The Three Degrees of Dissolution and the Fragility of Human Connection

Cherry blossom

Cherry blossom, cherry blossom,

A foreign country,

The last place to live 

The Sacred Duty of Returning Stories

In a world where history often gets buried under the sands of time, certain duties stand as beacons of memory and legacy. Our recently departed dear friend Hattori Akiko Anderson’s sacred mission of returning Hosegaki Kinumaru flags to surviving Japanese families was one such duty, a poignant reminder of honor and connection. For me, the act of returning the late Akiko’s life story, as well as the collective story of mankind,  to the surviving culture, family and friends carries the same sacred weight. It is more than a task; it is a profound obligation that I hold dear.

Memory is a fragile thing, easily lost and sometimes deliberately forgotten. Yet, it is memory that shapes our identity and connects us to our past. Akiko’s mission was not merely about the physical return of a flag; it is about the restoration of memory—a bridge between the past and the present. These flags, with their faded ink and weathered fabric, are more than relics. They embodied the stories, dreams, and sacrifices of those who came before in her country of origin.

Similarly, Akiko’s life story—though incomplete as I presented it in a recent eulogy—is a testament to resilience, compassion, and the human spirit. By sharing her narrative, I did not just honor one individual; I honored the collective experiences of countless souls who have endured, persevered, and triumphed in the face of adversity.

Stories have the power to transcend time and space. They are vessels of wisdom, carriers of culture, and instruments of change. In returning Akiko’s story to the world, I have participated in a timeless tradition of storytelling that has shaped civilizations and fostered understanding.

Each story we tell, each piece of history we preserve, becomes a thread in the intricate tapestry of human experience. It is through these threads that we find meaning, purpose, and a sense of belonging. All of our stories, with all their complexities and nuances, are vital threads that adds texture and depth to this tapestry.

There is an ethical imperative to remember and to share. In a world where narratives are often manipulated or erased, the act of preserving and returning stories becomes a form of resistance against forgetting. It is a declaration that every life matters, every story is worth telling, and every memory is worth preserving.

Akiko’s,, my own, and all other raconteur’s  sacred duties are intertwined in this ethical commitment. We must continue to be guardians of memory, custodians of stories, and stewards of history. Our tasks may seem small in the grand scheme of things, but they are imbued with profound significance.

On a deeper level, returning stories is about recognizing our universal connection. We are all survivors on this planet, bound by shared experiences of love, loss, hope, and resilience. Akiko’s story, like the Hosegaki Kinumaru flags, serves as a reminder that our differences are overshadowed by our common humanity.

In general through sharing life stories, I am attempting to build bridges across cultures, generations, and perspectives. I invite others to reflect, to empathize, and to grow. It is an act of unity in a fragmented world, a call to remember that we are all part of a larger narrative.

The act of telling life stories and also presenting a narrative about our collective human experience are sacred duties rooted in memory, storytelling, ethics, and universal connections. This duty is not just mine—it is ours. It calls upon each of us to be guardians of memory, to cherish the stories we inherit, and to share them with the world. In doing so, we ensure that the legacy of those who came before us continues to illuminate the path for those who will follow.  Not one human being should live a neglected life, or die an anonymous death

Reflect on the stories that have shaped your life. Share them. Preserve them. And in doing so, contribute to the rich tapestry of human experience.

The lake

Swallow snowflakes 

One by one.

50-year Rex Putnam 1973 class reunion-The Power Of Stories For The Deceased and Disabled 

On the turning away.

From the pale and downtrodden

And the words they say

Which we won’t understand

Don’t accept that what’s happening

Is a case of just another’s suffering

Or you will find that you’re joining in

The Turning Away

I wrote the following narrative in response to my fifty year class reunion.  I came to the reunion with my wife, and my memories.

I left the reunion with no renewed or new friends, few Facebook acquaintances, but quite a narrative around those who no longer have a voice because of death, dementia, or disinterest.

I had some great conversations with several classmates, including Matt Miller, Stephen Houston, Brian Wagner. Chad Clothier, Bruce Chapman, Barbra Nagel, Jan Johnston (Bradfield), Janice Polly, Mary Munly, Jeanne Wanvig, and Doreen Shire.  I had a crush on Doreen for a while in sophomore year, I never told her or talked with her much because I was too shy.

I could not string two sentences together in high school, but there is no problem now!

Doug Naef Jack Charlton, Marcia Brownlee Pearson Mark Montchalin. and Toni Osbourne were seen, but I did not get a chance to talk with them.  I did not recognize anybody else (name tags are priceless!)

Matt Miller reminded me that I broke his collar bone during a “competitive” Frisbee event.  Ouch@!  Karma got me 5 years later when I shattered my c-bone at the impromptu1976 Trailblazer championship parade on Broadway that shut the city down.  I had a 14 year old boy drive me to the hospital with my soon to be wife and her little sister, because both did not drive.  My c-bone required surgery again two years later, where the surgeon did metal sculptor work to rebuild the catastrophe.  It still predicts weather changes.

Bruce Chapman reminded me that I saved his life from a potentially fatal incident. Whew!

I am grieved that cherished others did not have such a timely intervention.

Sunday was a good day at North Clackamas Park, where we used to come often to throw Frisbees and hang out during the school years.

I had the privilege and honor of talking with Stephen Houston, Brian Wagner, Bruce, Sue, and Delores (’76) Chapman, Harvey Scott, and Gary Brower  today.  Harvey and Gary, amongst several othes shared a Boy Scout experience with me in the 8th grade.  Dick Salter (Craig’s father) was the extremely competent scout master, and my father Beryl was the capable assistant.  Gary now has a special energy, and when it is felt, you just know that you have found one who has discovered the fount of wisdom and love.

Whatever happened to my freshman golf team buddies Greg Lumsden and Mark Zinzer?  Mark Sheers, I missed seeing you, too.  I stopped golfing after our team disbanded. I started again in 1987.  I just shot the best round of my life at Eastmoreland, the golf course that I had lessons, and first golfed at, in 1966.  I still suck, but I have fun.

My father used to play cards with several Putnam dads at the Milwaukie Elks.  Rod Vought’s and Toni Osbourne’s dads, amongst a couple others, would enlighten him with their opinions about life, and parenthood.  Mr. Vought was so proud of Rod!  Rod’s dad had some very uncomplimentary things to say about me as a student of his in-7th grade World Geography class, hopefully just to rib my father, because I absolutely excelled in his class, in which I had a profound interest in because of……well, you will have to ask me if you ever see me again!  I might have irriritated him with all of my questions about Lake Titicaca in Peru, and the ancient culture that was once  there.  Rod was also in the same class, and had I communicated my perspective at the time, Dad would have had his own ammunition at the card table with Mr Vought.

Note:  When I saw Rod at a later class reunion, bragging up his relationship with Scott Muramatsu and the bug zapper device they were making millions on, I had to leave early, and nearly vomited all over myself.  Yes, some healing work needed to be done here, for sure.  I was never perfect, for sure.

On a different note, for a fairly short man, Tony Born was a towering presence in the Elks lodge.  He was one of my favorite TV personalities of the ’60’s, along with Tom Peterson knocking on the inside of our TV sets to wake us up late on Saturday night.  I would frequently visit him and his cohorts in the old, converted Chautauqua Bowl, which became the base for Portland wrestling.  It was two blocks from my grandmother’s home, where I spent a lot of time growing up.

I wanted to talk with so many more classmates.  Bill Ness was one of the funniest, smartest guys I knew.  He had a wonderful laugh!  Had my life not turned south, I would have strongly pursued him as a friend.

