Good and Bad Religion

1.

Bad Religion is grounded on facts.
Good Religion is grounded on metaphors and symbols. 
Bad Religion has symbols too, 
but calls them facts. 
Take the bread and wine of Communion. 
Bad religion says they are the body and blood of Jesus. 
Period. 
That’s ALL they are. 
Any time you can say ALL a symbol is, 
you don’t have a symbol. 
You have a sign pointing to a fact. 

Symbols are open, not closed. 
Not Facts. 

Good Religion says 
“The bread of affliction is the bread of life 
and the cup of suffering is the cup of salvation.” 

Symbols of endless depth. 
Life is a religious affair. 
Good Religion is at the heart of life. 
Bad Religion is death pretending to be alive. 

There is no life that is not symbolic, 
that is not grounded on symbols. 
We cannot know ourselves directly, 
only by way of our symbols. 

Find the things that symbolize you, 
find the metaphors that speak to you,
and there you are. 

Our symbols are mirrors 
reflecting our soul, 
reflecting ourselves, 
reflecting us to us. 

Good Religion offers us living symbols 
of the way things are (and also are), 
and helps us ground ourselves 
in symbols of ourselves. 

Bad Religion explains things to us, 
spells things out for us, 
tells us what to think and do. 

Bad Religion is death to our soul. 

All religions are bad in their own way. 
Buddhism is as bad as Christianity, Islam and Judaism. 

“The map is not the territory.” 

You are going to have to create 
Good Religion for yourself. 
You won’t find it packaged 
ready for purchase anywhere. 

We are on our own. 
The problem is 
that we don’t want to go to the trouble. 
We just want to be told what to think, 
what to do, 
and have weekly reassurance 
that we are doing it the right way 
and don’t have anything to worry about. 

Bad Religion exists 
because there is a ready market for it. 
People demand Bad Religion. 
Insist on it. 
Will have nothing to do with the Good. 

The salvation of the world depends upon 
individuals waking up 
and facing up 
to their responsibility 
for their own life 
and living it. 

“Living our own life” 
is not doing what we want to do 
with our time while alive. 
It is doing what needs us to do it 
in each situation that comes along
with the gifts that come with us 
from the womb
to call us forth
and show us who we are
and what we are capable of
in the life that is ours to live.

2.

We keep looking for God 
“out there,” 
“up there,” 
“over there” 
to help us with the life we are living. 

You can see how well that’s working. 

We need to shift the entire religious orientation. 

What we are looking for 
is not “out there” but “in here.” 
It is found in working out the relationship, 
the partnership, 
between our psyche and our conscious mind.
 
It is found in the integration, 
the harmony, 
the oneness of selves, 
of who we are 
and who we also are. 

Bad religion says, “Shun the devil.” 
Good religion says, “Welcome the Prodigal home.” 
The work of good religion— 
of the spiritual quest, 
the Hero’s Journey, 
the search for the Holy Grail 
and the Promised Land— 
is the work of bringing the conflicts, 
the contradictions, 
the polarities, 
the ambivalence 
within us to life. 

That is where the vitality lies. 

Bad religion would have us suppress, 
deny, 
ignore 
these inner realities. 

What we are seeking 
is not found in suppressing the truth, 
but in bringing it forth. 
Make your inner conflicts, 
contradictions, 
polarities, 
and ambivalence 
real, 
present, 
alive— 
and work them out! 

We work them out 
by asserting the authority we have over them— 
they are our children, 
our creation, 
we are their mother, 
their father— 
and listening to them 
with mindful compassion and grace. 

They all have value, 
they all have something to say, 
something helpful to offer, 
and they all, 
believe it or not, 
have what they take to be 
our best interest at heart. 

We are the Prodigal’s father/mother 
welcoming all of our children home, 
receiving them well, 
honoring them with our attention, 
and working out the relationships among them. 

This is the work of oneness, 
of wholeness, 
of integration,
of reconciliation and peace. 
It is Rumi’s “The Guesthouse” 
being experienced in our own life.

3.

No Theology! 

It ought to be a bumper sticker. 

No Doctrine! 
No Dogma! 
No Creeds!
No Catechism! 
No Ideology! 

Bad religion looks for something
 beyond the experience of life 
to justify the experience of life— 
and something to look forward to once 
“this vale of tears” 
is left behind through death. 

The experience of life is more accurately a “veil of tears” 
concealing the wonder, 
beauty, 
goodness and joy 
of life just as it is— 
of life "Thus Come"--
which can be seen only by those 
with eyes to see, 
ears to hear, 
and a heart to understand. 

The experience of life 
is an optical illusion.
Now you see it this way, 
now you see it that way, 
and sometimes you never see it— 
with the “it” being the foundational truth 
of meaning and purpose 
lying beyond the apparent truth 
of meaninglessness and absurdity. 

The experience of life is an ink blot— 
reflecting the interior orientation 
of those who look at life 
and declare it to be as they see it. 

For example: 
Synchronicity is an encounter 
with more than meets the eye— 
which cannot be denied. 

A chance conversation changes our life forever. 
We have a brief exchange 
with a person in line 
with us at a checkout counter, 
whom we never see again 
and cannot ever forget. 

Synchronous experiences buoy us up 
and carry us along, 
and are available to all 
who are available to them. 

It takes a certain perspective, 
outlook, 
orientation, 
receptivity, 
to be able to see what is before us— 
and what is also before us— 
in each situation as it arises. 

That which transforms the life of one person 
is invisible to another. 
Look at what you see 
until you can see what you are looking at,
as it is and as it also is.

4.

The Gospel without doctrine or theology 
is the raw experience of grace at work in our life. 

When we try to explain 
the raw experience of grace at work in our life, 
and make it available to everyone 
by telling them exactly what they must do and believe 
in order to experience it as we did/do, 
you get doctrine and theology. 

We could talk about grace 
without becoming doctrinal or theological, 
but we would have to be poetic and metaphorical. 

Sheldon Kopp observed, 
“Some things can be experienced 
but not understood, 
and some things can be understood 
but not explained.” 
Grace is one of those things. 

We all experience grace,
but none of us can say what to do,
or believe, 
to be able to experience grace
whenever we want to--
any more than we can order up
what we will dream tonight.

The raw experience of grace at work in our life 
is the ground of all good religion. 
Explanation and exhortation 
is the ground of all bad religion. 

If you want to be religious in the best sense of the word, 
put yourself on the path of the raw experience of grace. 
And don’t try to say what happened, 
unless you use metaphors and symbols. 

Grace is the full experience 
of the right time meeting up with the right place 
in the right way 
to stun us with the wonder 
of the impact. 

To put ourselves on the path 
of that kind of experience, 
we have to try new things, 
shake up our life, 
see everything we look at 
as though for the first time, 
open ourselves to wonder and delight. 

To experience grace, 
we have to be able to experience our life. 
All of it. 
Just as it is.
"Thus come."

If we are closed off to our experience, 
grace has no chance. 
Grace is more than words can say, 
more than can be said. 
We can’t explain right time, 
right place, 
right way. 

You woulda hadda been there.

5.

We are distracted by the 10,000 things. 
Our life is one distraction after another. 
We cannot be centered, 
grounded and focused 
because of all the things 
coming at us from every side 
at all times. 

The entire culture is suffering 
from Attention Defect Disorder. 
We all need what true religion 
has always offered: Nothing! 

How much of Nothing! 
can you stand, 
for how long? 

Work to increase your tolerance 
for Nothing! in your life. 
It won’t cost anything, 
and you can practice it anywhere. 
And, it will open you to Everything! 
in ways you have never thought of anything. 
But, don’t take my word for it. 
Discover the worlds awaiting 
when you sit still and do Nothing!

6.

In waking up, 
we separate ourselves 
from our way, 
and recognize that how we want things to be 
has nothing to do with how they need to be. 

In order to see, 
we have to see beyond ourselves— 
we have to see more than meets the eye. 

We live best 
when we get out of the way 
and allow our life to live itself through is— 
when we participate in, 
collaborate with, 
our life. 

Learning to live well 
is learning to see, hear, and understand 
what is happening 
and what needs to be done about it. 

The thrust of the culture 
is toward how to get what we want. 
The focus of the culture is having our way. 
Nothing could be more detrimental 
to us or the culture. 

Our life exists apart from us. 
We do not create it for ourselves. 
We do not decide 
what we want 
and live in light of that. 

What wants us is the question— 
not what we want. 
What claims us in such a way 
that we sacrifice everything we thought we wanted 
in order to serve it? 
What owns us? 
To what do we belong? 
Are we owned by the thing 
that has actual rights to us? 
Do we belong to that 
which is our proper owner? 

Do we know who our Daddy/Mama is? 
Who is your Daddy? 
Who is your Mama? 
If we don’t know that, 
we are as orphans,
 lost and alone in a life 
we have to make up for ourselves. 

Look at what you are living for, 
at what you are living to do, 
and ask if that needs to be done 
and if it needs you to do it. 

If you are living to be entertained— 
if you are living to take your mind off your life— 
you could do with a search 
for your Daddy, your Mama. 

We live the life that is ours to live 
by being owned by what has an authentic claim to us— 
by aligning ourselves with, 
and living in the service of, 
the life that needs us to live it.
 If you are looking for a mission, 
a purpose, 
finding and living your life is it.

7.

The test of any belief, 
of any faith, 
of any religion, 
is this: Does it work?
Does it help you with your life? 
Does it bring you to life? 
Does it enable you to live 
the life that is your life 
to live in the time left for living? 

Or, does it hand you a life 
made to order by someone else, 
some authority, 
someone who knows what’s best 
and must be pleased or else? 

Does it tell you what to do and how to do it, 
what to think and not think, 
and what to avoid at all costs? 

Does it call you to ask all the questions, 
or does it tell you to not ask questions? 
To just take what you are handed and do what you are told? 

Does it invite you to open yourself to beauty in all forms— 
to embrace, experience, relish, adore, exhibit, express and serve 
beautiful ways of responding to the wonder 
of who we are, where are, when we are, how we are, what we are, why we are? 

Or does it give you a long list of things not to consider, 
of places not to go, 
of people not to associate with, 
of experiences not to have? 

Does it open you to life 
or close you off from life?

8.

Fritz Kunkel says 
(In “What It Means to Grow Up: A Guide in Understanding the Development of Character”) 
that our philosophy of life, 
our point of view are ours to work out for ourselves, 
and that “we must seek our own point of view, 
call our own experiences into council, 
develop our judgment, 
deepen and correct it again an again— 
until in this way we become mature, grow up, 
gain wisdom” (or words to that effect). 

Thomas Kuhn (in “The Structure of Scientific Revolution”) 
said that science progresses 
by encountering experiences 
which contradict theories 
and force an expansion, or a revision, 
or a dismissal of the theories in question. 

Everything becomes clear 
with time and experience. 
We work out who we are 
and what is important, 
how things are 
and what needs to be done about it 
over the full course of our life. 

We need the freedom 
to examine our experience, 
engaging the contradictions and discordance, 
and allowing the questions raised 
to lead us along the way 
of an ever emerging realization of truth— 
without ever arriving at The Truth, 
but always growing in our capacity 
to imagine a deeper truth 
at every transition point in the journey. 
May that be the way it is for us all along the way!

9.

The work evolves. 
The work becomes more than it has been. 
The work shifts, 
changes, 
takes on new forms, 
takes surprising turns, 
takes off in new directions. 

The worst thing we can do 
is what we have always done. 

The only God worth hanging out with— 
the only God worthy of the name— 
is the God who makes all things new, 
including, 
and especially, 
our idea of God. 

If your God isn’t remaking God 
in the name of God 
before your very eyes, 
saying, “That was then, this is now, 
who knows what’s next? 
Let’s find out together!” 
you’re stuck in the same old same old 
and that is no way to catch up 
with the spirit that is like the wind, 
blowing where it will. 

We have to always be waking up, 
and every awakening is a rude one. 

