There Is Life

I don't think of all the misery but of the beauty that still remains.

Anne Frank
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Hello Stuart
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Miguel Figeroa parked his Ford as close as he could to Fairton, or what had been Fairton. Torn apart by a massive tornado followed by an earthquake there was nothing left of Fairton but rubble. smoke, ashes and blood.

Miguel was there to inspect the ruins for the state. Those who had survived had been evacuated to shelters and hospitals. Those who did not were still strewn about or lost under piles of destroyed and collapsed buildings. Looking up Miguel could see the horizon in the distance, thee was nothing left of Fairton to block his view. There was a sharp and suffocating smell, worse than any aroma rising from a dump. And Miguel walked.

He picked his way through the rubbish and broken dreams as best he could, noticing odd things. A children's playground swing lying sideways atop a crushed car, a string of laundry one end still attached to the side of a demolished porch, the other end buried under broken glass and dented cans, a twisted street light which had fallen across a dead dog, a smoldering pile of clothes. Still Miguel walked. He saw what had been a school, caved in and with books and papers filing the spaces around the broken bricks, on a large chunk of wood he saw a welcome sign gently waving in the breeze as if beckoning him, a farmer's supply store had it's roof blown off and revealed burst bags of seed and farm equipment smashed up against each other.

He walked. He came to an almost completely torn down concrete wall. Lying next to it was a Maxwell House coffee can. He picked it up. Inside was a small blue flower. Miguel didn't know what kind of a flower it was but it was holding its small head bravely up to the sun while it's roots were busy drawing their needs from the still damp soil in the can.

Miguel placed the can upright, in the sun, on a part of the wall that was still standing., and walked on.

There is survival. There is a town that will grow again. There is life.

DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
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It's Today

Through remaining in the present, we can let go of the past and the future - the headquarters of our fears.

Lama tsony
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Hello Frosty
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"Watchman, tell us of the night."
It's night now, or it's day, or it's both.
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I enjoy reading history. History is about events. But even more history is about people, people make the events happen. If you read enough history you get the accurate impression that the human race has been at war with itself ever since the first cave man picked up a rock and threw it at someone.

You've heard the axiom "history repeats itself" and you've probably also heard that if people aren't aware of history they are in danger of repeating it. Well they apparently repeat it anyway even if they are aware. It's that repetition of events that makes history interesting to me. It means that history for me is not a linear study.

Read a newspaper, if you can find a newspaper in this E age, and you will find that all the things that have ever gone on are going on right now. The past is just the present with dust on it. And that leads me into considering the present as the only reality, which it is.

Why should we fear the past? Or why should we fear because there is a past? Most of it is a bucket of ashes and what remains should be laughed at. You made some events happen, some of them were successful and some were failures, and that about sums it up. Did you learn something from your mistakes. Good. Then that's what the past is for. Now forget it.

Why should we fear the future, or fear because there is a future? As someone said, the future is much like the present only longer. By an amazing bit of alchemy the present turns into the past just as fast as it turns into the future. And that's what makes the present, today, this hour, so important. If you do it wrong you may have a regret or two, something else to put into the bucket of ashes. But what ever you do, whatever event you make happen, it will define your future. You're making history. And once done it's best to let go of it. When you throw the rock you don't run after it to make sure it hits the target. It hits or it misses. Get on with life.

Another important thing about the present is that you can't measure it the way you can measure the past or plan the future. That's what makes it so vital. It is the only real time there is. Think of the time you've wasted going over the past in your head, your memories and your regrets. or planning or fretting about the future, while all the while this minute is waiting patiently to be turned into thought, feeling and action.

I don't "believe in yesterday." I don't believe "life is what you do while your waiting to die." Scripture says "Now is the day of salvation." Whatever "salvation" means to you, it's right in front of you.

DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
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Buried Treasure

There is no easy road to freedom.

Nelson Mandela
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Hello Sandy
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Once you set out on the troublesome and unpredictable waters of life you will never reach a destination if you turn back to the safety of the port. It's the trepidation of facing new views, it's fear of and animosity toward taking the risks necessary to bring about the freedom we're entitled to that make the road difficult The recidivist urges that hold so many people in bondage, in a static state, comfortable with less than the rough road of progress can supply.

The rewards are rich for those who stick to the road, no matter how many boulders and wild animals appear. And what if freedom is the destination, freedom from oppression, poverty, sickness, fear or ignorance? The attainment of that objective is elation, elevation of one's life. Freedom from means freedom to. Freedom that will never be attained by backing up or standing still.

