Monday, May 11, 2020

Controversial Thoughts

Controversial Thoughts

Some people think that they do not need to wear a mask during the pandemic, because it is "my body, my choice." Or, those who do not receive vaccines for themselves or their children. Are they putting others at risk of spreading the disease that they have not contained?

Reminds me of abortion rights. "My body, my choice: to keep the child. Or not."

What opinest thou?

Discuss.

I was going to write about something...

I was going to write about something...

It was not going to be about ee cummings, or Robert Frost, or not even a poet.

How many poets are there?

Some write and compose them on pieces of paper, maybe a toilet paper roll...

Never to be heard or seen again.

We believe that by publishing on the Internet, the World wide web, that there is some pretext of permanence.

Maybe.

I think I was going to write about going to my 50th state in my 50th year.

And then things ending.

Corona virus, aka COVID-19, aka the pandemic crisis has stopped this process for now.

But maybe not next time...

The vaccine will alleviate fears, and maybe I will make it while 50.

The world could end then, or at least for some of us.

Sunday, May 10, 2020

2,000 Easters, April 2020

2,000 Easters, April 2020

We are approaching two thousand Easter Sundays since the first precipitating event in 33 A.D.; we suppose there are some 13 more years to go till two millennia will have passed since then, when Jesus of Nazareth was tried and hanged on the cross at Calvary. That will be in 2033. Yours truly would be 62 that future spring, if favored to be around. Wow. Age happens! I was just an awkward 8th grader a few weeks ago...

May we all live till then, no? See you in thirteen more springs.

Meanwhile, in the present, 2020, we are doing our Easter-in-place, many or most of us, due to a pandemic that has sheltered us in our homes and not attending church or other congregrated activities, including eating or shopping or carousing in public venues.

What an Easter Sunday, what a time of the world's history!

The original Easter was the Jewish Passover, so it is safe to say that the alleged Resurrection took many people by surprise, since according to the surviving texts, even the original 12 apostles were astounded by the miraculous return of this Jesus of Nazareth three days after his crucifixion. This is the primary Christian narrative of events.

Approximately seven centuries later, or some 600 Easters later, the Prophet Muhammad received his revelations through what we acknowledge this many years afterwards the Quran, literally the recitation. Islam forever altered the former Jewish narrative turned Christian. A fork in the road of history was staked back to the first sons of Abraham, at the time firmly a Jewish, or at least Hebrew, line of people. Abraham had still a couple more generations, through his great-grandson Judah, to really kick off the Jewish people, those claiming their forefather patriarch Judah.

In 2020, today, Sunday 19 April, is the traditional celebrated Easter of 300 million of the Orthodox Christian world. Happy Easter to them and us!

Worldwide there are over two billion Christians in name. How devoted those people are from the East to the West of the planet in all corners, is all up to conjecture. Some nominal Catholics, the biggest of all the faiths under the umbrella of Christendom, has many members that are more aptly described as secular, or sometimes lapsed. This phenomenon is natural and occurs in every faith system.

More Christians do seem to get active in the Easter season than most times of the year, safe to say, perhaps even more than the winter Christmas celebrations. Something about the time of spring and overcoming death, and in most respects memorializing all humanity and our kindred dead is a big deal, and if that does not call membership to its churches' pews, little else will.

I wanted to contemplate and reflect on the close to two thousand years of Easter, and put things into a different light. I recently finished a rather powerful book by James Michener book called "The Source", which covers tens of thousands of years of history. I will do less, and in a different fashion. (His book contains dozens if not hundreds of characters, many of them impressively researched in their historical contexts; the book goes over a thousand pages! I finished reading it this last month, finally...)

The first year memorializing Easter was probably an interesting time for the Christians of that time. Most of them probably had met and talked to the Savior, and many of them were probably struggling to deal with both the dominant Jewish leaders and the Roman rulers. But if the happenings of Jesus and the other resurrected dead were true, many of them were convinced and steadfast, probably more so than during the three-year ministry of Christ.