No one asks us, 
“Okay, Honey, do you feel like waking up 
a little bit more today?” 

We turn a corner and there it is, 
like nothing we have ever seen before, 
and all the old constructs 
and schematics 
and blueprints 
and norms are blown to hell 
by that tornado of the spirit’s wind 
whipping through our life. 

That’s waking up.

 Every time we wake up, 
we have to put things together 
in a different configuration. 
We are always leaving our current home 
for some new Land of Promise. 
Settling down with “the way it’s supposed to be” 
is for the dead and dying. 
If you’re living, 
you’re changing. 
Your mind. 
About something you thought 
was solidly in place forever. 

Waking up is growing up. 
We out grow our religion. 
We out grow our theology. 
We out grow our doctrine. 
We out grow our creeds. 
We out grow our God. 

Joseph Campbell said, 
“Experience is what we use to formulate new realizations.” 
What was important is a step on the way 
to what is important. 

We are moving through our life 
from where we have been 
to where we are going. 
Waking up. 
Growing up all along the way. 
Who knows what’s next? 
We live to find out!

10.

Growing up is the solution 
to all of our problems today. 
Not what we want to hear. 
We want to hear, 
“Come here, Sweet Thing! 
Come to Mama/Daddy. 
I’ll make it just like you want it to be right now— 
and when you change your mind, 
I’ll make it just like you want it to be then, there!” 
Now we’re talking! 

My friend Ogi Overman says, 
“All we ever wanted was smooth and easy.” 
And, until we find the real Mama/Daddy of our dreams, 
we will compensate ourselves 
with one addiction after another 
for things not being as smooth and easy 
as we would like for them to be. 

Growing up is at the heart of good religion. 
Remaining infantile and dependent 
upon the consolation of Mama/Daddy in the sky— 
IF we are good little boys and girls, 
and say our prayers, 
and mind our manners, 
and do as we are told— 
is at the heart of bad religion. 

How good your religion is 
is reflected by how well it enables you to grow up, 
stand on your own feet, 
live your own life— 
the life that is your life to live, that only you can live— 
and work out whatever needs to be worked out 
in each situation as it arises 
all your life long. 

How bad your religion is 
is reflected by how well it encourages you 
to play role of Sweet Thing 
to its version of Mama/Daddy. 

What you do about your religion—
and your life—
are up to you.

11.

The problem with religion as we know it 
is its tendency to take its sacred writings 
and holy scriptures 
to be literal and factual accounts of actual events 
in the physical world of normal, apparent reality. 

Metaphor, poetry and symbol 
for religion as we know it 
are the same things as fiction, 
which is the same thing as false. 

So, religion has to go one way and I have to go another. 

Jacob Bronowski said, 
“You can’t find truth the way you find an umbrella.” 

Joseph Campbell has wonderful things to say 
that religion cannot hear. 
For example: 
“What is intended by art and mystical religion 
is not knowledge of anything factual 
that can be defined or explained, 
but the evoking of a sense of the absolutely unknowable— 
leaving it to science to take care of what can be known (or words to that effect).”

Campbell continues: “The ineffable, the absolutely unknowable, 
can only be sensed—
not more in the religious sanctuary today than elsewhere.”

 And: “The ineffable is of the province of art, which is a quest for— 
and a formulation of— 
an experience which evokes energy awakening images 
yielding what Sir Herbert Read has aptly termed 
‘a sensuous apprehension of being.’” 

I couldn’t have said what I have to say any better 
than Campbell has said it. 
It’s great when someone else does your work for you.

12.

Once we get beyond religion as something we think about, 
and understand it as something we do, 
we can stop thinking about our believing 
and start thinking about our doing— 
and how it relates to that which is deepest, 
truest, 
and best about us. 

Doing is about expressing, 
exhibiting, 
bringing forth— 
and the old concept of education 
was about bringing forth 
that which was hidden away within individual students, 
and not about instilling, 
or pouring information into, 
empty minds, 
or writing on “blank slates.” 

Doing is not about achieving, 
acquiring,
 accomplishing, 
attaining. 

Doing is about reading the situation as it arises 
and offering what is needed there 
out of what we have to offer— 
and seeing where it goes. 

The trick is that we don’t know what we have to offer 
until we present ourselves to the situation 
and meet what we find there, 
intent on keeping faith with ourselves 
and the situation, 
and allowing that approach to show us 
what we are capable of. 

Learning to do, 
to live, 
out of our own integrity— 
living in ways that are integral 
with what is deepest, truest and best about us— 
and not out of an orientation of exploitation 
where we look to our situations to supply us 
with what we want and think we need, is
the shift in perspective and attitude that tells the tale.

13.

Nathan R. Jessup (The Jack Nicholson character in “A Few Good Men”) 
nails us to the wall with his, 
“You can’t handle the truth!” 

We cannot bear the pain—
the pain of knowing how it is with us. 
We cannot handle the truth 
of the discrepancy between how things are 
and how we want things to be. 
We cannot live with that contradiction. 

And so, the culture of entertainment, 
addiction, 
denial 
and escapism. 
And so, life as we know it. 

Karl Marx is almost exactly on the money 
with his observation: 
“Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, 
the heart of a heartless world 
and the soul of soulless conditions. 
It is the opium of the people.” 

He would have been precisely correct 
if he had used the term “bad religion” 
instead of “religion.” 

Bad religion is the escape of the people 
from the burden of contradictions 
they cannot bear. 

Good religion enables, 
allows, 
requires
them to dance with the contradictions, 
to handle the truth of the dichotomy 
between how things are 
and how they want them to be. 

The cross Jesus is talking about when he says, 
“If you would be my disciple, 
pick up your cross daily and follow me,” 
is the cross of the truth of our contradictions. 

And we follow him into the dance of life, 
which is a dance with the truth of our contradictions. 

Good religion makes that possible 
by enabling us to see into the heart of things— 
to get to the bottom of things— 
and understand how things are, 
and how things need to be, 
and take up the work of living in the tension 
of these polarities 
as those who would reconcile 
what can be reconciled, 
integrate what can be integrated, 
and bear consciously the polarities 
that must be recognized and borne. 

We do what needs to be done 
about the way things are, 
and bear the pain of what cannot be done, 
and let that be that, because it is. 

This is the way of death and life.
The hero’s journey.
The Grail quest.
The path to the land of promise 
that unfolds endlessly before us, 
and calls us to live in the service of what we seek.

14.

Bad religion is a shortcut to the land of promise 
that carries us straight to the wasteland. 

Never was truer the old saw: 
"The shortest way through 
is the long way around."

Good religion carries us through the heart of Gethsemane 
and across the face of Golgotha 
before reaching the empty tomb. 

Bad religion would take us straight to Easter Morning 
without any of the agony and ordeal 
that good religion recognizes as part of the path to new life. 

The way begins where we are, 
and asks us to face up to the truth of how things are 
and how things also are— 
which is how things truly are. 

That is the path of agony and ordeal 
that leads to life beyond death—-the
death of dying to how we wish things were 
and the life of living to make the best 
of the way things are. 

We take what we are handed at birth 
and make it into all that it might become, 
using the gifts, 
art, 
and genius 
that are ours to bring forth in our life. 

Good religion helps us 
find the tools to birth ourselves into 
the life that is ours to live 
within the life we are living. 

There is no waiting for heaven 
on the other side of our biological death. 
There is entering now into 
the fullness of the life that is our life to live 
by aligning ourselves with that which is 
deepest, best and truest about us— 
our own true nature, 
our own best self— 
in the time left for living.

15.

Joseph Campbell said, 
“Experience is the matrix, 
the milieu, 
from which we form new realizations 
(or words to that effect).” 

The Buddha and Jesus did not have the last word. 
The Bible is not the last word. 
The sutras are not the last word. 
There is no last word.

It is all unfolding, 
expanding, 
deepening. 

One idea leads to another, 
and before you know it, 
we are participants 
in an idea explosion. 

Talk about transformation! 
Talk about revolution! 
People who say, “The Bible says,” 
or “The Buddha says,” 
or “Jesus says,” 
or “Joseph Campbell says,”
as though any of those sources said 
all there is to say, 
and all we have to do is say what they said 
until the end of time, 
are failing to access the authority 
of their own voice, 
of their own experience. 

And, they are failing to do the work 
of forming new realizations 
(Realizations never before realized by anyone), 
and new experiences, 
out of the wealth of their experience. 
They are failing to experience their experience. 
They are failing to live their own life. 
Do. 
Not. 
Be. 
One. 
Of. 
Those. 
People.

16.

Reasonable people can look at the same evidence 
and draw different conclusions. 
Hence, hung juries— 
and the profusion of religion worldwide. 

Meaning is interpretation. 
What something—
anything—
means is what we say, 
or someone says, 
it means 
in a particular time and place of our, 
of their, 
life. 

What something means today 
may well not be what it meant 
twenty years ago, 
or from now. 

We have no business killing each other 
over a difference in interpretation 
of the evidence. 

If we live long enough 
(in the right way), 
all of us will change our mind 
about what is important. 
A number of times. 

We have to live as though what we say 
is important IS important, 
here and now, 
while recognizing that it may well be 
different then and there, 
and letting that realization 
soften our response to those 
who say something else is important here and now. 

Draw soft lines. 
The world is changing quickly.

17.

I believe there is more to it 
than meets the eye. 
If pushed to say more, 
I would say, “I believe the visible world 
is grounded upon, 
and supported by, 
the invisible world—
the world of numinous, 
transcendent reality.” 

If pushed to say more than that, 
I would say, following Joseph Campbell, 
who gave me the idea 
with a quote from Heinrich Zimmer, 
“I believe the best things cannot be known, 
and the second best things can be known but not said, 
and the third best things can be known and said 
in the language of symbol and poetry, 
and the fourth best things can be known and said 
in the language of story and parable, 
and the fifth best things can be known and said 
in the language of everyday discourse.” 

This is in line with Sheldon Kopp, 
who said, “Some things can be experienced, 
but not understood, 
and some things can be understood, 
but not explained.” 

If pushed to say more, I would say, 
“I believe we do our children 
a grave disservice when we hand them 
theology and doctrine in the name of religion.
I believe we should hand them mystery, 
and invite them to wonder, 
with us, 
about the best things 
and the second best things.
And that we should teach them the language 
of symbol and poetry, 
story and parable,
and send them off to find their life in the world.”

18.

All of the symbols of the Christian church—
and of any church— 
are beautifully, 
wonderfully appropriate for every age, 
but. 
They have to be reinterpreted for each age. 

The current symbols of the Christian church 
were partially updated in 1643 
by the Westminster Divines 
as the Westminster Confession of Faith, 
and are no more appropriate for today 
than a medical textbook of that period would be. 

Each age must find its own way to God 
with symbols and metaphors and myths 
that are appropriate to the age. 

We do that by reinterpreting the symbols, 
metaphors and myths of previous ages— 
by re-imagining them in light 
of our present experience and world-view. 

There was no Garden of Eden 
in an actual literal sense, 
but. 
The Garden of Eden remains 
vibrant and valid through all ages 
as the launch pad of spiritual life and understanding. 

No one approaches the need for a Spiritual (Hero’s) Journey, 
or the search for the Land of Promise 
(another metaphor that has to be updated and reinterpreted), 
except from the standpoint 
of the loss of the blissful state 
of innocence where everything 
was in place and made sense. 

It is only when we wake up to the realization 
that the way we have been told things are 
is not how things are, 
that we begin the Agone, 
the Agony, 
of finding our way to a unifying vision 
that holds it all together, 
makes sense to us, 
and fills us with vitality 
and enthusiasm for our life. 

Every Biblical metaphor, 
every symbol of that Old Time Religion, 
has to be reformed, 
rethought, 
re-imagined, 
reshaped, 
reformulated 
and reclaimed 
in order to serve us 
as food for our soul, 
and sustenance for the journey. 

And every one of those metaphors, 
of those symbols, 
has the power to do that— 
to be exactly what we need to be 
who we need to be in the life we are living, 
“from this time forth, and forever more.” 

