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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. ************************************************************************ Noon
“Mirror,
mirror on the wall…” I played that game this morning. I took a good look at
myself in the bathroom mirror and it was, as always, truthful. It reflected the
outer me with blantant accuracy.
“You’re getting old,” it said,
“Old.”
I’ve put on too much weight and the jowls are losing their battle
with gravity ---old. The hair from my balding pate seems to be settling in
shaggy, grey eyebrows ---old. My grey eyes need not just reading glasses but
bifocals to unfuzzy the world ---old.
My stamina is a shadow of its
former self and expresses its weariness in the forward slant of my shoulders ---
old.
There is a nervous twitch to my neck, and my cheeks are rosy more
from hypertension than good health.
As to the inner me, the mirror gives
hardly a clue. What little seeps through reflected from the eyes of my soul, is
distorted by excuses and self-serving autobiographical rewrite. I don’t know
which side of three score years and ten I’ll pack it all in, and I don’t want to
know, but as my mortality creaks louder the sound has no solace in
it.
How could it?
I am no more prepared to die than I am to
live.
Morning
I’m an early riser. I watched the grey of night
take on a morning glow. Toast, two eggs, bacon, a cup of coffee and the miracle
of another morning. In the morning news only the names and nations change as
wars and rumors of wars parade across the headlines.
The editorials
always speak with such assurance of opinion. The editorial cartoons could have
been printed twenty years ago, or probably twenty years from now, and still be
on target.
Just update the names, places and faces to indict the
guilty.
Well, good morning, Tom. Where are you going today? Not far. I’ll
still back down the same fifty feet of driveway, motor a quarter of a mile to
cross the same wooden bridge, and drive past the same fade store fronts. Not
far. But how far do I want to go?
I’m dissatisfied with things as they
are but I think I might be more uncomfortable if they changed too greatly. I
just read something that I find very unsettling. A seventeen-year old girl
wrote.
“I’m tired of puppet instead of people. I’m tired of cynics who
call themselves realists. Of people bored because they are afraid to
care. I’m tired of people who have to be entertained. Of girls, proud of
knowing the score, and snickering about it. I’m tired of sophisticate3d
snobs. Tired of people with nothing better to do than glue their days
together with alcohol. I’m tired of people embarrassed by honor, honesty,
love, faith, patriotism… …tired, yes, very tired of things the way they are.*
(Ann Landers Column)
Afternoon
I’ve decided a lot of people in
church on Sunday morning are spiritual auditors. I ought to know. I’m one of
them. We audit a course called Christianity. We listen to the lecture but never
take the test.
We don’t mind the visit but we’re not interested in
earning a degree. I audit everything! How much is it worth? That’s my number one
question.
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)
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ALMANACK FOR THE 20TH CENTURY (Written as if Ben Franklin had come back to life
in the 20th Century and wrote yet another Almanac)
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