Sean Tucker (high school best friend) refused to travel from Colorado due to “health issues”.  I lost touch with Sean when he went into the US Air Force in 1978.  Some people will go to any length to avoid being the best man at my wedding!  In 1984, after not hearing from him for 4 years, I just knew he was going to call me on a specific day, and he did.  He came back to town just in time in the summer for a week for a wild, and fun Heart concert at Delta Park, amongst a few other things.  We stopped by a local winery on the way to the show.   Henry Endres wine sure made Sean a “unique” person.  He retired from the Air Force, and then worked in ultra dangerous locations around the world as a subcontractor to the Defense Dpt.  My wife and I visited with him and his family in Colorado in 2013. When I arrived, I was counseled not to share any of his young adult bacchanalian behavior with family.  Sean jr knew that I knew something, though.  We shared a common interest in, umm, deeper things, and would often listen to Alan Watts on late Saturday night radio, before Alan died in 1973.  He went in a new spiritual direction with his Christian wife, Natty. Sean has three boys (two are twins), and a daughter.

Bruce Chapman had a garage that several classmates spent a lot of time with him in as he rebuilt a ’55 Chevy, and I was one of them beginning in 1972.  Goose’s garage became a famous hangout spot.  Bruce, lower left first picture from 1973, and now with wife Sue, second picture.  Yes, the deceased Randy Olson is also in the same first photo, along with Tony Mecklem (I am the long haired dude on the right) . No blame or shame here,  but it was Randy and Tony who got me started smoking pot in 1971.  BAD choice for me, though it made BORING math work fun. (argh!).  I lost my near photographic memory because of pot, and school became much more difficult for me.

Steven Houston was my favorite band member.  We attended the University of Portland at the same time, pursuing different engineering degrees.  My favorite math class was Applied Statistics and Probability, a highest-level class where the teacher showed us how to use Calculus to break even, or beat, Las Vegas casino odds (my 10 lifetime trips to Vegas were never big losers, yet never big winners, either.  The best bet is to just stay away, unless you know what you are doing).  Other favorite. classes were the ones I took for my minor, like Psychology, Philosophy, and World Religions. Steve and I saw each other at the park again, and our conversation ended with him saying that it would be great if someone could write a story connecting the dots between our deceased classmates. Doug Naef would be the best man for the job, I think.   I am the connecting link with a few departed souls.  Not all of their stories were happy, either, especially at the ending.  I will share a few shortly.

Brian Wagner was my favorite HS basketball player, unique in style, and nothing like hot dog Dirk Markum (’71?-remember him immitating Pete Maravich?).  We had a long discussion about road racing, hood to coast racing, and running for health, in general.  I am fully retired from road and trail racing, the years of successful marathon and ultra-marathon racing and training finally beat me down back to a humbled treadmill runner. I have scheduled the third surgery on my overused right foot soon, to hopefully keep me upright for a while longer.  Brian is still doing it, and just finished a 10K race.  Way to go, Brian!

It’s a sin that somehow

Light is changing to shadow

And casting its shroud

Over all we have known

Unaware how the ranks have grown

Driven on by hearts of stone

We could find that we’re all alone

In the dream of the proud.

I was friends with 10 of the deceased classmates.

I got into a lot of trouble with Jeff Tobin in 6th grade. I was removed from class president status because of some of our “shenanigans”.  I covered for Jeff on two of his big screwups and took the fall when he really should have.  Jeff ended up in a military school setting for a while for other sins, to get a moral tune-up. For my tune-up for Jeff making farting noises behind me in health class, Mr Pavlichek tried the tennis shoe on my arse a few times, in a famous public display and humiliation for me, and then called my father to make sure that he would give me a good beat down too, which he did with his normal precision.  Too bad we couldn’t get a tune-up for our fathers.   I worked with Jeff at the USPS in the experimental PAMS unit, in 1979-1980, prior to his first suicide attempt.  We both got a lot of positive feedback there.  Jeff was the fastest, most accurate  worker around.  I helped develop a software idea that became studied within its national research department, and then packaged and sold elsewhere.  I got a little “mad money” out of deal. I have some amazing stories to tell about my 10 year career there, maybe another time.  Anyway, every time Jeff drove his pickup truck with me in it, he treated it like a race car, and I feared for my life, but I was too cowardly to speak up.  I last saw Jeff Tobin on a local hiking trail the month before his fatality, just after turning 55.  Jeff was an amazingly compassionate man with me and my deteriorating first wife.  He sacrificed himself in a most troubling way to protect me once.  He had a loyalty to friendship that blew me away.  I failed him after his 1st suicide attempt, overburdened by my 1st wife’s, and my own, problems. Concurrent death wishes don’t synchronize well, unless you are part of Jim Jones’ style cults.

He was a traumatized brother, for sure.

Jeff’s Spirit still lives within me.  I hear, and feel, your pain.

I saw Alan Crouser’s death notice too late last year. Once again, I was researching list friends and acquaintances, and Alan’s name just “popped up”.  Alan was a sweet, gentle giant, though sometimes he was a melancholic young man.  His favorite song in the early 70’s was “Tiny Bubbles In The Wine” by Don Ho, which was a favorite of his divorced parents.  One time, in our senior year, Al drank some Mad Dog 20-20, and started knocking parking lot light poles down in his apartment complex..  When I told him to stop, he picked me up, and threw me OVER my car.  Another time I drove AL and his soon to be wife Jenny, with Dan Dietz, up to Vancouver to get a quick wedding at the Justice Of The Peace.  At their encouragement, I drove well in excess of 100 MPH on 99E, and then I5, to get up there before they closed.  We did not make it in time, and fortunately nobody was killed or injured, nor was I cited for DUI, and reckless driving.  Anyway, Al had a family that he dearly loved, though he eventually experienced a divorce from Jenny.

He was another traumatized brother, who I lost touch with when I moved to Washington for two years, beginning in 1976.

Alan’s Spirit still lives within me.

Randy Olson was a lifelong friend.  He had a great sense of humor, and an infectious laugh.   He introduced me to my first wife, who died on my birthday last year.  He saved my life a couple of times, offering me a home at the end of two failed relationships in 1984-1986, the first being my first wife..  Randy introduced me to, literally, hundreds of people when I was “between relationships”. We would close rock & roll bars, then party with the rock groups, like Sequel, Rising Tide, etc., until the sun would rise.  We networked and schmoozed with some “important people” who will remain nameless because I don’t want to be sued.  We attended the 20-year reunion together, with a  “reformed stripper” turned health aide adorning the arm of Randy.  I attended Randy Olson’s funeral in 2013 and the man with 10,000 friends had only 13 people there.  He never married, being content with moving from relationship to relationship. He died at the exact same age as his smoking, drinking father, at age 58.  Randy takes up several pages in one of my books.

I still miss him, he was a dear friend, and truly one of a kind.

Randy’s Spirit still strongly lives within me.