As we do the work of bringing them to life, 
they return the favor and bring us to life, 
and it becomes “a new world Golda,” for everyone.

19.

Good religion hands you spirituality 
without any theology, 
dogma, 
doctrine, 
creeds 
catechisms
and ideology 
attached. 

Good religion hands you spirituality 
straight from the heart— 
from the heart of good religion 
straight to your heart— 
without any of the embellishments, 
improvements, 
alterations 
and enhancements 
that bad religion is so proficient in producing 
and providing. 

I wish we had another word for “spirituality,” 
because that is so encumbered 
with theological augmentation 
that we can’t possibly be a 
spiritual person without “good theology,” 
as though what we think is more important 
than what we know. 

Spirituality is knowing that can’t be thought, 
told, 
defined, 
defended,
or explained 
as in: “The Tao that can be said is not the eternal Tao"
(Which may also be rendered as, "A path that can be
discerned as a path is not a reliable path" Martin Palmer). 

Spirituality is our connection with the Invisible World— 
with the Unconscious World 
(Which is unconscious because we are not conscious of it— 
because it is more than can be made conscious, 
except through symbols and metaphors).

We have to talk about the unconscious world 
of Spirit and Soul, 
of Spiritual Reality, 
symbols and metaphors 
because we cannot say directly 
what we know to be so, 
because what we know cannot be said. 

So we talk about “the wellspring of living water,” 
but it isn’t an actual well, 
or actual water, 
and how can water be alive, anyway? 

The entire vocabulary of spiritual discourse 
is such that you have to know what I mean 
before you can understand what I’m saying, 
and without the experience 
of the Invisible World, 
there is nothing that can be said 
to enable you to understand what I’m talking about.

20.

There are a number of ways of doing it right— 
just like there are a number of ways 
of washing the dishes. 
If you come out with a clean dish, 
what is it to someone else how you got there? 

Religion that puts you in accord 
with the sorrows and woes of this world, 
and puts you in touch 
with the firm reality of the invisible world, 
and enables you to live in this world 
in sync with that world, 
nails it, 
and there are any number of ways for religion to do that. 
Any religion. 
Yea for those that do. 
Boo for those that don’t.

21.

We have to have something 
we are living to do— 
something we will work the job we are working 
in order to pay the bills 
that enable us to do what we live to do. 

We have to have something we care about, 
that we are in love with, 
that we can do with all our heart, 
that we can’t get enough of. 

Drinking beer and doing drugs don’t qualify. 
Meth labs and crack babies 
are symptoms of a culture gone bad. 
Of a culture that has lost its heart.
That has no soul,
and doesn't want anything more 
than it wants sex, drugs and alcohol.

We don’t fix that with a new round of politicians. 
We fix a broken culture 
by being who the culture needs us to be. 
It takes the right kind of people 
to produce the right kind of culture. 

We produce the right kind of people 
by giving ourselves a make-over. 

This is the new religion: 
becoming who we need to be to
live the life that needs us to live it. 
It starts with listening to our body
(What we know in our bones,
and what those gut feelings are saying),
to our nighttime dreams,
and our daytime fantasies.

You still may be able to get a hardback copy 
of Anthony Stevens’ book, Private Myths: Dreams and Dreaming 
for one penny plus $3.99 postage 
from Used Books on Amazon. 
If you aren’t willing to do that, never mind.
I’m talking to the people who are so willing.

22.

We don’t need theology 
or doctrine, 
or some second-hand religion 
passed along to us 
by Those Who Know Best And Must Be Pleased. 

We need only the truth of our own experience 
to validate for us the importance 
of compassion and kindness 
in a “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, 
whether or not they return the favor 
and do unto you as you have done unto them” 
kind of way. 
The truth of our own experience, 
reflected upon, 
and interpreted 
in light of the experience of the species, 
and the values at the heart of being human, 
is all we need to square us up 
with how things are 
and what needs to be done about it 
in each situation as it arises. 

No religion that has ever been 
could do more for us, 
or as much. 

Theology and doctrine are divisive. 
Good religion is unifying 
like the encounter with awe, 
wonder, 
grace 
and beauty in art, music and nature— 
like a cup of cold water on a hot day. 
Who could argue about any of those things? 
Who could fail to be blessed by them?

23.

No one needs to be told what to believe 
in terms of doctrine and theology. 
Everyone needs the freedom to know
what needs to be done 
and be able to work that out out best to do that
for themselves. 

All approaches to the experience 
with spiritual reality are composed 
of the same elements. 

The basics are: Seeing (What you look at), 
Hearing (What you listen to),
Understanding (How things are and how things also are), 
Knowing (What is happening in each situation as it arises), 
Doing (What needs to be done about it), 
Being (In accord with your life 
and with the way of life— 
Which includes bearing the pain of your experience). 

The tools are: Mindfulness Meditation 
(Jon Kabat-Zinn’s work, and his You Tube videos, 
are a great source for training), 
Emptiness, stillness and silence (Sitting quietly), 
Living as an outlet of compassion and grace, 
Reflection and Realization, 
Practice (Discipline, Rituals, Routines), 
Participation in the right kind of company 
(Communities of Innocence, I call them), 
Diet and exercise. 

We cannot read a book, 
attend a lecture, 
go on a retreat 
and, “be spiritual.” 
“Being spiritual” is a practice, 
a regimen, 
a way of life. 

Not a vocabulary 
or a set of beliefs.

24.

Physical reality puts us in touch with spiritual reality. 
The threshold to awareness, 
realization, 
enlightenment 
and perception 
is our encounter 
with the limitations 
and restrictions of life 
as we live it. 

Each moment in this world is a doorway, 
a portal, 
into the other world. 

Bad Religion doesn’t always see it that way. 
Religion as we know it 
spends too much time denouncing, 
dismissing, 
discounting 
and denying 
the world of physical reality. 

This world, according to that religion, 
is a “vale of tears,”
filled with “pain and suffering,” 
and is only something to be made up to us 
in the world to come after we die. 

That religion misses all this world has to offer 
by focusing on the glories of the other world. 
This world is all we need 
to clue into the other world 
and open ourselves to it, 
here and now, 
and bring it into this world of present experience 
by the way we live. 

We live here, now, 
as extensions of that world 
into this world. 
In living in this world as those who 
are of that world, 
we make the connection between worlds real, 
and transform this reality 
with infusions of that reality, 
by living here and now as though 
that reality is the Real Reality, 
with grace, mercy, compassion and peace 
where greed, anger, hatred, fear, envy, revenge and vindictiveness
would normally be. 

We get to the other world through this one 
by allowing physical limitations 
and restrictions to show us everything 
we need to know about spiritual reality 
and it’s experience and expression 
in the world of here and now. 

Simply sit with this world as it is, 
receiving it with compassionate awareness, 
and that world will open itself to you.

25.

There are three statements 
that form the ground of all good religion 
world-wide across time: 
1) The Bread of Affliction is the Bread of Life. 
2) The Cup of Suffering is the Cup of Salvation. 
3) The full scope of the Spiritual Journey 
is the distance from The Garden of Eden 
to the Garden of Gethsemane. 

When we understand how these statements 
apply to us and our life, 
and accommodate ourselves to their truth, 
we will be the Buddha 
and the Christ, 
Abraham, 
Mohamed. 
Lao Tzu, 
Black Elk, 
Chief Seattle 
and all others of their guild.

26.

True religion doesn’t kill anyone. 
Doesn’t hate anyone. 
Doesn’t condemn anyone. 
Doesn’t focus on converting anyone. 
Doesn’t spend its time talking about anyone. 
Doesn’t care who is saved and who isn’t. 
Isn’t obsessed with sin and sinners. 
Isn’t interested in proving it is the only true religion. 
Has no time for debates or discussions about theology, doctrine and dogma.
Thinks it is enough to know what your own business is 
and mind it, tend it, do it, and let that be enough.

27.

The spiritual path is not the way to what we want. 
There is no deal: 
We give to God, God gives to us. 

That’s the fundamental problem 
at the foundation of all bad religion. 
Give to Get. 
The basis of every bad religion ever. 

What can we do to make God happy 
so God will give us that land flowing with milk and honey, 
where everyone lives out their life, 
and lives in good faith with everyone else? 

Baruch held out his hand and asked for favors 
for being faithful, 
and got his life as war booty. 

That’s as much as any of us get. 
We have to square up with that 
before stepping onto the spiritual path. 

The way is the way 
of being who we are needed to be 
by the context and circumstances of our life— 
in each situation as it arises— 
with nothing in it for us 
beyond the satisfaction of a job well done. 

Why do it? 
We get our life as a prize of war. 
If that doesn’t interest you, 
You don’t understand 
what it means to be alive. 

We do it for the joy of doing it
and the satisfaction of having done it.

What it means to be alive is 
to be who we are needed to be 
in the here and now of our living, 
And step toward what needs us to do it. 
The path will open before us,
step by step along the way.

28.

We have to rethink everything we have been told and led to assume. 
The cultural orientations toward wealth, 
privilege, 
exploitation, 
profiteering, 
entertainment, 
consumption, 
and an ever-increasing standard of living 
are fictions that cannot sustain life. 

Religion’s affiliation with, 
and support of, 
the cultural fictions 
disqualifies it as “the voice of God,” 
and leaves us in the position 
of finding our own way through all 
that is false 
to the treasure hard to find— 
which is the trustworthy foundation, 
source, 
and legitimate goal of our life. 

Our search is the quest for life--
or that which is worth our life, 
and provides life to all who find, 
and align themselves with, 
the Way of Life. 

To find our way there, 
we have to rethink everything 
we have been told and led to assume. 

Our problem is knowing 
what to make of our experience. 
Things are not always what they seem to be. 
How do we know what to think? 
Our understanding depends 
upon the quality of our interpretation, 
which is influenced by 10,000 things. 

We must understand that our understanding 
is hypothetical, 
conditional, 
incomplete, 
awaiting further clarity. 
Wait and see. 
Time will tell. 
Do not rush to judgment. 
listen, 
act. 
and evaluate the outcome.

Test your hypotheses. 
Adjust your interpretation 
to take the evidence into account. 
Allow reflection upon experience 
to create new realizations. 

Allow reality to adjust your interpretation/understanding of reality. 
Live your way to the truth of how things are and also are. 
One step at a time.

29.

Tell me now, 
is the moon a white marble floating on a black velvet sea, 
or not? 

What is the truth, here? 
Is it or isn’t it? 
Yes or no? 
Right or wrong? 

A culture that values “The facts, just the facts, ma’am,” 
is hard pressed to find a place 
for feelings, symbols and metaphors. 

If it isn’t factual, it can’t be true. 
Even where religion reigns, 
everything is “taken on faith” to be factual 
no matter how far removed 
from the laws of physics, logic and reason. 

To suggest that the ground of religion 
is metaphor and imagination 
is to commit the heresy of heresies, 
and to keep company with Satan himself, 
who is, of course, quite factual, actual, tangible and, hence, real. 

Is the moon a white marble floating on a black velvet sea, 
or not?

30.

All religion is true religion to its adherents, 
and nonsense to everyone else. 

All religion speaks, or spoke, to someone, 
and everyone else has to take his, or her word for it. 

The ground, core, foundation, source, meaning and hope of every religion– 
of ALL religion– 
is the search for the ground, core, foundation, source, meaning and hope 
of ourselves and our life. 

We all, from the very beginning, wake up (more or less), 
and discover that here we are, 
and immediately wonder “What does it mean that we are here?” 
“Now what?” 

Where would we be without religion and the culture 
(And where do those two things begin and end, merge and part company?) 
to nurture and guide us? 

Our quest is the common quest of our species. 

We have to make sense of being here, now. 
What shall we make of it? 
What do we make of it? 
There is your religion for you. 
And your culture. 

Wherever you turn for help with the 
“What does it mean that we are here? Now what?” questions 
is your way of seeking the ground, core, foundation, source, meaning and hope 
of your life.