Year 34. New and amazing times, a small minority of believers but they had witnessed the miracle. Paul was probably learning to hate these upstarts by then.

Year 40. Things were probably picking up steam, apostles traveling farther and farther to spread the word. Matthias, the replacement of Judas Iscariot, most likely carried his weight as a witness of Jesus.

Year 70. The Jews were expelled from Jerusalem in a crushing defeat by the Romans. While Rome was far from favorable towards Christians, the lack of the Jewish leadership probably helped Christians control more of the narrative of the Holy Land. Paul was doing his huge missions across the Mediterranean, which had lasting impacts across the centuries.

Year 100. Easter on a rounded year.  Perhaps arbitrary by historical standards in the history of the movement of Christians, but we of a smaller Christian minority believe in the extra powerful
witness and presence of John the Beloved and Revelator, who, while banished to the Greek island of Patmos, would go on to live until His return, doing Christ' bidding in whichever way possible. It was promised to him by Jesus Himself, according to some modern day Christians. By now all the other first-hand witnesses were gone and the second and third generation of Christian pioneers were establishing themselves and growing. The legacy of the original twelve apostles perhaps grew larger in the next waves of those that believed, and the Apostolic Fathers, many modern Catholics and Orthodox considering their continuity of leadership since Peter, were going on and building the communities of Jesus.


Year 200. Christianity had legs, a tradition to uphold. Christians were making their ways into many places around the world. The oldest Christian lands included the Holy Land of Palestine, Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, Turkey, and Greece, but also into Africa in nearby Egypt and further off Abyssinia, now known as Ethiopia. Apostolic fathers, as they were known, were the main authorities of doctrine, practice, and authority for this ecclesiastical movement.


Year 310 or so. Emperor Constantin of Rome adopted the Christian religion to his state, which changed the course of history and the culture of the Christian Church. The Roman Catholics wanted to believe and enforce that they were the only "Universal" Church and priesthood of Jesus and His apostles, but worldwide there were Orthodox Christians and other small sects, like the Gnostics, who were going strong and creating their own Christian paths and traditions, albeit in smaller numbers. The Vatican in Rome would become a centralized place of power and reach. All roads lead there, even now we know this expression.

The Pontiff or Pope became one of the most popular and powerful persons in the world.

Year 400 or so. Rome as an empire was in decline but the Holy See (not sure when that name was attributed to the Pope) had by now become ensconced as a position of power and authority. Christian Orthodox sects were still developing in pockets of the Middle East and Africa. Parts of Europe were being evangelized, as Christianity has a way of spreading from one to another.

Year 500. The Roman Empire was over, but the power of the the Western world and the locus of Christian thought went to Constantinople, the bridge of worlds in Asia Minor, close to the original communities of Jesus in that cradle of civilization thanks in large part to the faith and efforts of Paul, in the first century after Christ's three year ministry. Interesting how a few individuals can so change human history! A message and its themes resonate; the rest of us choose to cling to or react in our particular ways to those movements and organizations based on said ideas and personalities. Things develop and evolve, or sometimes go caterwauling into destruction... Certainly violence and tragedy through natural and human means occurs. The human species and the rest of the life forms continue to expand or peter out. Adapting, overcoming, or succumbing as almost all life must do. Stasis is critical. Religions and belief-systems are the same.

Year 1,000. A five hundred year leap (for the purposes of this exercise! The somewhat popular television and movie series Star Trek is supposed to take place in the years 2266 and thereabouts, with the original characters. That fictitious scenario was planted some 300 years of span from the time of its creation. The lesser known story, Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, an older perhaps simpler story of the future events of earthlings and others, was imagined a good five hundred years distantly from our time, or the epoch in which it was created. Considering either story line, my point is that it is difficult for many of us to fathom and dissect how long 300 or 500 years are.

