, focus on the manageable. 

Don’t eat the yellow snow

Okay. Thanks Dad. I’ve seen snow a handful of times in my life, and never did I want to eat white snow, let alone yellow. Still, when I was a young boy my dad gave me this advice (even though we lived in Florida) and I’ve remembered it to this day. Never will I eat yellow snow, but I can’t help but smile when I think about it.

And I guess, when it comes down to it, advice is just there to make life easier. To make you smile. So don’t eat the yellow snow. 

Back From Abroad

To wit, I’ve been back stateside now for nearly a month. I had every intention of keeping this blog going while I travelled through Europe, but there was so little time to sit and ruminate, let alone write. 

I did finish On the Road, which I started on the flight from Toronto to Amsterdam. I think I wrapped up the book on the ferry ride from Swinoujscie, Poland to Ystad, Sweden. Since being back, I’ve read a few more. Right now I’m working through Brian Weiss’s Many Lives, Many Masters. Most of the time back has been spent working, or applying to jobs, and practicing music. 

I’m enjoying the warm Florida weather and a cool tropical breeze out on the back patio. My dog is lounging by my feet, drooling contentedly. I had started a blog post two weeks ago, but it’s been lost in the nether regions of cyberspace, likely never to be seen again. I was lamenting the fact that many people will call someone who is well-read nerdy. 

Mind you, it’s been a long time since someone called me a nerd. Dork, yes. But I’ve been a gym rat for years, at least I was before I developed RA. I was also an avid partier, so people forgave my intelligence and habit of being well-read. No, I was volunteering, writing in one of my notebooks, and someone asked if I liked to read. Of course I like to read. She said that she didn’t, but her son did. He’d even started a book club with his friends, and was trying to read a book a week this year. I thought that was an admirable aspiration. She called him a nerd. So, I ask you, when did reading books & being generally well-educated become nerdy?

That was the crux of that lost post. More later!