31.

We have to find our own religion 
and respect everyone else’s. 
Religion is that collection of symbols, 
rites and rituals 
that comprise for us 
the ground, center, foundation and source of meaning, purpose, direction, vitality, zeal, enthusiasm, hope, resilience, loyalty, allegiance, faithfulness, dedication, determination, resolve, courage, character and all the high values — 
and serves for us as an avenue 
of lifelong reflection and realization. 

It is not a compendium of beliefs. 
It is the heart of life and being 
beating in rhythm with our heart, 
connecting us with all hearts 
in the service of life and being. 

No one can hand anyone 
the religion at the heart of life and being. 
We all have to find it for ourselves. 

What are the symbols, 
rites and rituals 
that connect you with the ground of meaning?

32.

Any time we make an approach to truth— 
the truth of our experience, of the way things are— 
THE way to truth, 
we block the way to truth. 

There is no sacrosanct formula, doctrine, dogma, creed. 
There is only seeing how things are now 
and what needs to be done about them, 
in response to them
and doing it
situation by situation.

Any path that becomes THE path becomes a worn path, 
becomes a rut,
becomes a narrow way of thinking, 
perceiving, 
experiencing,
and cuts us off from the fullness of our experience, 
and keeps us from seeing how things are 
and also are in the moment-to-moment encounter 
with each situation as it arises. 

"The path that is a discernible path
is not a reliable path."

The work is always to see— 
and respond appropriately to— 
how things are now, no now, no now… 
No religion can help us with that work. 
We are on our own there. Here.

Mindfulness is our responsibility 
in every instant of our life. 
We are always getting to the bottom of things 
and deciding how to respond in ways 
that are fitting to the occasion 
on every occasion. 

The work of a true human being is 
spontaneously being what the situation calls for 
by offering the gifts that are ours to give in each 
situation as it arises, all our life long.

33.

There is an intelligence at work in our life, 
which we sense 
by realizing that we know more than we know we know, 
and then it’s gone in trying to know more than we can know. 

We flirt with the limits along the edge of consciousness. 
Intuition and instinct feel but do not say, 
and we are left with knowing there is more than we know,
without knowing how to know it.
The test is whether we will put ourselves in its service, 
in the service of that which we do not know. 

Good religion says the service itself is life. 
Bad religion sees the service as a way of bartering, 
brokering, 
a deal for a better life— 
either in this world or the world to come. 
Or both. 

Give to get or to gain is the essence of bad religion. 
Good religion says live to give yourself 
in the service of what you do not know, 
and let that be that. 

There is an intelligence at work in our life. 
How we choose to live in relationship with it tells the tale.

34.

Good religion is absolutely essential 
in the work to be who we are. 
Good religion speaks the language of Psyche, 
of Soul, 
and is a treasure trove of “symbols of transformation.” 

Good religion grows us up through all of the stages of development, 
helping us to recognize the signs along the way 
and reminding us that the primary requirement 
of the Hero’s Journey is to see it through, 
to not quit too soon, 
to press on, 
to persevere, 
to live on, 
whispering to us the words of the Greek poet Homer 
spoken from the lips of Odysseus: 
“I will stay with it and endure 
through suffering hardship, 
and once the heaving sea 
has shaken my raft to pieces, 
then I will swim.” 

Good religion is the servant of Psyche/Soul, 
and is, to us, “a very present help in time of trouble.” 
The trouble is good religion is hard to find, 
leaving us with little option but to become what we seek.

35.

Good religion is religion without theology and doctrine. 
Good religion is Zen without the Buddhist or Taoist trappings. 
Good religion is our experience of this here, this now, 
and our sense of what is happening, 
and what needs to happen, 
and what needs to be done about it 
with the gifts and resources 
at our disposal, 
and our ability to know what we know on all levels, 
which implies living transparent to ourselves 
and open to possibilities we cannot imagine, 
trusting ourselves to ourselves, 
and allowing the path to open before us 
as we start walking. 

Good religion helps us interpret our experience 
in light of the shared experiences of the species, 
communicated through the symbols, parables and metaphors 
that have been doorways to transcendence 
through the ages, 
and connect us with truth at the core of who we are, 
enabling us to live out of— 
and grounded upon— 
the Foundation Stone of our essential identity, 
our Original Nature,
and be at-one with ourselves 
in each situation as it arises throughout our life.

36.

Everybody’s religion is so because they say it is so. 
Everybody’s religion is grounded upon what they say is so. 
Whatever we say is so 
is so because we say it is. 

Taking something, anything, “on faith” 
is saying it is so because we say it is so, 
because we believe it to be so, 
because we are sure it is so. 

We either affirm what someone else tells us is so, 
saying it is so for us as well, 
or, we make it up for ourselves. 
Either way, it is so ultimately because we say so. 

We are the authority behind our own faith. 
We believe what we believe because we believe it is true, 
and worth believing. 

The validity of all religion is self-evident to its adherents. 
They believe it because they think it is so. 
Because they KNOW it is so. 
Because their experience has confirmed them in their beliefs. 

True religion is true because we say it is true. 
False religion is always someone else’s religion. 
Religious wars are differences of opinion 
about things that cannot be verified by independent observers.

37.

At the heart level, 
practitioners of Zen, Buddhism and Taoism 
know the same thing: What’s what. 
The farther we get away from what’s what, 
into the why, and how, and when, and where, and who— 
that is to say, the farther we get away from the raw experience 
of the situation as it arises, 
and what is happening there, 
and what needs to happen in response, 
in light of the true good of the situation as a whole, 
responding to it out of the gifts and resources available to us individually, 
regardless of the implications for us personally— 
the farther we get into doctrine, theology and ideology. 

The farther we get from the level of our heart, bones and stomach, 
the farther we get into head stuff, 
mental stuff, rational, logical stuff, 
and the more we become automatons, robots, androids, 
a face in the crowd, 
a member of the masses, 
lost to our Self, 
with no idea of who we are 
or what matters most in any situation as it arises. 

Bad religion alienates us from ourselves 
and makes us a digital reproduction of everyone else 
reciting the creeds of the bad religion.

38.

All true religion begins with an experience with the ineffable, 
with an encounter with numinous reality. 
Like falling in love. 

I fell in love with a camera. 
No kidding. 
I saw it sitting on a poolside table in a made-for-TV-movie in 1966 
staring Robert Wagner. 
And I was smitten. 
Stunned into silence and wonder. 

And, I did not have anyone in my life to help me interpret the experience. 

We are lost to the experience with none to help us make sense of it. 
A religious experience can be with anything, 
but it cannot be with everything. 
And we cannot plan it, 
schedule it, 
organize it, 
orchestrate it, 
choreograph it, 
produce it, 
can it, 
sell it, 
mass market it... 

We turn a corner and a piano falls out of the sky on our head. 
And we don’t know what to do. 

I’ve been working with the experience of falling in love with a camera 
for over 50 years. 
It was the organizing experience of my life. 
I went to seminary to figure it out— 
to interpret it, 
understand it. 

Hermeneutics and exegesis 
are about interpreting and understanding experience 
before they are about interpreting and understanding scripture. 

I thought I would figure out my experience 
and help people understand their own. 
I discovered people who didn’t have experiences with the Numen, 
and weren’t interested in having any. 
“Just tell us what to believe Preacher, 
and make it quick. 
I tee-off at 1:30.” 

No one can give you religion. 
It hides around corners in the form of falling pianos. 
Or in made-for-TV-movies. 
When it shocks you awake with it’s arrival, 
sit with it for a while seeking to interpret it 
in ways that honor it and incorporate it into your life— 
in ways that form your life around it. 
The dance will last forever.

39.

We have an experience with the ineffable— 
an encounter with numinous reality— 
and we spend the rest of our life working to understand it. 
That is the essence of true religion. 
We have devolved religion into an assortment of opinions— 
which we call “beliefs,” and “doctrines”— 
about the Numen, 
and spend our time arguing among the sects 
about whose collection of opinions are right and whose are wrong. 
The experience of the Numen 
has been supplanted by theories about the Numen. 
Anyone with conviction is an authority, 
and religion is widely avoided by everyone 
who recognizes a sham when they see one.

40.

Start with your favorite religion 
and ask whomever gave it to you 
how they know that what they told you is so is so. 
They will say something like “Everyone knows that it is so.” 
Or, “Everyone who knows knows that it is so— 
and this has always been so.” 

Everyone’s favorite religion goes back 
into the dim regions when The One Who Knew It First Knew It Is So. 
Everyone’s favorite religion— 
and all of the other ones as well— 
was/were made up long ago by someone who said, 
“I tell you, this is so!” 
From that point, every religion is held to be the one true religion 
by those who have verified its validity for themselves 
in their own experience. 

Belief is self-validating. 
Try to talk a schizophrenic out of what they know to be so. 
“Reason cannot uproot what reason did not plant.” 
At some point, 
every religion has to be “taken on faith.” 
It has to be believed to be so i
n order to be so in the experience of those who so believe. 

It is all made up. 
Like the schizophrenic's convictions. 
The internal process of self-verification/validation takes over from there, 
and what we say is so is so because we say so. 
“Never mind what the facts are, we know what the TRUTH is!”
And a mind made up that completely
rarely changes.

Disclosure

I have chosen to photograph things as they are in their natural setting. I do not dig up a waterfall, for instance, drag it into the studio, position it carefully against a muslin backdrop, adjust the lighting and take the picture. I travel to the waterfall and take what nature gives me. Or wait until nature gives me something different, like an overcast sky, or fog. Waiting on fog is a tiresome thing unless you live in Washington state or England. I do not recommend waiting on fog. Waiting on clouds is taxing enough.

In this, I am envious of my studio colleagues with their lights and backdrops, and my artist chums who work with charcoal and oils and watercolors and take a clump of calla lilies and arrange them to their satisfaction before sketching and painting away—or who go into the wilds and paint the dogwood tree without the cars parked at the curb, without even the curb. I’m stuck with hydrangeas or day lilies growing against a whitewashed brick house, gawky and ungainly, waving in the breeze, with bright spots of sunshine in the background and nothing to do but bear it.

It takes a lot of looking to be able to see. So I troop around, looking for hydrangeas or day lilies to my liking. Making do. I don’t, after all, “take what nature gives me.” I find what I’m looking for. I search out pleasing arrangements—but make them as surely as my studio photographer and artist friends make theirs. I make them, not by snipping and placing, but by walking around, looking, waiting. By placing my tripod in unlikely positions and contorting my body into unbreathable twists. By zooming in with the lens, and blurring the background with the aperture, and stopping all movement with shutter speed. I control as much as I can to produce what I want. I look until I see a way of crafting an image I like.

I am very much crafting an image. I am not at all “taking what’s there.” I am taking what I like from what’s there, or using what’s there to create what I like. But, the selection, the cropping, the arrangement, the production, and the outcome are the result of the imposition of my will—my vision—upon the scene. I use the camera to make a picture that is pleasing to me, by how I place the camera amid the flowers, not how I place the flowers in the studio. And then I take it to the computer.

My computer is my darkroom. Ansel Adams said, “Good photographs are made, not taken” (or words to that effect). Adams was a fair enough photographer but he was an absolute master in the darkroom. Every photograph was a production, a creation, as much as a painting by Degas or Picasso. Adams worked hard to get the result he liked. So do I. My studio friends get a result they like. There you are. Different approaches. Satisfying results. Controlling what we can control all the way, because there aren’t many straight-up images—photographs—that are worth viewing. We fiddle with them all. I have a polarizing filter and a warming filter attached to my lens. I don’t take a straight-up photo. Even point and shoot cameras give you what they have been programed to think is a well-exposed image. Even point and shoot cameras make the best image their computer brain is capable of making.