Dan Dietz was an incredible friend for me from 1972-1980, and it is amazing, if not miraculous, that we both survived those years. Dan and John Durkin took me to the Faucet Tavern (remember the turtle races?) on my 21st birthday.  For the first time in my life, and hopefully the last, a man pulled a knife on me after I wrangled a few bucks out of him playing pool.  He thought that  I was having too much fun. Dan made me walk home, about 7 miles, when I gave him a bad time about not helping me when the man had two of his buddies join in the fracas in the parking lot.  My best, though awkward, Bruce Lee imitation may  have saved my life, though alcohol put me in harms way in the first place.  I did not make it to Dan Dietz’s funeral, which I later regretted.  I lost touch with Dan in 1980, after we had an excruciating falling out. In 1987, after I finally got my act together, I drove down to Pacific City to make amends for my part.  I met his girlfriend, and young son, but Dan was not there.  I left a note, but never heard back from him. I heard his laughing voice in my car, the day after he died.  I did not know of his death at the time–eerie!  John Durkin, who was a safety subcontractor at Smurfit-Blue Heron paper mill the same time that  I was an electrical subcontractor, let me know of his death, as well as a call from Mark Dellett (whatever happened to him?). By the way, Bill Brownlee (’76?–Marsha’s younger brother) was a permanent employee there, and Jay Goss’s older brother Dave (’72) was a contract chemical engineer there for a time, as well.  Anyway, If I try , I can still hear Dan’s famous laugh (hey, hey, hey). Dan is survived by a son.

Dan was co-best man with Randy Olson in my ill-fated first marriage in 1979.

Dan’s Spirit still lives within me.

Greg Redman was a grade school friend, and fellow “son of Oakey Doak’s square dancers” like myself.  He was fun to hang out with in grade school.   I visited his home several times. The Oakey Doaks were an Oak Grove based square dancing group that thrived in the ’60’s, and several Rex Putnam students had parents that danced with them, like the Litsons, Jarmers, Redman’s, Jordans, Bakkums, Edwards, Constans, etc.  My sister Pam (’72) still drives Merlin Litson”s ’72 Chevy pickup truck, which my father bought in ’73, and owned until his death in 2017.  I had several discussions with Joyce over the years after the tragic death of my mother in 2009.  We saw each other occasionally at Oak Grove Fred Meyer. The last time I saw her, about 5 years ago,  I asked her if the reason some classmates from the Oakey Doaks did not contact me was that they remembered my father negatively, or thought that I was too much like him.  She was kind, and diverted my attention to other matters.

I will always remember Greg’s full face smile, and laugh.  Greg’s Spirit still lives within me.

We just got to keep dancing our unique dance, the right life partners will eventually show up.  It is no sin to dance with only our self, if all others are too tired and have relocated to the bench, or to the bar.

Dr. Elton Storment, my childhood dentist based in Oak Grove, was the man who coined the Oakey Doaks name.  I saw Elton many times at both the Bomber restaurant, until it closed 3 years ago, and at Dr Ruggeri’s office, as we both love Roberta as a doctor.  Dr Steiger preceded Dr. Roberta, and he still is my hero, having spotted a potentially fatal lesion on me in 2005.  Without him, I am not here today.

Gary Westfall and I used to handicap horse races together, before he went on the national circuit with his older brother.  One of the horses we handicapped was Malawi’s Champ, a front runner who always ran out of gas at the far turn.  One time, the horse came through, at over 50-1 odds.  I am sure John Durkin remembers that race, too.  Another one was Dobi Pay, a 9 year old gelding with just one eye, and also just a $ 2000 claimer (umm, glue factory tour shortly?).  There was something about that horse that caught my attention.  I could “feel” something special about him.  He was a slow starter, with a huge desire to finish fast.  That horse, at 9 years of age, dramatically improved over the course of one season, and ran in $40 -$50,000 claiming races at the famous Longacres race track in Renton. He even ran more than competently  in two stakes races, and wowed the pros.  I adored that horse, and I still do.  I modeled my road racing style after Dobi Pay.  After all, I was “old”, and nearly blind, too. I contacted the Bradens, the horse’s owners 7 years ago  to get permission to write a story about their magical old horse. They are still racing horses! Anyway,, Gary had a supply of frozen “happy mushrooms” that was truly astounding in the mid 70’s.  That must have been a lot of wading through smelly cow pastures for Gary!  We had waded through a few smelly horse paddocks at the horse tracks, so that was easier by comparison.

Gary’s, and Dobi Pay’s,  Spirit still lives within me. I am closing fast on Life’s finish line, with joy still in my stride.

I played on organized baseball teams in 6th and 8th grade with Brad Oberstaller, such a tragic death.  When I heard about his family situation long, long ago, my heart just broke for him, and his family.

Yes, Brad’s broken Spirit still lives within me.

Herb Rook was a friend, and fellow boy scout (we snuck cigars on one of campouts and both got sick). We loved to joke about committing crimes that would catch the attention of his famous District Attorney father, Roger.

Herb’s humorous,  fun living Spirit still lives within me.

Martin Stratton was a dear friend in grade school, a gentle and caring young man.  I always rooted for him to succeed in school and tried to help him with the multiplication tables.  He died right after ten-year reunion, which I missed.

Martin’s most beautiful Spirit still lives within me.

You would not have wanted to see me in 1983, unless you were an undertaker, and then you would have been licking at the chops.

Mark Parsons, an extremely funny, intelligent, and friendly young man, and was another guy I talked with a lot, especially about “deeper issues” .  He had a great head of red hair.  He easily could have become one of my best friends, had I chosen a healthier direction in life.  I was blown away to hear that he died from a fall from a trail.

Wow, after all of these years, Mark’s happy Spirit still lives within me.

Don Bain was a hard guy for me to get close to at times, but we were always friendly with each other..  I met him freshman year, and he was quite the cigarette smoker by then.  He was a bit edgy at times, while also having a great laugh,.  He amazed and impressed me in freshman PE class when he ran a sub 5:30 mile.  I languished far behind, at 6:13, and I had never smoked in my life up to that point. I respected him greatly, though I noted how damaged a part of him was.  I had been training with Mark Salter (’70) for two years with runs, mainly along Oatfield road, so I was disappointed in myself.  For some reason, he never harassed me or tried to beat me up, like some others did (you know who you are—all is forgiven).  He felled a taller tree (timber!! ) who tried to beat me up in freshman year, and won my loyalty and respect.

Note:  I stopped running after a short stint on the  freshman cross country team and did not resume running again until 1993.  By 1999, I was running many 10K – 50K races, at or slightly above, Don’s amazing freshman pace per mile (I smoked nearly 3 cartons of cigarettes a week by 1984). In 1996, I ran a 5K race at this very park at a 5:20 per mile pace, which I somehow won. The year before, the park was 40% under water, and the ORRC still ran the race, which was a “one of a kind” experience, and no one drowned!  At the end of an 8K race in 2001, at age 45, I ran 2 miles in 9:30, and passed many of the fastest youngsters, and oldsters, in Portland (yes, I know—BORING!).  Anyway, sorry for the detour.

Here is to you, Don, who inspired me to be a better smoker, and runner, and, now, protector of the bullied.

Don’s unique, protective Spirit, and youthful vitality, still Strongly lives within me.

Mark Constans (’74), brother of Debbie (’73) and Judy (’75)  was a grade school friend, mainly through the Oakey Doaks.  We had a lot of great adventures growing up, and so did our parents.  Not only did our parents square dance together, we took several camping trips (a famous one where Mark and I swam with inner tubes while Michael Fero swam unassisted  all the way across Detroit Lake.  Our parents, lost in their party/camping mode, finally realized where we were when we came up missing, and sent a boat out to rescue us, but we were already on the return swim back from the other side.  We both had legendary sun burns from the day.  Malignant melanoma still visits with me from time to time, probably as a result,of several days like that. Our parents had several famous trips to Reno together over the years.  I saw Mark again when we did recovery groups, and he had developed into the finest human being, and I was so happy for him.  We lost touch for a few years.  I had a nagging thought that I needed to find Mark about 7 years ago.  I connected with Judy Constans through Facebook, and was blown away with grief, when I heard what had happened, not only to him, but to Danny.  I thought their father and mother were the greatest people, Joe had the best sense of humor, and perspectives, at least from my point of view.