There are stories of people who have fought their way to freedom from cancer and other diseases, because the alternatives were not acceptable. There are stories of young folks who, at great risk, faced the dangers and freed themselves from kidnappers. There are stories of innocent people who painstakingly freed themselves from prison where they were serving a sentence for a crime they didn't commit. And there re stories of those who freed themselves from poverty and homelessness, even if it took many years. One story I frequently remember is of a woman who was blind and deaf, who came out of the ghetto, to earn a graduate degree is Psychology from a New York City University.

Life. No one ever said it was easy. But it's a pointless life if one sits in the port and complains about the weather instead of launching out into the rain and wind with courage, a noble purpose, a progressive goal and drawing the map to the buried treasure as you go.

DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
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This invitation is still open for anyone and everyone to post an entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.

A new year is upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I think people have things to say.

Not to take away from the postings on your own journals, but to add to the joy of my own is why I invite you to write for me.

I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain or the Confused. Tell me your thoughts on any subject you wish.

There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.

Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.

I have 13 Guest Authors so far. Check them out.
All are welcome. Admission is free.

DB - The Vagabond
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Fight The Good Fight

He who wrestles with us strengthens our nerves and sharpens our skill.

Edmund Burke
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Hello Val
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Every time I step into the ring the warrior who faces me bears a striking resemblance to myself. He has the same gray hair and beard, but there is scorn in his eye and a snarl on his lip. He begins the fight by taunting me with everything he can think of that's wrong with me, hoping I will give up the fight before it starts.

"Look at you, you're a wreck. You stagger down the street with a cane. Your hip is so bad it's painful for you to walk. Stay home."

So I take the cane and walk the 4 long blocks to the store, stopping to rest at the only pocket park on my way. Sometimes it rains on me. I like the rain. It's Nature's christening, giving me a new name of hero to myself. When I return home with the package of good things for myself I climb the 3 flights to my chamber of hope and rest.

"Remember, Winter is coming. You're going to slip and fall and break your neck or worse. You'll be in the hospital before you know what happened."

Yes, I remember last Winter when I slipped and fell once, on the icy sidewalk. So I don my L L Bean winter boots and walk in the street which is plowed. I see the cars and they see me. The winter wind blows through my hair and gives me energy and spirit.

"You're eyesight is so bad you can't see anything. Stop reading. You're going to give yourself a splitting headache."

So I take my magnifying glass and read for hours, philosophy, history, biography, religion, psychology and science. I read with pleasure.

"You're so dense you never got a college education. You don't know anything. Stop trying to be a writer. You just can't do it."

So I sit here at the keyboard for hours and the words flow: 2 novels, a bunch of short stories, 3 published essays and over 1,300 entries on my journal. Having seen into the minds of great thinkers of the past and present, I humbly and gratefully offer my own words, in my native language and in my own uneducated way.

"You're an old man. Go fold up and let younger men take the field."

Men of any age are welcome to take the field but when they do they will find me there, standing as a banner for honest heroes.

"You're 72. You don't have any life left in you. You're heading for the grave."

I'm 72 and very much alive. What's 7 decades to an eternity? It's barely a beginning. I love my life.

Dana Bate - The Vagabond
Never Give Up
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AUTUMN QUESTION

What event over the past year changed your life, a lot or a little?

Only 3 answers so far.

dbdacoba@aol.com

I await your answers.
DB
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Drawing It Out

What we play is life?

Louis Armstrong
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I have a book on learning how to draw by Robert Beverly Hale, "Anatomy Lessons from the Great Masters." In a very active and full career as an artist, writer and lecturer, Hale also was an instructor in drawing at the Art Students League in New York City. I was blessed to be able to take his last 12 classes before he retired back up to New England. He had an infectious joy in art, an amazingly perceptive eye for the best in his students' works and a sense of humor.

Is music notes in a score correctly played? Is poetry a proper string of words depicting an image?. Is painting expertly made brush stokes? Is drawing the human figure accurate lines on a piece of paper? What did the old masters know that we need to know?

One evening at the Cafe Carlyle in New York I saw Mabel Mercer sing "Both Sides Now" and when she sang "I really don't know love at all" my heart burst and tears came. I thought if Mabel Mercer, in her long and magical life, didn't know love than no one did.

Right now I'm listening to Nathan Milstein play the Bach Chaconne for solo violin. It is an amazing 14 minute journey through human experiences and when I hear it I feel privileged to be a part of Bach's and Milstein's life.

If it's great art it's not just tones, words, colors and lines, it's not just melodies, poems and pictures. Look behind those things, look beyond them to what is really there. The dancer is dancing it, the musician is playing it, the author is writing it, the actor is acting it, the painter is painting it.

There comes a point in the study of life drawing when you stop drawing a human figure and start drawing a human being. You start drawing life.

Dana Bate
The Vagabond
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AUTUMN QUESTION

(This is not a contest.)

At what event of the past do you wish you could be present? Why?

2 responses so far.

dbdacoba@aol.com

Thank you.
DB
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