The Fourth Week

Monday

It helps to go without expectation, just being open to what you find when you get there. There is no way to plan for some shots. Maybe the leaves are right, maybe not; maybe the sky is overcast, maybe not. Maybe it’s raining, maybe not… So much has to come together, you’ll make yourself crazy trying to get it all lined up and marching to your tune. We have to see what is there to know what to do about it. We can trust ourselves to figure out what to do in plenty of time to get it done.

Tuesday

There are small seasonal streams in the Smokies that depend on a wet spring for their brief existence, and do a wonderful job with the opportunity to do what all streams do. In their “stream-ness” they are one with all streams, everywhere. They are as “streamy” as it gets, and flow splashing and gurgling along their course, nourishing the mosses and ferns, trees and flowering plants—doing what is theirs to do—with all the passion and dedication of streams that last year-round, and come replete with names, and bridges, and swimming ropes. My hat’s off to these little wonders. They encourage me on when I encounter the Soul Killers: “So what? Who Cares? Why try? What’s the use? What difference will it make?” And they remind me to say, “I’m just going to do what I do best and see where it goes.”

Wednesday

It isn’t hard to find photos in the fall in North or South Carolina. It’s hard finding a place to park and a place to set your tripod. The rural roads have no shoulders and people, urban and rural, are funny about you walking through their yard and standing in their flowerbeds. Their dogs are even funnier. You are limited to public places with parking and no, No Trespassing signs. And you thought it was about having an expensive camera and several lens. We make the same mistake with everyone who comes our way. We look at them and fail to notice all they are dealing with—how the Cyclops in some present-day configuration is body-slamming them just for the fun of it, and laughing. John Watson’s words are worth carrying around, remembering, living out: “Be Kind; Everyone You Meet is Fighting a Hard Battle.”

Thursday

I always miss fall when it’s gone. I love finding photos everywhere, not having to look for them, not having to wait on them—but there is still something to complain about: Not enough camera time. That’s my complaint. Fall doesn’t last nearly long enough. If it only lasted as long as July and August! There should be some compensation for July and August! They last six months apiece. That’s a year total. Fall should last a year. Fall should last long enough that I begin to long for winter. Wish it would snow so I could shovel the driveway. That’s how long I want fall to last.

Something else to be big about—as though we need something else to be big about! We spend all our time granting concessions, making allowances, adjusting our stride to fit the terrain, accommodating, accommodating, accommodating… The turtles and the fishes, the deer and the Great Horned Owls have to do the same thing, but they don’t know they are doing it. It’s just, “Oh, well,” with them. They don’t sit around grousing about it. Not even the Ruffled Grouse grouses. Something’s wrong about that. Something else to grouse about. To be big about. To get over.

Friday

The toughest thing about photography is giving your eye something to see. You can’t take your eye somewhere without going with it. And a quiet day reading by the fire with a cup of coffee is out of the question. You want to do this and you want to do that. That conflicts with this. What are you going to do? Enter the agony! Bear the pain! The only people who live pain free lives immune to agony are dead. They may be upright, intact, 98.6 and breathing, but they have been dead for years past counting and are only waiting for the undertaker to make it official. If you are going to be alive, you have to live with the pain and agony—the reality—of “this” negating “that.” Mutually exclusive wants, wishes, options, choices and desires characterize being alive. You get this by giving up that. You get that by handing over this. Trade-offs are the price of being alive. When you are damned if you do and damned if you don’t, be damned and be done with it! Make a choice! Decide! Get the camera and give your eye something to see. Or sit with the book and read. It’s your life, live it—and bear the pain of your choices!

Saturday

Edward Hicks painted over a hundred versions of “The Peaceable Kingdom” between 1820 and his death in in 1849. That’s having to get it right—having to do it well. This is the primary distinction between the artist in both the practical arts and the fine arts and those who aspire to be artists by doodling around, owning all the props and wearing the costume.

A plumber is as much an artist in what he does as the painter or the poet is in what she does. What makes them all artists is the drive to do it well. My wife has never taken a landscape photograph in her life, but she has landscaped beautifully and well the yards of every house we’ve lived in.

Art is where your gift lies. Everyone is an artist who knows what gift she, he, has been given and lives to serve that gift, to bring it forth and do it well according to his or her own sense of perfection, no matter what the critics say—and the critics there be many whether they get paid to write reviews or snicker about your flowerbed as they walk down the street.

What do you have to do well? Who says when it’s done well? Joseph Campbell said, “If you can do something you love to do without fear of criticism, you will move. You will feel the joy in it. You don’t have to move more than an inch to feel the joy. Remember, the Buddha’s third temptation was duty, doing what people expect you to do. That’s the censorship fear.”

Live your art, express your gift, do your work—and do it well, according to your own sense of completion.

Sunday

The gift is a harsh task master, demanding everything in the service of the gift. And it is the giver of life and being. We serve the wonder that brings us to life, anoints us with life, calls us forth, directs our steps and forms the way we are in the world. It is the invisible source of vitality, joy, enthusiasm and delight. A blessing and a grace. Without it, we would be deader than dead. With it, we leave the dead to bury the dead, and press on, in service to the gift. May it always be so, with us all, forever!

The Third Week

Monday

There are no excuses for missing the photograph. Our job is to get the photograph. Not to be there five minutes late. Not to fumble with the equipment. Not to not-know how to use the camera. Not to forget to check the focus, and the exposure, and the composition. Anybody else can fail in these things—not photographers! We have to be there. We have to be ready. And we have to be competent in what we do.

Tuesday

Photographers see the picture, get the picture. That’s all there is to it. Not everyone can do that. Photographers can. We can depend on photographers to see the picture, get the picture. If you can’t do either of those things reliably, consistently, dependably, but are determined to, that counts. Call yourself a photographer and stick with the regimen. It’s only a matter of time until you see the picture, get the picture—reliably, consistently, dependably. You can already consider yourself a member of the guild. Determination is the price of admission.

Wednesday

It’s a nice foggy day outside, and there is ice on the pond. There are some pictures I will not take. I can get fog in April and August. I don’t have to go for fog in January and February. I know I should be more of a sport about these things, and volunteer to be miserable for the sake of the photo, but. There are lines to be drawn. You wouldn’t stand in traffic to get a photo. I wouldn’t stand in freezing fog.

Thursday

I want to take landscape photographs and write, and that entails traveling to the places I want to photograph, and presenting what I photograph and what I write to an audience, or to audiences. A virtual audience, as in the web or eBooks, will do. And, I want to make enough money to allow me to do those things, which includes buying the equipment required to do it, and affording the physical comfort that enables me to do it without particular hardship (I don’t want to camp out and spend a lot of time being cold, wet and hungry, for example). That’s the core. That’s central. Everything else, wife, home, the children and the grandchildren, movies, and relationships, Christmas and Thanksgiving, and the like, coalesce around the center. My work is to make central what is central. It takes a lot of juggling to stand at the center, to be who we are. It is called “Balancing the contradictions.”

Friday

Even the sun needs help from time to time. A sunset on the Sound would be nicely enhanced if a boat were to come sailing into the picture. So, we wait on a boat, hoping one comes along before the sun disappears. Photography is the fine art of waiting. Waiting on the children to get out of the waterfall. Waiting on a cloud to diffuse the sunlight. Waiting for the wind to diminish. Waiting on the fog to lift or roll in, for the rain to stop, or start. Waiting, waiting. Watching, watching. Some days it pays off nicely, helping us forget the days it doesn’t.

Saturday

The camera opens us up to places and closes us off to them. The blessing is the curse. Looking, seeing, we fail to simply be. We lose the gift of presence, the gift of being there, of being a part of the place, of belonging. We observe, and as observers, we hear, we touch, we taste, we smell, as a function, as an extension, of seeing. We gather, absorb, a sense of the place as an extension of seeing. But, we do not just sit with our backs against a tree and let the people with the cameras and the tripods bounce around from compositional vantage point to compositional vantage point. We do not just pick a spot, and sink into it, closing our eyes, perhaps, and opening ourselves to the wonder of being where we are. The camera is a harsh taskmaster. We have work to do. We are burning daylight. There is no time to waste. The moment waits for no one. We must take advantage of the opportunity. And, in so doing, we lose a different opportunity. If you are going to ride the ride, you have to pay the fare. Which ride is our ride? To what do we say yes, and no?

Sunday

I have a picture taken at Bright Angel Point on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon with my thumb holding my hat shielding the sun from the camera lens in the upper left corner of the picture. That’s what film did for us. Digital gives us an LCD screen and takes the guesswork out of image making. With film we could bracket all we wanted, thinking the thumb is nicely out of the picture, but NOT! A beautiful shot in a classic location lost to a wayward thumb! What do you do? I hold the photo up as a reminder to me and a lesson to others! Be awake! Pay attention! Check the edges! And, love yourselves anyway when you don’t! Sometimes, I can almost see the rest of the photo without being distracted by the thumb.

The Second Week

Monday

Our job, our work, is to trust our own magic—to trust what we do to have its own magic. Take the photograph! Let taking the photograph do its own work, work its own magic. Do your part, do what is yours to do, and disappear. Get out of the way. Trust the magic of doing your part, of doing what is yours to do, and see where it goes. That’s our work. Our work is doing our work and trusting our work to work its own magic in the world.

Tuesday

I’ve said “see where it goes” in the last two paragraphs. I’ll say it again. We are here to see where it goes. To live toward the best we can imagine and see where it goes. To trust our life to have its own innate sense of direction—to know more than we know—and see where it goes. Seeing where it goes is enjoying the ride. It is understanding that we are on an adventure, the likes of which we could never imagine or believe. We don’t know what’s coming, what will happen next, or what we will do about it. This is the wonder of being alive. We don’t know where it’s going. We have to live to see.

Wednesday

Part of the discipline of photography is being in the right place at the right time and doing right by the moment, by the scene, as it presents itself to us then and there. It’s called “getting the picture.” It is not enough to get an approximate picture, or a reasonable facsimile of the picture. Nothing less than The Picture will do. Our status as photographers depends upon the frequency with which we get The Picture. Once in a while will not do. We have to be more determined, committed, persistent and consistent than that.

Thursday

I would never take a photo trip if I listened to my feelings, and I would never take a photo if I didn’t. The word is discernment. I know when my feelings cannot be trusted because I’ve lived with them long enough to begin to understand where they come from. Scaring myself is what I do best. I can terrify myself with all the things that could happen if I leave home to take photos far away. I could talk myself into staying in bed for the rest of my life. Bad things happen to people when they get out of bed. I pulled a muscle once getting out of the recliner. See? We should never leave the recliner. And, those are the feelings we have to over-ride in order to get up and do what needs to be done–what needs us to do it. In order to know what that is, we have to listen to another type of feelings. We feel our way into knowing something that we don’t understand, into serving something we can’t comprehend. And, find ourselves doing what is supposed to be done.

Friday

We cannot just buy a camera and be a photographer. To be a photographer, we have to take pictures, consistently, dependably, reliably, whether we are in the mood for it or not. To be a photographer, we have to belong to the camera, we have to be owned by the light, we have no life of our own. Our life becomes photography. If you want to be a photographer, that’s one thing. If you want to own a camera for those occasions when you want to take a picture, that’s another. If you want to do anything well, it has to be your life.

Saturday

Photography is not an after-thought, an aside, something we do in addition to something else we do, like taking a trip, or having a picnic, or going with the kids to the park. We don’t bring the camera along “just in case.” Photography is an attitude, a mind-set, a way of life. We live to take photographs. Everything else is the aside.

Sunday

Our holy obligation—the categorical imperative for photographers—is to be there when the photograph is there. Which means being there long enough before the photograph is there to be ready for the photograph when it arrives. We are photographers in waiting. We wait for everything, through it all, the sun, the moon, the wind, the rain, and the tourists to get out of the way.