Mark was “great people” too.

That whole experience with the Constans’ has never died within me. A most treasured memory that I will take to the grave with me.

I have yet to visit Craig Salter in the long term care facility.  Craig was already designing electronic curcuits in 8th grade.  School was boring for him, and a couple  teachers accused him of being detached/dreamy.  Craig was the most creative person that I have ever met, designing and building, amongst many other things, cutaway versions of 747 like jets.  I was almost electrocuted when I helped him build an underground fort, and I got hung up by a poorly protected light curcuit.Craig Salter disappeared for weeks into the entire collection of Tolkien writings in late 8th grade.  He wrote an epic book report for freshman class, where he created his own book, using the middle earth language, which he learned, and wrote it in several places.  He illustrated it meticulously, and artfully.  An incomparable, true creative genius of a young man he was.  He could never competely fit into this strange world that we live in.   Craig was a true ultra-genius, with an IQ in excess of 142, and given better attitude and grooming might have become a Silicon Valley millionaire, or???.  I got him drunk for his first time in 1973 at my father’s basement bar—BIG MISTAKE. Such a heartbreaking tragedy began for him around 1993.  Craig helped get me on my feet in 1987, I only wish that I could have helped him in his time of greatest need, but we had lost touch with each other years before.

Craig’s Spirit is alive, and well, within me, and within him, regardless of appeatances.

Charlie Davalos did not ever make it to high school, having died the summer preceding freshman year..  He was a good friend of mine who was working with Craig Salter and me in developing home made rocket engines.  He died when an experimental cylinder exploded and severed an artery.  Craig and I quickly transitioned to using Estes pre-made solid rocket fuel cells.  We decorated a few trees, and tops of far away homes,  with our creations. Believe me when I say that Charlie, Craig and I were trying our mightiest to get off of this f…ing rock.  We used our imagination, the reading of our science fiction and fantasy books, and our curiosity to keep us inspired.  One of Craig’s favorite book series in the 7th grade was Tom Swift and His Rocket Ship. Mine was EE Doc Smith’s The Lensmen series, and the Skylark of Valeron series.  We lived vicariously through the NASA space program, our books, and our rockets.

Charlie’s Spirit still lives within me.

I still have my EE Doc Smith books, two rocket kits, and a launcher.  My heart still yearns for the stars.  I will be there soon enough.

Grief is the price we pay for committing ourselves to love, and losing our loved ones.  It is an uneven path that we all must travel upon, yet the support of friends, family, and, for many, spiritual intentions, keeps the light on from “outside” until we fully reconnect with our own.

I nearly died several times from 1980-1987.  I have no idea how I survived, save good fortune, and, perhaps, that I wanted to know the truth about life before I passed away.  I reconnected with my Native American heritage and spirituality on Larch Mountain in June of 1987, and Great Spirit then gave me a unique opportunity, which I dared not refuse. I am grateful to have lived long enough to reintroduce myself to some classmates, who I never could fully reveal myself to when I was in high school, because I did not know myself.  I entered school too early, being a “precocious” little boy, and it set me apart from some classmates because of my relative physical and emotional immaturity.  I took more than a few unnecessary beatings until 8th grade in school, and at home. I never had children with my partners, fearing I would transfer woundedness to my progeny.  In adulthood, I embarked on a long and difficult, though productive, journey of healing from traumatic wounding, and I finally found a new openness to life.

On the wings of the night

As the daytime is stirring

Where the speechless unite

In a silent accord

Using words you will find are strange

Mesmerized as they light the flame

Feel the new wind of change

On the wings of the night.

I am now a writer and blogger in retirement.  I am working on books 8, 9, and 10 right now.  Previous books were never published because they are not popular reading type material.  Book # 8—-No More Turning Away-Breaking The Conspiracy Of Silence is ready for publishing, but I am not.  My editor, Melinda Copp , condensed it down from about 1150 pages to under 270 pages.. Some test readers still feel like it is a chore to read. Well, living an unexamined life in our diseased culture is more than a chore, as it is deadly to our spirit and sense of wholeness.  No stone was left unturned, no shadow was not exposed to light, and it is a difficult read.  I still mainly write non-fiction, but I now have a novel in the pipeline, to be called The Great Escape (tentative).  My (to be last) non-fiction book, which is almost ready for final editing, was fun to write, and is called—–An Electrician’s Guide To Our Galaxy.  It will become the non-fiction book that I want to be remembered for as a writer.

My wife Sharon White  is a published author of the powerfully loving, insightful book— Whose Death Is It Anyway–A Hospice Nurse Remembers.  I have three grandsons via her children, two of which who took a similar and difficult path as I did (for now, grandpa’s wisdom is only good for grandpas, apparently).. Sharon continues to inspire me to reach forward, not back, unless it is with desire for insight, healing intention, and/or love.

I am looking forward to future connections with those who expressed interest (yes, I would love for it to happen, but based on past experience, I won’t hold my breath).

My story is going to have a happy ending, as it has already been written in the stars.

How is your story coming along?

I would love to hear it.

Being willing to listen to each other’s stories may lead in unexpected magical, healing directions.

Do you have any stories that are aching to be shared?

What stories would your brother, or sister, tell?

What stories would your high school best friend tell? (Squirming is optional).

What stories would you tell, if you could be fully honest?

Anybody interested in breaking the conspiracy of silence?

Maybe, maybe not, eh?

https://www.facebook.com/reel/282704881021823?s=yWDuG2&fs=e&mibextid=Nif5oz

If you made it this far, please take the two minutes to watch and feel the magic of the story within this link.

Who do we need to really listen to, to bring lifesaving aid?

Everywhere there are precious people, and animals that need our loving attention.

We all can all  listen more carefully to our world, and to its ever-unfolding story, before it is too late.

There need be no more turning away from those in need.

If we have not already, we all can exit the conspiracy of silence.

https://youtu.be/PGznEXXWdoo.

These stories did not link me to one living classmate in any meaningful manner, save through Facebook, and we all know what that means.

Yet, I remain connected to all through the Story,

No more turning away.

From the weak and weary.

No more turning away

From the coldness inside.

Just a world we all must share

Its not enough just to stand and stare.

Is it only a dream that there’ll be

No more turning away?

The Sacred Role of Scribes in a Civilization in Decline

In the annals of human history, there has always been a need for those who meticulously document the zeitgeist of their era. These individuals, the scribes, are the custodians of our collective memory, preserving the essence of our times for future generations. The role of the scribe is not merely to record events but to capture the spirit, emotion, and underlying truths of the world in which they live. It is a sacred duty, one that becomes even more critical as we face the existential threats of our current epoch.

Scribes have a profound responsibility to tether the narratives of the dead and dying to the living. The Kinomuru flags, which once fluttered in the wind, symbolizing the hopes and dreams of soldiers, are now solemn relics returned to loved ones as tokens of remembrance. Similarly, our stories, encapsulated by scribes, serve as vessels carrying the essence of those who have passed on. They are the sacred containers holding the living water that sustains our cultural heritage.

Our planet finds itself in a state of temporary decline, a consequence of the severe damage wrought by our civilization. Intellectual and spiritual degradation, mass hypnosis by capitalist and political propagandists, environmental degradation, climate change, and the relentless exploitation of natural resources have brought us to the precipice. The Earth, which has nurtured countless civilizations and generations, now bears the scars of our collective actions. Our social order stands on another brink. In this time of crisis, the role of the scribe becomes even more vital. It is through their words that we can hope to understand the gravity of our situation and perhaps find a path to redemption.

