To view my other blog “One A Day, Your Spiritual Vitamins”
CLICK ON THE FOLLOWING URL http://oneadayyourspiritualvitamins.blogspot.com/
RUST ON MY SOUL (A Novel) (Published by Bridge Press in 1985 & Distributed Internationally) (A new Series that began on Tues April 13th and will continue every Tuesday thereafter until finished) (Thursday & Sunday will continue to cover a variety of subjects as in the past)
INTRODUCTION (Repeated for those new to the series)
In an old loose leaf notebook, Thomas Kettering wrote when there was a cry from his heart. He wrote when his inner longing spilled over into the reality of his days. He did not write every day, only when he felt he must. How often he wrote or when is not important. The journey is what counts, for it is a diary about all of us, to all of us. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” and even a stumble is a step.
Morning
I’m wired for instant irritation these days. My house is neither castle nor home. Nancy has become a gatekeeper who’s more married to my paycheck than to me. My children are strangers living in a teenage land so different from my own teenage days that I don’t even try to understand them anymore.
My boss is a tyrant who rewards my compliance with a sneer and makes it palatable with a raise.
By day I work at business. By night I am father, husband, and human being (Not necessarily in that order). But I do work at these, or do I take these roles for granted?
I’ve forgotten how to laugh, but my business smile is always intact. This whole scenario is being played out against a backdrop of good pay and executive privilege, but it isn’t what I earn or where I work that’s doing this to me. It’s who I have allowed myself to become.
I keep asking questions, but am I really seeking answers?
Evening
There’s a mockingbird nest in our mulberry tree. It’s home. No mailbox, no posturepedic mattress, no mortgage, just home. Where is his heart and his song and his dreams. Does a mockingbird dream? Does he seek to be known far and wide among other mockingbirds? Is life for him as simple as it seems?
A finger of light faintly strethes across the lawn to reach me as I swing silently in my hammock and study, in the dusk of this starless night, the emphasis of my days. In a short while I shall walk back into civilization; a controlled atmosphere, a well-stocked kitchen, my easy chair and my color TV, I demand more than a mockingbird. I demand more than some of my fellow human beings.
Emerson, I think, wrote that a man is happy in proportion to what he can do without. In a philosophical discussion around a campfire such an idea can momentarily provide warmth. But how does it apply to real world of creature comforts?
I’m not so sure.
Evening
Picking an event of yesterday isn’t always as easy as reaching down for the morning paper. Memories raised back up are sometimes just headlines. YOUNG MAN’S FIRST DATE A DISASTER – PRIVATE THOMAS KETTERING HATES ARMY LIFE – THOMAS KETTERING JOINS FIRM.
My searching has given me more dreams these nights; I fly or walk on water or am clever or brilliant beyond belief. Sometimes I am paralyzed and there is a monster comng ever nearer. I scream and wake up – and it was all a dream, or nightmare. But sometimes it isn’t a dream. I’m not asleep. Sometimes it is real life—
THOMAS KETTERING THIEF. Today I had a golf date with a client of one of my competitors. He’s a lousy golfer and has the personality of a cold lobster but the contract in m pocket has his signature on it and consequently my prestige at the office will rise by several notches. He won by a stroke. It was hard to play so badly on purpose.
The first eighteen holes were strictly emotional strangulation, but when I began to liquefy his reasoning o the nineteenth hole he was in the bag, and I don’t mean golf bag. Hated to steal him from my good friend, Rich, but then in business it’s every man for himself.
Isn’t it?
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT TUESDAY
(Complete book available on amazon.com) (great prices)
CLICK ON THE FOLLOWING URL http://oneadayyourspiritualvitamins.blogspot.com/
RUST ON MY SOUL (A Novel) (Published by Bridge Press in 1985 & Distributed Internationally) (A new Series that began on Tues April 13th and will continue every Tuesday thereafter until finished) (Thursday & Sunday will continue to cover a variety of subjects as in the past)
INTRODUCTION (Repeated for those new to the series)
In an old loose leaf notebook, Thomas Kettering wrote when there was a cry from his heart. He wrote when his inner longing spilled over into the reality of his days. He did not write every day, only when he felt he must. How often he wrote or when is not important. The journey is what counts, for it is a diary about all of us, to all of us. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” and even a stumble is a step.
Morning
I’m wired for instant irritation these days. My house is neither castle nor home. Nancy has become a gatekeeper who’s more married to my paycheck than to me. My children are strangers living in a teenage land so different from my own teenage days that I don’t even try to understand them anymore.
My boss is a tyrant who rewards my compliance with a sneer and makes it palatable with a raise.
By day I work at business. By night I am father, husband, and human being (Not necessarily in that order). But I do work at these, or do I take these roles for granted?
I’ve forgotten how to laugh, but my business smile is always intact. This whole scenario is being played out against a backdrop of good pay and executive privilege, but it isn’t what I earn or where I work that’s doing this to me. It’s who I have allowed myself to become.
I keep asking questions, but am I really seeking answers?
Evening
There’s a mockingbird nest in our mulberry tree. It’s home. No mailbox, no posturepedic mattress, no mortgage, just home. Where is his heart and his song and his dreams. Does a mockingbird dream? Does he seek to be known far and wide among other mockingbirds? Is life for him as simple as it seems?
A finger of light faintly strethes across the lawn to reach me as I swing silently in my hammock and study, in the dusk of this starless night, the emphasis of my days. In a short while I shall walk back into civilization; a controlled atmosphere, a well-stocked kitchen, my easy chair and my color TV, I demand more than a mockingbird. I demand more than some of my fellow human beings.
Emerson, I think, wrote that a man is happy in proportion to what he can do without. In a philosophical discussion around a campfire such an idea can momentarily provide warmth. But how does it apply to real world of creature comforts?
I’m not so sure.
Evening
Picking an event of yesterday isn’t always as easy as reaching down for the morning paper. Memories raised back up are sometimes just headlines. YOUNG MAN’S FIRST DATE A DISASTER – PRIVATE THOMAS KETTERING HATES ARMY LIFE – THOMAS KETTERING JOINS FIRM.
My searching has given me more dreams these nights; I fly or walk on water or am clever or brilliant beyond belief. Sometimes I am paralyzed and there is a monster comng ever nearer. I scream and wake up – and it was all a dream, or nightmare. But sometimes it isn’t a dream. I’m not asleep. Sometimes it is real life—
THOMAS KETTERING THIEF. Today I had a golf date with a client of one of my competitors. He’s a lousy golfer and has the personality of a cold lobster but the contract in m pocket has his signature on it and consequently my prestige at the office will rise by several notches. He won by a stroke. It was hard to play so badly on purpose.
The first eighteen holes were strictly emotional strangulation, but when I began to liquefy his reasoning o the nineteenth hole he was in the bag, and I don’t mean golf bag. Hated to steal him from my good friend, Rich, but then in business it’s every man for himself.
Isn’t it?
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT TUESDAY
(Complete book available on amazon.com) (great prices)
Neil is also the author of THE SPIRITUAL ABRAHAM LINCOLN (His last book)
Neil Wyrick newest book
“LETTERS TO 21st CENTURY AMERICA FROM CHARLES WESLEY, Hymn Writer Supreme
is coming out in 2010 by CSS Publishers
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