The First Week

Monday

Looking for photographs is the most soothing pursuit of my soul. I’m just looking. At this point, I’m not trying to arrange, prevent, manipulate, control, produce—that will come later when I have narrowed my search to this clump of crocuses and have to remove the dead leaf and the stick, and block the sunlight with my shadow. During the looking stage, I’m not struggling, wrestling, or grasping. I’m simply lost in the wonder of wondering, of looking, of being present to what is present with me, and no will to exert, only the capacity to reject or receive, and the thrill of being able to create a photograph out of the elements present in a particular scene. Photography is an escape that grounds me in the present experience of living, and opens me to the beauty of life and the joy of being alive.

Tuesday

I troll for photographs the way trawlers troll for Haddock. I wander through scenes with the nets out, hoping for a haul. I stalk photographs the way lions stalk antelope. I hope for photographs the way Peonies hope for the rain. This is my life. It is what I do. I can’t be nonchalant about it, lazy, indifferent. I can’t wait for the mood to strike me, for the weather to be right, for breakfast to be served.

Wednesday

The pictures are out there, but it takes some doing to find them. Even the pictures you just walk up on take some doing. You have to go out of your way to be where the pictures are, and remember to take a camera along. Finding pictures is work. Work that is difficult to defend, justify, explain, excuse, or understand–given the little that comes from it, even if you get a picture. Even if you get a really good picture. A big part of the work is doing it anyway, going out of your way and then getting out of the way. Remembering to get out of the way is hardest part. There is nothing easy about any of it.

Thursday

Photography is as much about deciding where you are going to be, and when you are going to be there, as it is about taking the photograph once you arrive. You can’t just show up somewhere whenever you feel like it and find a photograph. You have to be on the prowl for photographs like a cat after Robins. You have to think things through, plan it out, take all the variables into account, and hope that something will be there when you are. Then, of course, there are all those photographs you walk up on—the ones you stumble over—the ones that drop on you, like a piano, out of the sky. But, even those require some degree of planning. You have the camera with you, after all. You may be trolling for photos, not stalking them, but you are still trolling. You are still hoping one comes along, however deeply buried the hope may be. We’re always hoping one is waiting for us.

Friday

Speaking of waiting, sometimes, we have to wait it out. I waited two years for a photo of Price Lake at sunset to “develop” in the world of “normal, apparent, reality.” I knew it would be there eventually, when the clouds were in place and the wind wasn’t blowing. It’s only a matter of time, you know. All it takes is time. All in good time. Everything in its own time. Time will tell. So, if you don’t see it now, but know that under the right conditions you will see it, then wait, and watch. Eventually, if you are lucky, you’ll get the picture. Or, get the opportunity. While we wait, we can practice the skills required to take advantage of the opportunity when it rolls around. Photography is a wonderful exercise in seeing—what’s there, and what will be there—and a delightful way of sharing what is seen.

Saturday

I know a woman whose life—at this point in her life—is feeding birds. Who am I to tell her that she is wasting her time? I am here to tell you that my life is walking through the world taking photographs. Who are you to tell me that I should be serving meals at the soup kitchen and befriending the poor? My idea of what your life should be is very likely to have little to do with what your life should be. What should your life be? Who is to say? You are! But, don’t just make something up! Don’t just say anything! Be right about it! that’s the search for the Holy Grail! Being right about the life that is our life to live, and living it!

Sunday

Luck is strictly a matter of perspective. An event is propitious or malevolent depending on our point of view. What it is, is the coincidental confluence of circumstances. What it means is what we say it means in light of our purposes, desires, intentions and experience. If we didn’t have purposes, desires, intentions, or experience, we would never be lucky or unlucky. Whatever came our way would be just what came our way. What does a stature care about pigeons, or a flat rock about cows? So, luck is what we make it out to be. If we like what happens, we are lucky. If we don’t like it, we are unlucky.

Arnold Palmer, Gary Player, Ben Hogan, Samuel Goldwyn, and, well, the list is long, are all credited with saying “The more I practice (Or, The harder I work), the luckier I get.” Whomever said it first, the point is well taken. We can increase our chances of being published if we actually write something. The more we write, the better our chances, particularly if our writing improves with practice. The same thing can be said for selling photographs. We have a better chance of selling them if we take them. If we want to be hit by a train, it helps to stand on the tracks.

There is an idea afoot that doors open to those who are persistent, patient and prepared. It is generally voiced in a way which suggests that the open doors are a reward for persistence, patience, and preparation, as though something is directing the doors to open, and if we “pay your dues,” we will be accorded the splendor of success, the rapture of prosperity, and the satisfaction of having it made—with “invisible hands” helping us on our way.

Well. We increase our chances of catching fish by going fishing, by baiting the hook, and by fishing in places where fish live. That doesn’t mean “invisible hands” are putting fish on our stringer. If we keep doing what success requires, we are apt to be more or less successful over time. And, if we keep it up, we are apt to lose, more or less, everything we worked for. But, no one will say “invisible hands” caused the market to crash or our job to disappear. However, nothing is as fickle as those “invisible hands.” We can make ourselves quite crazy trying to arrange our life so as to receive the blessings those hands dispense—and avoid the curses they bestow.

I say, take your chances. Stop trying to develop a system for beating the house. Take what comes, do what you can with it, and don’t worry about amassing a fortune and having it made. What are you going to do with a fortune that you can’t begin to do right now? How “made” do you have to have it before you can start enjoying your life? Stop trying to please “invisible hands,” and do more of what you like to do and less of what you don’t like to do, and see where it goes.

Start living right now. What do you think life is about if not being alive? What do you need to be fully, vibrantly, joyfully alive? Upon what does your life depend? What is standing between you and being alive? What is assisting, encouraging, enabling your participation in, and experience of, your own life? We have one life to live. How long are we going to wait to get started?

The Land of the Critters

Once upon a time, in the long ago and far away, there was a land where the Critters lived. There were blue Critters, and red Critters. There were orange Critters and purple Critters. There were pink, green, and yellow Critters; pink-and-green Critters; green-and-yellow Critters; plaid Critters; pale Critters; striped, and splotched, and dotted Critters…

There were Critters of every hue, tint, and tone. And the assortment of colored Critters made for quite a view as they walked about and mingled and mixed—and in the jumble of Critters one thing would always be quite clear: no Critter ever looked like any of the other Critters. Except, of course, for one thing.

All of the Critters in the Land of the Critters were exactly, absolutely, unquestionably, precisely the same-sized Critters! The blue Critters and the red Critters; the orange Critters and the purple Critters; the pink, green, and yellow Critters; the pink-and-green Critters; the green-and-yellow Critters; the plaid Critters; the pale Critters; the striped, and splotched, and dotted Critters were all exquisitely, perfectly, identically shaped Critters.

It had always been that way in the Land of the Critters, and all of the Critters there loved it. In fact, it was a great source of pride for them. So much so, that they would gather in large crowds during certain times of the year to laugh and joke about the neighboring varmints and creatures (who were of every size and shape imaginable), and to congratulate themselves for being so exceptionally uniform in every way.

Their harmonious height and breadth was the subject of song and fable. It was said to be the source of all that was good and noble. It, supposedly, gave them superior physical ability and out-right personal charm; it (or so it was claimed) increased their intellectual powers far beyond those of anyone else in the known universe. It (they said) made them better poets, philosophers, farmers, and plumbers. It was thought to give them every advantage, as well as an over-all excellence in all things.

Thus, the neighboring varmints and creatures crept woefully about; and, trying to hide their obvious defections, stayed mostly in the deep shadows and dark places. They would cringe in shame when spotted by a Critter; and the Critter’s laughter would follow them as they hustled into hiding.

All of this, as you may have guessed, made things a lot of fun for the Critters, and not fun at all for the varmints and creatures. But one day, something happened to turn things around. It was unheard of in the annals of Critterdom. A Critter was born without the proper dimensions!

His parents, and grandparents, and brothers, and sisters, and everyone else as well were stunned. They were horrified that such a thing could happen to them. And, of course, they did all they possibly could to correct the situation.

They consulted physicians, and lawyers, and specialists in every field. They checked reference books and almanacs; talked to the wise ones of the Land; called in the wizards and the magicians. Nothing worked. They invoked the names of famous kings and queens; prayed the prayers; drank the potions; and repented of uncommitted sins. Nothing still worked. The Little Critter, as he was called, would not grow.

In all of this, the mood of the Critters changed from embarrassed silence, to whispered chagrin, to out-spoken condemnation, to violent outrage. NOTHING like THIS had EVER happened! NOTHING like THIS was SUPPOSED TO happen! It was an insult to them all! And they all insisted that something must be done.

After discussing the matter for a long time, it was decided that there was only one course to take—if they couldn’t make it un-happen, at least they could treat it as though it had never happened! And that’s exactly what they did. As soon as the Little Critter was old enough to take care of himself, everyone treated him as though he did not exist.

Of course, he existed for the varmints and creatures. They took great delight in the Little Critter, and would dash out from their hiding places at every opportunity to laugh and howl at him, and make him pay for all their years of misery at the hands of the rest of the Critters.

The outcome of all this was that the Little Critter didn’t have a friend in the world. He spent most of his time walking along the seashore, looking for shells, and throwing an occasional piece of driftwood into the water.

While the Little Critter was occupied with living out his life in this fashion, it happened again. In a manner of speaking. But, in a way, this time it was more unsettling than the first. It certainly had a far greater impact!

The story circulated out of the hills, across the farmlands, into the villages and hamlets, and through the streets of all the towns and cities until it was heard with terror by all of the Critters of the Land. One of their own kind, mind you, WOULDN’T STOP GROWING!!!

They tried everything all over again. Every remedy; and chant; and spell that anyone could remember, or imagine, or invent, was poured, uttered, and cast. Without effect. The Big Critter kept right on getting bigger.

Now, the nice thing about a too-little Critter is that you can ignore him, over-look him, pretend that he’s not around. You can walk right past him and go on with whatever business you are about. But what do you do with a much-too-large Critter? How do you ignore a huge, gigantic, tremendously-bigger-than-anything-you-have-ever-seen Critter? There is only one thing to do about a Critter fitting that description. You H-I-D-E!!!

And that’s just what all the Critters did. They HID! Quivering and shaking, behind the trees and rocks, in holes, and caves, and cellars, under beds, and blankets, and tables. Whenever the Big Critter came near (and you could always tell when he was near because the earth shook with every step he took) everyone would zip into hiding and stay there until long after he had gone.

The varmints and the creatures took special pleasure in seeing the Critters run for cover. To be sure, they continued to hide themselves—because the Big Critter was a terrifying sight to behold. But in the dim light of their hiding places they would grin at one another and enjoy the turn of events which placed them on an equal level with all the other Critters.

Since everyone had plenty of warning before his arrival, and since everyone hid upon his approach, the Big Critter never saw anyone. He thought he was all alone in the world—and spent his time wandering through the countryside, being lonely.

One day his wanderings took him to the seashore. As usual, everyone was watching for him and ran to hide when they felt his approach. As the Big Critter stood looking out to sea, he happened to glance down the beach and saw something moving. He could barely believe his eyes. He couldn’t remember ever seeing anything like it before.

It was, of course, the Little Critter. Since everyone ignored him, no one had mentioned the Big Critter to him. And since no one ever talked to him anyway, he didn’t stop to wonder where everybody was. He just ambled along the beach, head down, watching the sand, and the stones, and the water. Suddenly it got dark.

“That’s strange,” thought the Little Critter. “It was quite bright only a second ago.”

He looked around. Then he looked up. And up, and up, and up. All the way up to the top of the biggest Critter he had ever seen. He was so huge that he completely blocked out the sun. The Little Critter was amazed.

So was the Big Critter. He had never seen ANY Critter before, big OR little. Both Critters stood very still, soaking up the moment, looking at each other. All of the Critters in hiding looked too; and held their breath. The varmints and the creatures peeped cautiously out from their safe places. Everyone was watching, and waiting for the inevitable end of the Little Critter.

Suddenly the Big Critter sat down with a thud that shook the entire region, hit his head with the heel of his right hand, and said, “Wow! I thought I was all alone in this place!”