Our civilization teeters on the brink of a fatal tailspin. The social, religious, political, and economic structures that once provided stability are now fraught with division and dysfunction. The stories that scribes capture during this tumultuous period are not just historical records; they are mirrors reflecting our collective soul. They show us our strengths, our follies, and the consequences of our actions. In these narratives, we find both warnings and wisdom, guiding us through the darkness and offering glimpses of hope.

The act of storytelling is a sacred duty, a means of preserving the essence of our culture for future generations. In the face of adversity, it is easy to lose sight of what truly matters. Our stories serve as beacons, illuminating the path forward and reminding us of our shared humanity. They are the threads that weave the fabric of our existence, binding us together in a tapestry of collective memory.

The role of scribes in our civilization is indispensable. They are the chroniclers of our times, capturing the spirit of our era and preserving it for posterity. As we face the challenges of environmental decline and societal instability, their work becomes even more crucial. Through their words, we can hope to find understanding, solace, and perhaps a way to mend the fractures that threaten our world. It is a sacred duty, one that must be honored and upheld with the utmost respect and reverence.

If you are interested in exploring this topic further or wish to engage in a deeper conversation, please do not hesitate to reach out. Together, we can ensure that the stories of our time are preserved and cherished for generations to come. The Three Degrees of Dissolution and the Fragility of Human Connection

In a world where technology promises to bring us closer together, we find ourselves grappling with the paradox of being more connected than ever before, yet feeling increasingly isolated. This dichotomy is poignantly captured in the evolution of social theories on human connection—from the well-known “six degrees of separation” to the more somber “three degrees of dissolution.” The latter theory suggests that after an individual passes away, their memory lives on through just three more deaths, ultimately leading to an anonymous end. This perspective challenges us to reconsider the true nature of our relationships and the quality of our connections in an age dominated by digital interactions.

The theory of six degrees of separation posits that any two people on the planet are connected by a chain of six acquaintances. This idea was revolutionary, emphasizing the interconnectedness of humanity. However, as our world has become increasingly digitized, the dynamics of human relationships have shifted dramatically. Enter the theory of the three degrees of dissolution, which paints a more poignant picture of human connection. It suggests that as individuals outlive most who knew them, their existence becomes tethered to just three more lives, dissolving into anonymity after these individuals pass away.

This shift from six degrees to three degrees reflects the changing landscape of our social interactions. While we may have hundreds of “friends” on social media, how many of these connections are truly meaningful? Social media is now regarded as a national health threat to our young users by the US Surgeon General, who takes issue with their average daily use of social media for 4.5 hours. These are empty social .calories. Now even many adults substitute media frends for real life huggable friends. How many people that are left would carry our memory forward, and for how long?

Social media and globalization have undoubtedly transformed the way we connect with others. We can now maintain relationships across continents, share our lives in real time, and stay updated on the minutiae of each other’s daily routines. Yet, this hyper-connectivity often comes at the cost of depth and substance. Virtual interactions lack the richness of in-person encounters, leading to a paradox where we are surrounded by connections but feel a deeper sense of anonymity and disconnection.

The three degrees of dissolution theory underscores the fragility and fleeting nature of these digital connections. In a world where relationships are often reduced to likes, comments, and fleeting messages, the essence of human connection is diluted. This brings us to a crucial question: Are we investing enough in relationships that matter? Or are we content with the superficial bonds that technology offers?

The theory of three degrees of dissolution serves as a stark reminder of the impermanence of human relationships. It urges us to reevaluate our priorities and invest in meaningful, lasting connections. Genuine, in-person interactions are irreplaceable; they allow us to build trust, share experiences, and create memories that endure beyond the digital realm.

Preserving the memory of those who have passed away is another vital aspect of counteracting the desensitization to death and grief that can arise in a virtual society. By fostering genuine connections and honoring the legacies of our loved ones, we can ensure that their impact on our lives persists beyond the confines of the three degrees of dissolution.

On a personal level, this theory challenges us to reflect on the depth and quality of our social networks. How many of our connections are genuinely meaningful? How many people would remember us, and for how long? These questions are not meant to induce fear or anxiety but to inspire introspection and action.

Building and sustaining meaningful connections requires effort and intentionality. It means prioritizing in-person interactions, nurturing relationships through shared experiences, and being present in the lives of those who matter most. It also means valuing quality over quantity—recognizing that a few deep, meaningful relationships can be far more fulfilling than a multitude of superficial ones.

The theory of the three degrees of dissolution offers a sobering perspective on human connection in the digital age. It highlights the fragility and impermanence of our relationships, urging us to reconsider our priorities and invest in meaningful, lasting connections. In a world where technology often dictates the terms of our interactions, it is essential to remain grounded in the values of genuine human connection and to honor the memories of those who have touched our lives.

As we navigate the complexities of modern relationships, let us strive to build connections that transcend the digital realm and endure beyond the confines of the three degrees of dissolution. By doing so, we can create a legacy of meaningful relationships that enrich our lives and the lives of those around us.

The Three Degrees of Dissolution and the Aging Experience

In a world where we are often reminded of our interconnectedness through the theory of six degrees of separation, there exists a more somber counterpart that affects the aging population—the three degrees of dissolution. This theory suggests that many elderly individuals are no more than three deaths away from an anonymous burial, especially if they are childless or have strained relationships with family. While six degrees of separation highlight our global social bonds, the three degrees of dissolution reveal the isolating realities many face as they age.

I cared for my once socially active father the last six years of his life.  He had lived alone since his wife, my mother,  passed away earlier. Over the years, I saw his social circle shrink as friends and family members succumbed to the passage of time. His once vibrant home, filled with laughter and conversation, grew eerily silent. His friends, and even family members, bailed on my father like he carried the plague. His dementia was gentle in its expression, but threatening in its name. My father was given “the bum’s rush”. His story is not unique. Countless individuals find their social ties fraying faster than they can mend them, leading to profound loneliness and a sense of invisibility.

The broader societal implications of this phenomenon are deeply concerning. The dissolution of social connections among the elderly presents significant challenges for elderly care. Without a robust support network, many seniors face neglect, inadequate care, and emotional distress. This isolation also underscores the importance of building supportive communities that prioritize inclusivity and connection.

Communities must step up to fill the void left by dwindling family ties. Initiatives such as community centers, senior clubs, and volunteer programs can play a pivotal role in ensuring that the elderly remain engaged and supported. Additionally, fostering intergenerational relationships can bridge the gap between young and old, enriching both groups with shared experiences and wisdom.

Reflecting on the three degrees of dissolution forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about our society. It challenges us to consider what kind of world we want to grow old in and how we can collectively ensure that no one faces their twilight years in solitude. For individuals, it means taking proactive steps to maintain and cultivate relationships throughout life. For families, it involves nurturing bonds and addressing conflicts that may lead to estrangement.

One potential solution lies in the concept of “intentional communities” where people of all ages live together, supporting one another through life’s various stages. Such communities emphasize cooperation, mutual aid, and shared responsibilities, creating an environment where no one feels alone.

The juxtaposition of the social interconnectedness theory and the three degrees of dissolution raises critical questions about the quality of our social fabric. Are we doing enough to support our aging population? How can we create a society where everyone feels valued and connected?