The Little Critter could not believe his ears. Here was a word! A true word—spoken directly to him! Without thinking, the Little Critter threw himself into the arms of the Big Critter, and, as if on cue, they both said, “At last! A friend!”

And they began to do what friends do at the beach. They built sand castles, and splashed in the water, and laughed a lot. The other Critters (and the varmints and the creatures) shifted around to get a better view, and, stretching and straining to catch every word, every move, they gradually left their hiding places. Soon everyone was standing, or sitting, right out in the open, watching.

When the Little Critter saw the crowd, he stood tall (he did seem larger, somehow), looked them all in the eye, and said, “Come meet my new friend!”

They came slowly at first, but with increasing speed they all gathered around the two wrong-sized Critters. And before anyone knew it, they were all laughing in the sun, playing in the sand, and competing with one another for the attention of the Big and Little Critter. Varmints, and creatures, and Critters all together, saying things like: “Gosh, you’re brave!” and, “Weren’t you scared?” and, “My goodness, you’re tall!” and, “Can I ride on your shoulders?”

Needless to say, the celebration lasted far into the night. And the next morning was the beginning of a brand new day in the Land of the Critters, a brand new day indeed.

The Dome

The Domes were built by the survivors of the Great War to enable the continuation of life on earth. They were large, air-tight, multi-level structures in which every square inch of space was utilized in the effort to support life. They were coated on the inside with a special sun-absorbent paint which made the domes extremely energy-efficient, but which also blocked out any sense of the outside world.

The Dome Dwellers had no regrets about that. The outside world was a place of horror, and it carried unimaginable threats to their existence. It represented far more than death to them, and they were quite willing to relinquish all reminders of their former life.

They adapted to life together in their Dome World. Protected from the dangerous levels of radioactivity on the outside, and surrounded by a safe and well-controlled atmosphere on the inside, they went about the business of surviving. The atmosphere was very well controlled.

Computers constantly monitored every facet of life in the domes. A highly trained cadre of Dome Guardians constantly monitored the computers, and quickly reacted to any difficulty reported on the screens.

This kind of stringent supervision was necessitated by the fact that life in the domes was a very delicately balanced affair—the slightest disruption could spell doom for everyone. All of the people had to carefully carry out their assigned tasks, and remain in their places, and obey the proclamations of the Guardians. They all understood the importance of doing what was expected of them.

After a few generations in this kind of environment, the people in the domes developed a very mechanistic mindset. They forgot about everything but the requirements of life in the domes. They went through the paces of living without ever lifting their eyes to see where they were going. They never wondered about anything; they never questioned the authority of the Guardians; they never complained or rejoiced. They simply survived, and gave their life to the maintenance of the domes which enabled their survival.

At least, almost everybody did. In one of the domes there was a girl who was different. Daphie White was driven by a strange compulsion to know things. It didn’t matter what. Anything. Everything.

Of course, it didn’t take her long to learn that questions were strictly forbidden in the domes, so she took her curiosity underground. She listened very closely to what was said, and left unsaid, about her.

And too, there was something in her background that nagged Daphie without end. Once, when her grandmother was still alive, Daphie had asked her about her name.

“What kind of name is ‘Daphie,’ Granny? Where did it come from?”

Daphie still remembered the distant look that came to her grandmother’s eyes, and the far-away, haunting sound to her voice when she replied, “I don’t know, child. Perhaps it came from the daffodils which covered the green hills before the War.”

The questions had poured from Daphie. “What are daffodils? What are green hills? What was it like before the War?” But she got nowhere. Granny quickly changed the subject and nothing more was said.

As she grew up, Daphie did her best to find out about daffodils, and green hills, and life on the planet before the War, but the information center in the dome had very little to offer in the matter. The androids which were responsible for her education were no help either, and the humans she consulted were either totally ignorant or too busy to be bothered. It was as though life before the domes had never existed. So, her questions remained unanswered in the backrooms of her mind.

But there were plenty of other questions in the front rooms. How many levels were there in the dome? Why didn’t people on one level ever mingle with the people on the other levels? Why did no one ever travel between the domes? Daphie was determined to get some answers.

And she began exploring her world. She would walk unnoticed behind the maintenance androids into the central shafts and follow them through the various levels of the dome. In that way she discovered the Computer Center, and watched the Guardians from behind a small air duct. She found the hydro-gardens, the solar generators, and the incinerator.

One day she decided to follow the shaft into the lowest level. She stepped out of the shaft and probed about in the semi-darkness for some sort of clue to the existence of it all. She found more than a clue.

She came up against a structure that was unlike anything she had ever encountered. It seemed to be a wall of some kind, but it was different from any of the other walls in her world. It had been covered with paint was very old, and had chipped and cracked in places.

Daphie got down on her hands and knees and scraped a large piece of paint. As she did, a strange kind of light shone through the opening. Her heart was racing with a mixture of fear and expectation as she leaned down to peer through the hole.

She was amazed and confounded at what she saw. She couldn’t make sense of any of it. She had never seen anything like it. Everything was so bright it hurt her eyes, and she had to squint through blurring tears. She was trying to bring it all into focus when she was yanked to her feet and whirled around.

“What are you doing here?” It was a Guardian.

The shock of her capture kept Daphie from making a sound. “Speak up!” demanded the Guardian. “Why are you on this level?”

Daphie shrugged and said nothing. “Very well, then,” said the Guardian, “come with me.”

“Wait!” said Daphie, “what is this?” She pointed to the wall.

“That is nothing that concerns you,” said the Guardian, pulling her away.

“No!” shouted Daphie, struggling in his grip. “It is too something that concerns me, and there is something on the other side—I saw it!”

“You’re wrong,” said the Guardian. “You saw nothing. There is nothing there.”

“There IS SO something there!” Daphie protested. “Look for yourself if you don’t believe me!”

The Guardian looked over his shoulder at the bright spot of light on the floor. Then he looked at Daphie. “I don’t see anything,” he said.

The Guardian forced Daphie with him to a room near the Computer Center where other Guardians sat in attendance. When they entered, one of the seated Guardians stood and spoke. “You are Daphie White,” he said. “We have had our eye on you for some time. You are getting to be a problem, and there is no room for problems here.”

“I haven’t done anything,” said Daphie. “You have no right to treat me like this.”

“You have done much, Daphie White,” said the Guardian. “Just now, you were caught at the base of the Dome. You were not on your level. This is a serious offense.”

“What are you afraid of?” asked Daphie. “What are you hiding? What do you want to keep me from finding out?”

“We must protect the Dome,” said the Guardian. “It is our task.” Then he asked, “What did you see?”

“I don’t know,” said Daphie. “It was too bright. But I saw something. I saw something outside the Dome.”

“No,” said the Guardian. “You are wrong. There is nothing outside the Dome. There is nothing besides the Dome. The Dome is all there is. The Dome is everything. We live in the Dome, and care for the Dome, and the Dome cares for us. The Dome gives us life and protects us throughout our lives. We serve the Dome and the Dome serves us. That is how it is and how it must always be.”

“That’s not right!” shouted Daphie. “There is something else! I saw it! I know!”

“There is nothing else,” said the Guardian. “There is nothing beyond the Dome. In the Dome there is life, apart from the Dome there is only death. And it is heresy to suggest otherwise.”

“But I know what I saw!” Daphie insisted. “Come with me and I will show you!”

“There is nothing to see,” said the Guardian. “And you must forget what you think you saw. The security of the Dome depends upon your being silent.”

“I will not forget,” said Daphie, “and I will not be silent!”

“Then we have no choice,” said the Guardian. And, before she could move, Daphie was securely pinned between two Guardians and injected with a drug that produced instantaneous unconsciousness. She was carried to an ejection chute which carried her through the various levels and deposited her through an air lock on the outside of the Dome.

“That’s too bad,” said on of the Guardians as they walked away from the chute, “do you think her parents will be much of a problem.”

“No,” came the reply, “They are good Dwellers. They will understand. Her poison could have infected the entire Dome, and the Dome must be served.”

“Yes,” said the first Guardian. “The Dome demands that those like her die for the sake of the Dome.”

Outside, Daphie slowly regained consciousness with the help of a damp cloth applied to her face. She opened her eyes, but quickly closed them and covered them with her hands.

“Don’t worry,” said a soft voice. “You’ll get used to sunlight soon.”

Then, other hands helped Daphie to her feet and led her through waving daffodils to the village in the green valley below.

The Magic Stick

One day, Michael Smith decided to go for a walk in the woods, but when he got there, he found that the woods had been cleared away to make room for a shopping center. All that was left of the beautiful forest was one scrubby, scraggly, skinned-up stick, standing in the midst of acres of freshly bulldozed earth.

“This is terrible,” said Michael. “All that’s left of the beautiful forest is this skinny stick.” And he gave it a disgusted kick.

“All right, that’s it!” said a voice that sounded as though it was coming from the stick. “That is the absolute end. I have had it with being shoved around! I’m not taking in any more!”

Michael Smith was undone. His world was wobbling out of orbit. He looked around trying to make sense of things, but there was no making sense of it. He looked at the stick. “Did you just say something?” he asked.

The stick was silent.

Michael raised his voice. “I said, did you say something?”

Not a word from the stick.

Michael walked closer to the stick and peered down at it. There was nothing special about it, except for its well-beaten appearance. It looked as though the road graders and bulldozers had been driving over it for weeks. Michael kicked it.

The stick didn’t move, but Michael did. End over end, with two loops and a one-and-a-half twist, and down on his rear in a cloud of dust. For a while, Michael just lay there, too stunned to move. Then he sat up slowly and looked over at the stick.

“I warned him,” the stick was saying. “I told him I was fed up.”

“Yes,” a voice answered from nowhere, “but you know the rules. You can’t let your feelings get the best of you. He found you, and you must treat him with the respect due a new master.”

“But he doesn’t respect me,” protested the stick.

“Never the less,” said the voice, “those are the rules.”

“Wait a second here,” said Michael. “Can somebody please tell me what is going on? I swear I hear voices, or have I just stepped over the line?”

“Apologize,” said the voice.

“What for?” asked Michael. “What have I done?”

“Not you,” said the voice.

“I’m sorry,” said the stick. “I shouldn’t have done that to you. You found me. I should have been more respectful, and kept my emotions under control.”

“That’s better,” said the voice.

“Look. If it’s not too much, I would really like to know what is happening here,” said Michael, picking himself up and walking to the stick.

“Oh, yes,” said the voice. “Well, it seems that you have stumbled upon a Magic Stick, sometimes called a Magic Wand, and it hasn’t taken too kindly to being found. It’s had a rough few weeks and is not in the best of spirits. It’s really not so bad once you get to know it.”

“But who are you?” asked Michael, “and why can’t I see you?”

“My name is Horace,” said Horace, “and you can’t see me because I’m invisible in this particular range of light frequencies.”

Michael sat there, trying to take it all in.

“You see,” said Horace, “I work with those in charge of overseeing the placement and practice of Magic Wands, or Sticks, Potions, Spells, Curses and Incantations. In the old days it wasn’t a problem, but with the population explosion, someone is constantly getting in trouble with magical paraphernalia. We are supposed to keep things straight.”

“You mean there really is such a thing as magic?” asked Michael.

“Why, certainly, my boy,” said Horace.

“And this thing is a Magic Stick?”

“Watch it, Bud,” said the stick.

“You watch it,” said Horace. “This lad is your new master. You must do whatever he says.”

“Is that true?” asked Michael. “Anything I say?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Horace. “All you have to do is pick up the stick, announce what you want to happen and wave it in the air. Anything you want is yours for the asking.”

“Is there any limit to the number of things I can ask for?” asked Michael, “you know, like getting only three wishes?”

“No limit whatsoever,” said Horace.

“And it’s mine forever?”

“For as long as you care to claim it.”

“Wow,” said Michael, grabbing up the stick. “I want the forest back, just as it was!” And he began to wave the stick in the air.

“Uh, not so fast there,” said Horace. “I’m afraid you can’t have the forest back.”