In pondering these questions, we are called to action. Let’s strive to build more inclusive and caring communities, where the bonds of friendship and family are strengthened, and no one is left to face the inevitable solitude of aging alone. By addressing the three degrees of dissolution, we can ensure that our interconnectedness transcends generations, providing comfort and companionship to all.

Rediscovering the Art of Listening

I did not start talking until I was four years old. My parents both worked, often two jobs each, leaving me in the care of indifferent or minimally caring babysitters. When I finally began to speak and started school, some teachers deemed my speech irrelevant. My hyperactive behavior masked a growing intelligence, yet I struggled with low self-esteem and poor self-control. I craved recognition, to be heard and positively acknowledged, but found solace only in my grandparents’ spiritual support. My father, shaped by his own unacknowledged past, was a poor listener, mirroring the broader societal indifference I faced. Seventeen years of alcoholism and drug addiction silenced me further, and it has taken decades—from ages 33 to 68—to reclaim my voice. Even now, it seems our reading world treats my words much like my father did, finding no resonance and offering little positive acknowledgment.

Early experiences shape our ability to express ourselves. In my case, the lack of attentive care and affirmation in childhood stunted my speech and self-worth. Children need to feel heard and valued, yet many grow up in environments where their voices are drowned out or ignored. This neglect can lead to a lifelong struggle for validation and self-expression. The hyperactivity I developed was perhaps a desperate attempt to be noticed, to break through the wall of indifference surrounding me.

Our collective culture often mirrors these early influences. Many individuals grow up feeling unheard, their voices lost in the cacophony of societal noise. Recognition and support are crucial for personal growth, but the lack of collective support in our culture is staggering. Heightened competitiveness and shortened attention spans, fueled by media platforms, exacerbate this issue. We live in a society that prioritizes quick fixes and instant gratification over deep, meaningful connections and understanding.

The struggle for recognition is a universal human experience, yet societal indifference often makes this struggle insurmountable. Personal growth, while essential, is dwarfed by the overwhelming lack of support from our communities. Many people, like myself, fight to reclaim their voices, longing for acknowledgment and validation. However, the societal structures in place often hinder rather than help this process.

Modern factors such as heightened competitiveness and the influence of media platforms have further complicated the issue. Social media, with its focus on superficial interactions and fleeting moments, has contributed to a culture of indifference. We scroll through our feeds, consuming content without truly engaging with it or the people behind it. This environment breeds a lack of empathy and understanding, making it even more challenging for individuals to feel heard and valued.

We need to relearn how to listen—to ourselves, to each other, and to the world around us. Healing our culture of indifference requires intentional effort and commitment. It means creating spaces where people feel safe to express themselves and where their voices are genuinely heard and valued. It requires us to slow down, to engage deeply with one another, and to prioritize meaningful connections over superficial interactions.

Every voice deserves to be heard. Recognizing and fostering a culture of listening and support is crucial for both personal and collective growth. We must move beyond the indifference that permeates our society, striving to create a world where every individual feels valued and acknowledged. Only by doing so can we begin to heal and grow as a community.

No More Turning Away From the Weak and the Weary

In a world often overshadowed by cold indifference, the true test of our humanity lies in how we treat the most vulnerable among us. The weak and the weary, the aged and the mentally ill, the unfairly judged and ostracized—these are the individuals who bear the brunt of society’s neglect. It is imperative that we, as a collective, confront this pervasive indifference, which acts as a significant barrier to healing and unity within our diseased pseudo-Christian capitalistic culture.

Indifference is not merely an absence of empathy; it is a deliberate turning away from those in need. This coldness inside, this refusal to acknowledge the suffering of others, perpetuates a cycle of neglect and division. It creates a societal roadblock, preventing any meaningful progress towards healing and unity. We must recognize that this indifference is antithetical to the principles of compassion and community that should define us.

The theory of “six degrees of separation” suggests that we are all interconnected, that each of us is only a few steps removed from any other person on this planet. This interconnectedness highlights our collective responsibility for one another. We are not isolated individuals; we are part of a larger human consciousness. Our actions, or inactions, reverberate through this collective, affecting not just those immediately around us but the broader tapestry of humanity.

Despite this inherent interconnectedness, there is a disturbing trend of disconnection within our society. The marginalized—whether the aged, the mentally ill, or the unfairly judged—are often pushed to the fringes, excluded from the limited concepts of belonging and safety that our society upholds. This disconnection is not just a social issue; it is a moral failing. It relegates individuals to an anonymous life and death, where the loss of just three connections can render a person invisible to the world.

We must move beyond this indifference and disconnection. It is time for individuals to recognize their inherent power in shaping society. Each of us has the capacity to effect change, to bring healing to our communities and to ourselves. By acknowledging our interconnectedness and taking responsibility for the well-being of others, we can begin to break down the barriers that divide us.

Community leaders, empathetic individuals, and social activists have a vital role to play in this transformation. It is through their efforts that we can foster a culture of compassion and inclusion. By advocating for the marginalized, by creating spaces where everyone feels they belong, we can start to heal the wounds of our society.

The journey towards a more compassionate and interconnected society begins with each of us. It starts with the recognition that we are not isolated entities but part of a collective human consciousness. Until we understand this, we will continue to dismiss our inherent powers to bring healing to our society and to ourselves. No more turning away from the weak and the weary. No more turning away from the coldness inside.  No more remaining just another member of our cultural conspiracy of silence around troubling issues..

In the words of the great philosopher Kahlil Gibran, “You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.” Let us give of ourselves, reaching out with empathy and compassion to those who need it most. Only then can we hope to create a society that reflects the best of our shared humanity.

Further Exploration of the Three Degrees of Dissolution

In a world where social connections are often measured by the six degrees of separation, we frequently overlook a sobering reality—the three degrees of dissolution. While the former celebrates our interconnectedness, the latter reveals the fragility of human connections for those who reside on society’s margins.

First, let’s briefly revisit the concept of the six degrees of separation. This theory posits that any two people on Earth are just six social connections apart. It underscores the relatively short chain of acquaintances that link us all, fostering a sense of global interconnectedness and shared humanity.

Contrary to the optimism of the six degrees of separation, the three degrees of dissolution highlights a starkly different narrative—one of isolation and anonymity. There are many in our society who, due to various factors, do not have robust social networks. They may be:

• Single individuals without children
• Aging adults losing friends and family to death at a faster rate than gaining them
• People with mental illnesses or nearing incompetence
• Individuals ostracized from family or community due to difficult or unpopular life choices
• Drug addicts, alcoholics, and the homeless

For these individuals, the social fabric is not just frayed but is dangerously thin. They are merely three deaths away from complete anonymity, with no one left to carry their story in life or in death.  In the story of my father’s death, had my sister, my wife, and myself been killed in an accident, my father would have become a ward of the state, and, ultimately, after his death, probably buried without his wife’s remains in some never to be visited tomb, perhaps in Willamette National Cemetary..

The three degrees of dissolution serves as a poignant reminder of the fragile nature of human connections. For those who are socially isolated, the loss of just a few key relationships can lead to a state of profound loneliness and invisibility. This is particularly concerning considering the increasing rates of mental health issues, substance abuse, and homelessness in our society.

Mental health professionals must recognize the importance of addressing social isolation in their practice. Building strong therapeutic alliances and encouraging the development of supportive relationships can help mitigate the risks associated with the three degrees of dissolution.

For sociologists, the three degrees of dissolution provides a new lens through which to study social networks and community resilience. It challenges us to think critically about the societal structures that contribute to isolation and to advocate for policies that promote social inclusion and support.

Empathetic individuals, too, have a role to play. By reaching out to those who are isolated, offering support, and fostering a sense of community, we can help prevent the dissolution of these critical human connections.

The three degrees of dissolution highlights an urgent need for intervention at multiple levels. It calls for:

• Enhanced social support services for those at risk of isolation
• Greater community engagement to foster inclusive environments
• Policy changes aimed at reducing barriers to social integration

By recognizing and addressing the factors that contribute to social isolation, we can help ensure that no one is left to face the devastating effects of the three degrees of dissolution.

The concept of the three degrees of dissolution offers a powerful counterpoint to the six degrees of separation. It challenges us to acknowledge the fragility of human connections and to take meaningful action to support those at risk of social isolation.

If this resonates with you, consider joining the conversation and working towards a more inclusive and connected society. Together, we can make a difference.

For further discussion or to contribute your insights, feel free to contact us. Let’s bridge the gap between isolation and community, one connection at a time.

The Neverending Story

This chapter delves into the captivating and sometimes deceptive nature of personal stories. Our narratives have the power to entertain, manipulate, and even deliver profound insights and wisdom. But how do we navigate the fine line between truth and falsehood in the stories we tell and hear? It is important to explore the dual nature of personal stories as tools for enlightenment and manipulation.

We can uncover the importance of discernment and critical thinking when interpreting stories. It is important to consciously navigate the intricate web of narratives while remaining aware of the human tendency to weave and believe compelling stories, whether they are rooted in truth or not.  It is a healthy intention to unravel the power of narratives and their influence on shaping our perceptions, actions, and societal frameworks.

This is the opportunity to reflect on our personal stories, the narratives that shape our identity, and the stories we encounter in our journey. Together, let us unravel the power of our stories and unveil the truth that lies within. . It is what it is, but it is not what it seems—Paul Hewson, and countless others.

We all love a great story. Those who have developed real insight into the story and can both translate the essence of an experience and convey the emotion of all participating characters through words are the raconteurs of our culture. These honored storytellers may become famous and beloved novelists, musicians and rock stars, ministers, writers of religious stories and texts, comedians, and playwrights. The story may be about a personal or historical event and may be accurate or fiction, but as long as it entertains, it will keep our attention. As all of the best storytellers know, it is essential to keep the truth from getting in the way of telling the best story, especially if they are trying to keep our attention.

We all create stories around our individual lives and relationships with each other and the world. We also listen intently to the stories told by our parents, teachers, religions, history, and society about who we are, who others once were or now are, and who we might aspire to become. Many of our stories, individually and those created by society for us, are steeped in illusion, ignorance, half-truths, and outright falsehoods.

Far too many stories are just dramas about the attempts of others to control us, our attempts to control others, and, sadly, our failed attempts at exercising control over our own lives and our emotional experiences around all of these intersections and collisions, with each other But these stories have a fantastic hypnotic appeal, especially to those who have not undertaken the process of insight and healing.

At some point in our lives, each of us must begin a “search for truth,” where we question every aspect of our historical narrative, both shared and individual, lest the entirety of our life experience is lived and experienced without complete integrity, the potential for healing, evolution, and completeness, and the best alignment with reality.

Some aspects of life elude our ability to communicate around them effectively and never get incorporated into our personal stories, thus adding to the collective conspiracy of silence. Also, other people’s stories and garbage get backfilled into the holes and empty spaces within our own stories, becoming embedded within us and adding to our internal confusion and chaos. Such was the situation with me until relatively late in life when I finally began to put words to my life experiences in a more meaningful, insightful manner.

Life was never an easy journey for me, and had it not been for some deep need to understand my dysfunctional process and try to find the underlying truth amid my personal chaos, I would have passed away long ago, silenced by the diseases that living in a conspiracy of silence encourages. I found that some wounds are so deep and primal that just pasting new names onto aspects of my disease and creating new stories were not enough. 

I finally realized my responsibility as a conscious or semi-conscious human being was to bring my personal truth and story back to the social network. The main lesson here is that we all must become willing to share our stories, no matter how unfinished they may appear to be, to the collective experience, including our family, friends, co-workers, neighbors, religious and political leaders, and even ourselves.

Nearly 2.2 billion world citizens that claim to be Christian, 2 billion claim to be Muslims, and over 400 million claim to be Buddhists.  They point to their religion as the source of their inspiration and understanding. Regardless of our faith, or lack thereof, unless we deliver our story, our existing world narratives will stay in control and remain unchallenged and unchanged by our participation in life. If enough of us share our stories, the collective storytellers must eventually adapt and adjust their narratives to include the excluded, or fade into insignificance through their attachments to the past and their ever-increasing irrelevance.

Names and stories are only a convenience for communication. They need to be more comprehensive and inclusive to ultimately reveal the true nature of what they were created for in our minds to represent in the first place. The naming process is how our consciousness weighs and measures new forms of life, ideas, and experiences to insert the unknown and the mysterious into a present context for understanding, which becomes the latest iteration of our “story.” Naming attaches a dynamic process to a fixed point in time and space, always with a past frame of reference, and thus permanently lodges it in the dead past.

Creating stories and context and being conversational about the details of life do not dislodge the detritus from our field of consciousness. The Devil is in the details, figuratively speaking, and if we need change, we must find a way to see under the vast matrix of theories and fantasies that only float on the surface of the mind. We must also personally explore and experience the movements through consciousness and find the way to the silence at the foundation of our being. Otherwise, the process of naming and the resulting stories that arise from naming are just more intellectual knowledge and entertainment for the mind. They will not pry open the healing doors to insight and wisdom.  

Once, I had asked God for one or two extra inches in height, but instead, he made me as tall as the sky, so high that I could not measure myself.” —Malala Yousafzaia.

The intellectual and the atheist, though possessing finely tuned minds, can never explore the mystery and the depth of the human soul and comprehend that we all have a connection with Infinity. The willing explorer of the new paths of consciousness or the mystic both have access to the limitless territory of the Spirit and will soar to new heights and see the sights rarely seen by the rest of mankind. “It is only deep insight into the nature of our consciousness itself, and the stories that we tell ourselves, that finally allows us to catapult our awareness FAR BEYOND THE CONFINES OF OUR STORIES. Such vision brings a renewed appreciation and respect for all who attempt to transcend the story’s limitations while refining their own unique version of it.

I did not develop verbal abilities until relatively late in my childhood. My sister reports that she spoke for me until I developed the capacity, or inclination, to speak. Once I started talking at close to age 4, I proved I had the capacity for speech and A LOT OF IT. My father wondered, at times, if I would ever shut up. I remember starting to talk about things around me, giving new information my parents had no knowledge about. My parents thought there was no way for me to know anything about what I was spouting off about, so I was mostly ignored. But I can remember how good it felt to be talking and sharing the excitement of the magic of words exploding in my mind! I intuited that built-in to the very fabric of words is access to imagination and knowledge beyond the word, or sequence of words, spoken.

Looking back now, I can also see the incredible capacity of the human mind to represent the real world with words and internal imagery, as well as to create false realities while remaining utterly convinced of their “truth,” even in the face of non-supporting facts. As a young boy, around four, I remember having a doll named Percy, who sometimes talked with me and even spoke to me once over the telephone. I briefly had my sister convinced that Percy talked to me, and she was six years of age!  The fundamental truth here is that our Creative Nature makes us believe in, see, and hear our creations, whether or not they exist for others. Percy was to me what the concept and experience of “God” was to other innocent children: a reassuring voice that would speak to me and remind me that I had value.