“What?” said Michael. “You said I could have anything I wanted.”

“You did say that,” said the stick. “Your very words.”

“Okay,” said Horace, “but I also said that I’m in charge of keeping things straight. Now, you can’t replace the forest because the contractor would just tear it up again; not to mention the local consternation it would cause. The government would get involved. There would be studies. Money spent. Resources and energy wasted. I can’t let you do it.”

“Then I’ll get rid of cancer and heart disease and all the illnesses there are,” said Michael, giving the stick a wave.

“Can’t do that either,” said the stick.

“What do you mean?”, said Michael.

“Sorry, again,” said Horace. “Too much rides on illness to get rid of it. Too many jobs, too many lives.”

“But illness takes lives,” said Michael.

“True enough,” said Horace, “but it also supports lives. Just think of the nurses and the doctors and the hospitals and the insurance companies that depend upon sick people for their own support. You can’t make things better for some without making things worse for others.”

“Well, just what can I do?” asked Michael.

“You could stir up a milk sake for yourself,” said the stick.

“What about ridding the world of war, and warts, and poison ivy, and mosquitoes?” asked Michael.

“Afraid not,” said Horace. “Things are so delicately balanced, these days. So inter-related, so interdependent, that it is difficult to do anything without undoing something else. And you must not tamper with the forces which hold life together.”

“What he’s saying,” said the stick, “is that you can’t do something that is good for some people without doing something that is bad for others. And doing something that is bad is against the rules.”

“Making any substantive changes,” said Horace, “would turn everything upside down. We would never get the mess in order.”

“But what good is a Magic Stick if you can’t do anything with it?” asked Michael.

“Well now,” said Horace, “they make excellent walking sticks for hiking.”

“And I’m good for conversation,” said the stick. “I’ve been around. We could talk. If you are going to change anything, I recommend starting with conversation that takes you to the heart of the matter.”

“Great idea,” said Horace. “I would like to be a part of something like that, myself.”

“And I will conjure up milkshakes for us all!” said Michael

The Little Engine Revisited

Chug-chugging and puff-puffing, the Little Engine rounded a bend and came upon a stalled train loaded with toys and food, sitting on a side track at the foot of a very high mountain.

“Deja vu!” said the Little Engine. The sight reminded her of the day she made her mark in the world of train lore. It had been a long time since that happened, but she remembered the occasion very clearly. She had rescued another train—very similar to this one—by pulling it over a mountain just in time to deliver its goods to the boys and girls waiting in the valley below.

It had been a hard pull, one that a less spirited engine would not have attempted. But she had put everything she had into it, and had succeeded largely because she was convinced she could do it.

“I think I can, I think I can,” she had whispered to herself all the way up the mountain side. And all the way down the other side, she sang out to herself, “I thought I could, I thought I could!” And the train behind her had cheered all the way into the station.

The story of her accomplishment spread through every rail yard in the country. From that point on, she was a celebrity-without-peer. She made appearances on all the talk shows; gave commencement addresses and led seminars on “The Importance of Clear Goals and Self-Determination.” She had written a book about her achievement and was the inspiration for several others. She was the role model of an entire nation, the perfect example of “What You Could Do If You Put Your Mind To It!” Mothers and fathers told their children the wonderful story of the Little Engine. Scientists and presidents, generals and executives, janitors and firemen all aspired to be just like her.

“We can end death and disease,” they said. “We can erase poverty; land people on the moon; obliterate injustice; stop war; halt the aging process; win the pennant; and invent a dripless faucet! We can do anything we want to, if we want to badly enough!

The Little Engine smiled as she reflected on the results of her efforts. She found great satisfaction in knowing that she had led so many people to the discovery of Truth. She was so proud of her achievement that she had “You Can If You Think You Can” stenciled in bold letters on both sides of her cab. And she was fond of closing her news conferences and lectures with the statement: “The only thing that limits us is our belief in our limitations.”

Now, here she was with another chance to show the world what believing in oneself could do. So, it was with a mixture of nostalgia and exhilaration that she pulled in front of the stranded train in order to hook up and pull it away.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” shouted the train.

“Why, I’m going to pull you over the mountain,” said the Little Engine.

“That isn’t necessary,” said the train. “I’ve already radioed ahead for a tow. But thanks for offering.”

The Little Engine was taken aback by this rejection of her offer to help. She could see her plans for renewed glory disintegrating on the spot. “Oh, come now,” she said, “you know it might be hours before the yard can send an engine to take you in. I’m already here. It would be silly to wait when we could be under way.”

“I don’t mean to sound harsh,” said the train, “but that is a very high mountain, and you are a very small engine. You’ll have a hard enough time just pulling your own weight over. I better wait for the tow.”

“Don’t worry about me!” said the Little Engine, “I wrote the book on handling high mountains! The only thing that limits us is our belief in our limitations. I’ll have you over in no time.”

With that, the Little Engine coupled into the train and started up the mountain. At first, the track ascended at a gradual slope and the going was easy. The Little Engine breezed along.

“What a lark!” she exclaimed. “What a wonderful time to be alive!” But the incline soon steepened, and the Little Engine was forced to concentrate all her energy on the task at hand.

“I think I can, I think I can,” she said to herself as the track rose in front of her. “I think I can, I think I can.”

The gradient became almost vertical, and the Little Engine was straining to the utmost. “I—think—I—can,” she gasped, “I—-think——I——–c—a—-n.” The Little Engine’s wheels made a final revolution, hesitated, and began rolling backwards with increasing speed.

“I thought I could,” said the Little Engine, “I thought I could, I thought I could,” all the way down to the bottom of the mountain.

“Whew,” she said, when she finally came to a stop. “That is quite a climb!”

“It certainly is,” agreed the train. “But the tow will be here shortly. We shouldn’t have long to wait.”

“Wait?” exclaimed the Little Engine. “I should say not! I’ll just get a faster start this time. After all, ‘You Can If You Think You Can!’”

As the Little Engine backed up for a running start, she mentally went through the Steps to Success, and focused carefully on each stage required to complete the climb. She visualized herself doing exactly what needed to be done, conjured up all the Positive Resolution she owned, and flew at the mountain.

“This time, I know I can,” she shouted. “I know I can, I know I can!” And she did do better. She made it beyond the high point of her first try by precisely seven and one-half inches.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said when she felt her wheels stopping. “Oh—no—-you ——don’t. I——can——–d—–o——t—-h——i——–s.” And, with a mighty surge of self determination, she popped all her rivets, burst her boiler, cracked her cylinder head, and slid back down the mountain.

The train had never been in a situation like this and didn’t know what to say. They sat in embarrassed silence for a while, then he cleared his throat and asked, “Are you all right?”

The Little Engine didn’t answer. She sat stunned, shaking her head and stammering, “I thought I could, I thought I could. . .”

In time, the tow arrived from the rail yard and pulled both the train and the Little Engine over the mountain and into the station. There, the Little Engine was petted, and patted, and told not to worry.

“The mountain was too steep for you,” the other engines said. “You did more than any engine your size could expect to do. Don’t let this get you down.”

But it did get her down. She was given new rivets, a new boiler, and a new cylinder head, but the workmen could not replace her spirit. In spite of the best efforts of everyone, the Little Engine showed in interest in life. She stayed away from all the activities of the yard and sat off by her self repeating, “I thought I could, I thought I could.”

Her dejection finally became too much for her, and she went to see her doctor. “I feel terrible, Doctor,” she said. “I see no reason to go on with it. I don’t want to do anything any more. Can’t you give me something to make me feel better?”

“Pills can’t make the world any better than it is,” said her Doctor. “When the effects of the pills wear off, the world won’t have changed one bit. What you need, Little Engine, is an attitude adjustment. That will enable you to live with what you think can’t be lived with. But I can’t do that for you; you’ll have to do it for yourself.”

“But how, Doctor?” asked the Little Engine. “How can I do that?”

“By sitting with the problem long enough,” said the Doctor. “By looking at what you don’t want to live with and living with it anyway.”

“But I don’t want to do that!” said the Little Engine, “I want to be able to pull a big train over the high mountain!”

“Sorry,” said her Doctor. “You can’t have everything you want.”

“That’s not true!” said the Little Engine. “We can do anything we want if we want to badly enough! The only thing that limits us is our belief in our limitations! You can if you think you can!” And, with that, she steamed out of the Doctor’s office with tears in her eyes.

Her misery was more than she could bear. “It’s hopeless,” she said to herself. “There’s only one proper and fitting thing to do. I’ll end it all!”

With that, she chugged out of the round-house with a new-found purpose, and headed for Pufferbelly Plunge. When she arrived, she peered over the edge to the rocks below, backed up to get some momentum for the leap, took a deep breath and prepared to take the Plunge. But a voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

“What are you doing, Little Engine?”

The Little Engine turned around. It was the Chief Locomotive!

“Uh,” stammered the Little Engine, “Well, Sir, it’s just that I can’t see any point in going on with it.”

“And what brought this on, Little Engine,” asked the Chief.

“It’s because I can’t do what I want to do,” she said.

“Are you thinking about the time you blew up on the mountain?” asked the Chief.

“Yes,” said the Little Engine, “That’s when things started coming apart for me. I thought I could pull the train over the mountain, but I couldn’t. Yet, you can if you. . .”

“Think you can,” said the Chief, interrupting. “I believe I’ve heard that line before. And I don’t think it is a very accurate way of thinking, Little Engine. For instance, are you saying that you can go anywhere you want to go even if there are no tracks to take you?”

“Well, no,” said the Little Engine, “Of course, you couldn’t do that.”

“No matter how much you thought you could?” asked the Chief.

“No,” said the Little Engine, “Thinking you could wouldn’t count if there were no tracks.”

“Then we are limited by the tracks, right?” asked the Chief.

“Yes,” said the Little Engine, “We are limited by the tracks.”

“And not only by the tracks, Little Engine,” said the Chief, “There are plenty of things we can’t do. Come with me.”

The Little Engine followed the Chief Locomotive as he led her to the base of the High Mountain. “Here we are,” he said. “Now, Little Engine,” I want you to look at this mountain.”

“I recognize it, Sir,” said the Little Engine, “It ‘s the mountain I couldn’t climb.”

“I didn’t ask you if you recognized it,” said the Chief, “I only want you to look at it.”

“I am looking at it, Sir,” said the Little Engine.

“Look closer,” said the Chief. “Look at it until you SEE it, Little Engine.”

The Little Engine thought that was the most ridiculous bit of instruction she had ever received, but to pacify the Chief, she stared at the mountain. She lost track of time and had no idea how long she spent looking at the mountain, but suddenly, the mountain appeared before her and she was startled awake, gasping.

“MY GOODNESS!” she exclaimed. “That is one gigantic piece of granite! It would take an engine ten times my size to pull that grade!”

“It is much too steep for most locomotives,” said the Chief. “The engineers are working on a plan to tunnel through the mountain at several different places to create switchbacks inside the mountain to make traversing it’s height safer year round and possible during the winter when ice and snow close the track you’re looking at now.”

“What was I thinking,” mused the Little Engine. “I must have been out of my mind.”

“We jump for comforting illusions,” said the Chief. “But reality has a way of grounding us in the truth of the situation at hand. Invention, resourcefulness, and creativity carry us places where a good willing mind needs a hand to be helped along. We have to know what our limits are and how we might work with them to do what can be done about the way things are.”

“I hope I’m not pushing you too much here,” continued the Chief, “But it is important that you understand our ideas of the world either assist us, or inhibit us, in adapting ourselves to reality—and it is crucial that we not let our ideas regarding how things are become rigid and incapable of being expanded and enlarged by, or abandoned in light of, our ongoing experience. We have to allow our limits to limit us if we hope to get the good out of them. And steaming over Pufferbelly Plunge isn’t good for anything. What would you say to returning to the rail yard for an old fashioned train horn concert at the Roundhouse?”

The Little Engine smiled and said, “My horn can harmonize with the best of them!” And together, they steamed back to the Yard.