Illusions can become contagious if not recognized and reigned in early. What is truth? Sometimes, we must remain open to a mystery that far transcends our simple explanations. This book touches extensively upon the many self-destructive and false stories and realities, as well as the unique, and often life-affirming truths, that I, as an individual person and as a collective, acculturated human being, was subjected to and consciously and unconsciously adapted to throughout my life. In some of the early times of my life, before my addictive cycles, I carried with me a sense of isolation, depression, and a strong feeling of generalized anxiety.

From 1971 through 1987, as a practicing alcohol abuser, drug addict, and mentally ill human being, I lost most of my remaining freedom of choice. I belonged to the death wish core group of Americans, who lived lives of desperation, addiction, suicidal ideation, and mental illness. We all sought an early death, either by our own hands, through our addictions, or by the poor health and relationship decisions that we continued to make.

Many of us could see the insanity of those still claiming for themselves good mental health, while the choices of those supposedly “healthy people of the world” continued to bring the promise of destruction to our planet Earth. While we contemplated our own end, we witnessed a world amid its own collective march towards suicide. The story of Armageddon, as both an individual and a collective event, becomes very real to those trapped by their illusions of powerlessness, helplessness, and despair.

We are the loosely knit tribe most susceptible to the oppression by others and the repression of ourselves. We are the prime candidates for political and religious propaganda. We may seek a new tribe that gives us a sense of safety and purpose and eventually adopt their stories as our own, even if our anticipated benefits come at the expense of other innocent people or groups.

We have become limited caricatures of ourselves as we continue to play to stereotypes that those in power have thrust upon us. We do not have the emotional and spiritual intelligence to discern what is accurate and what is false about ourselves. The stories that continue to be told to us keep us connected with a minimal view of “our people,” all the while keeping us disconnected from our own true natures and more realistic story integrity.

A spiritual awakening process beginning in 1987 was the start of my exit from the chaotic mindset that characterized my life up to that point. Since 1987, I have lived more fully, with enhanced personal awareness, good health, honest expression of all feelings, joy and happiness most of the time, and almost continuous sobriety.

My own living, dynamic story has become forefront in my mind, and having examined my life to its deepest core, I have seen what the source of my own spiritual disease and despair was. And I finally found a way to describe the foundational dynamics of both personal and collective consciousness that contributed to my disease and to all of our suffering. I need no longer be an unwilling participant and just another silent partner in the conspiracy of silence.

“if you tell a big enough lie and tell it frequently enough, it will be believed.” ― Adolf Hitler.

If you tell a lie often enough, you are prone to start to actually believe it yourself. All of the internal defense mechanisms are engaged to support the story and to maintain the lies’ existence, and the corruption that living a lie creates can become part of our nature. Be careful; the world and our minds can be dangerous places. Unlike TV entertainment series, where the programs have the potential to resolve the contrived issues before the ending of the weekly show, life carries our issues for prolonged periods, sometimes whole lifetimes, if we do not find a way to dislodge our lies and our stories of disease and dysfunction from the cells of our bodies, and from our consciousness. There is no freedom to be found if we do not first see that we are trapped.

Pay attention to our stories, many of which have created quite a mess to sort through. Constantly question reality, search for available facts, and learn not to unconsciously accept statements from authority figures. “Reality,” many times, is only someone else’s opinion about “what is,” so a cautious, probing mind, not rushing to simplistic conclusions or susceptible to popular suggestion or hypnotism, is required to maintain or re-establish personal integrity, healing, sanity, and reason.

It has been a great challenge and adventure to live this life. It has also been a terrific fulfillment to have lived long enough and become articulate enough to describe my unique life experience. I bring my extended journey into the mystery of human consciousness and its corruption into the verbal universe. Finding my unique story and the supportive silence underneath that story is the journey of my salvation, the hero’s journey toward healing and integrity.

What is “reality,” and who am I? Watch out, for more stories are constantly forming around those questions!   I am what I am, but I am not what I seem.  We all need a bigger story with more heart and healing, higher accuracy, and maximum inclusivity!

It is what it is, but it is not what it seems. If our minds finally find our innocence, our unconditioned minds directly witness what it is.    

The Descent Into Isolation

In an increasingly connected world, it might seem counterintuitive that many individuals are experiencing profound isolation. Yet, the reality is that isolation is a growing issue, manifesting on multiple levels—physical, emotional, spiritual, and social. This descent into ultimate isolation often leads to an anonymous death and an unremarked hereafter. Let’s explore these levels and discuss how healthcare professionals and community leaders can intervene.

The first phase is physical isolation, where individuals may experience health issues, lack of mobility, and decreased physical connection with others. Chronic illnesses, disabilities, and aging can limit one’s ability to participate in daily activities. This isolation can exacerbate health problems, leading to a vicious cycle that further restricts physical engagement.

Key Points:

• Health issues limit mobility.
• Decreased physical interaction leads to worsening health.
• Isolation becomes a self-perpetuating cycle.

Next comes emotional isolation, marked by feelings of loneliness, despair, and a sense of being emotionally disconnected from the world. Emotional isolation can stem from various sources such as the loss of loved ones, breakdown of relationships, or chronic mental health issues. The impact is devastating, often leading to depression and anxiety.

Key Points:

• Loneliness and despair dominate.
• Emotional disconnection from the world.
• Heightened risk of depression and anxiety.

Spiritual isolation is where people may struggle to find meaning, purpose, and a sense of belonging, leading to a disconnect from their spiritual beliefs and practices. This phase is particularly insidious because it attacks the core of an individual’s identity and worldview. When people lose touch with their spiritual selves, they often feel adrift and purposeless.

Key Points:

• Loss of meaning and purpose.
• Disconnect from spiritual beliefs and practices.
• Core identity and worldview are affected.

Social isolation can be caused by various factors, including changing social dynamics, geographic isolation, and a lack of social support networks. In our transient society, it’s not uncommon for social ties to weaken over time, leaving individuals without a robust support network. This phase often compounds the effects of physical, emotional, and spiritual isolation.

Key Points:

• Changing social dynamics.
• Geographic isolation.
• Lack of social support networks.

The combined impact of these levels of isolation on an individual’s well-being is profound. Each phase feeds into the next, creating a downward spiral that is difficult to escape. Health deteriorates, emotional and spiritual well-being declines, and social ties fray. However, it’s crucial to recognize that intervention and support can make a significant difference.

Key Points:

• Isolation impacts overall well-being.
• Each phase exacerbates the next.
• Intervention and support are critical.

Healthcare professionals and community leaders are uniquely positioned to identify and address these layers of isolation. By fostering a culture of empathy and connection, they can help individuals break free from the chains of isolation. Here are some strategies:

• Healthcare Professionals:
• Conduct regular mental and physical health screenings.
• Facilitate support groups and community health programs.
• Encourage physical activity and social engagement.
• Community Leaders:
• Promote community events and social gatherings.
• Develop programs to connect isolated individuals with volunteers.
• Advocate for policies that support mental health and community well-being.

Key Points:

• Regular health screenings and support groups.
• Community events and volunteer programs.
• Advocacy for supportive policies.p

Isolation is a multifaceted issue that requires a holistic approach to address. By understanding the physical, emotional, spiritual, and social dimensions of isolation, healthcare professionals and community leaders can develop effective strategies to combat it. Let’s work together to create a more connected, compassionate, and supportive society.

Call to Action:

If you are a healthcare professional or community leader, consider how you can implement these strategies in your practice or community. Together, we can make a difference in the lives of those who are isolated, ensuring that everyone feels seen, heard, and valued.