Yesterday I went for a walk with my family along Goose Creek and the "mighty" Potomac River in Northern Virginia. We saw a very large tree along the banks-- I asked my college age daughter how old she thought it might be. She first said 500 years old, and when I questioned that, she amended her guess to two hundred. Either way, since the seed of its inception in 1820 or 1520, that is a very long time to consider. Most of the human species is lucky to live a century, and with our combined generations we are fortunate to see into the past another 40 to maybe 70 years, based on the parents, grandparents, and occasional great-grandparents that we know. Of course books, records, ancient texts, and archeological findings supply us with longer term knowledge. We historians and scientists attempt to put together the puzzle pieces of the past to arrive at where we are now, what we were then, and who we might become.

Christianity grew and grew, dominating Europe and expanding into Russia, Scandinavia, making further inroads into to the Middle East and parts of the Far East, thanks mostly due to the Silk Road (see a tremendous book by such name, The Silk Roads: A New History of the World, written by Peter Frankopan, published in 2016).

In the Year One thousand, marked by His birth in Western calendars, some 967 years after the death and resurrection of Jesus, witnessed the great schism between the Roman Catholic and the Eastern Orthodox branches. It took this long for many of the leaders within the Byzantine Empire to finally be cleaved for good. Over a thousand years later they have not reconciled, far into the 21st century.

Many Christians in the Western world forget about the Eastern Orthodox, based in Greece, Russia, the Slavic states, large parts of Africa. And the oldest Christian nation, Armenia, not to mention the Orthodox Christians among the Arab states.

Year 1300. The Dark Ages are in full swing, Christendom had plodded along and continued to grow, politics played out in feudal economics and nation building. Christians were fighting back in Europe against the Muslim advances in Spain and Hungary or central and Eastern Europe. The Crusades brought bloody battles and long held grievances back to the Holy Land. The wars between the East and West continued in the Holy Land, and Islam and its message had spread far across the ancient continents with its principles of life and the after life. Christians and Jews lives decently in most Muslim and Arab settings, experiencing better lives than the darker and dirtier worlds of Christian Europe.

Year 1500. Columbus' discovery changed everything. A whole new world, as Aladdin from Disney proclaims. The Vikings in the previous centuries had traipsed among the New World and possibly encountered a few of the First Nations, as the Canadians call them, and the natives of the New World had populated the length of the Western Hemisphere for millennia, but it was not until this Italian under the Spanish flag brought back word of the riches of the "Indies" that the floodgates opened, and the quest for God, gold, and glory was on. UCLA's Jared Diamond could tell you a lot more, but suffice it to say that the Roman Catholic Church became a powerhouse with tribe after tribe, through Spanish, Portuguese, French, and Belgian explorers, including Italians like Vespucci that the new part of the world wound up being named after. Other religious colonists settling the new world made their imprint: The British colonists were doing their thing in the soon to be American colonies, like the Pilgrims and those that followed in Massachusetts, but this by 1620 and on into the 17th century.

It took a full century after the Columbus voyages to the WHEM, (the Western Hemisphere as we call it at work), but Christians were converting the natives through Catholic missionaries from the Guarani of Paraguay to the Ojibwa of Quebec and the upper reaches of Canada. The First Nations were being exposed to the new Easter beliefs of the Resurrection, while many died of new disease strains and some foreign violence of these new western peoples (dominated by the Roman heritage that they shared),  they learned of the God of New Birth and Eternal Life. Catholic priests of varying orders settled far and wide, the Jesuits, the Franciscans, the Dominicans, and they did this into Africa, South Asia, Southeast Asia, into the Far East.

Year 1700. The Western powers were making their way across the new world, while also establishing major trade routes into the African continent, the Middle East, and the rest of Asia and on to the Pacific lands.

Christian powered nations brought African slaves to the New World, many of these new inhabitants of North America, the Caribbean,  and South America becoming Christian believers and practitioners.

Year 1800. Globalization was coming to its fore with the Empires that spread from Europe. Land empires had made their impact, now the naval powers asserted their influence across the seas and up rivers and lakes and flood plains world-wide, the islands receiving their missionaries and priests bringing the Good News of the Resurrected Jesus.

Year 1900. Roman Catholics and mainline Protestants had filled the Western Hemisphere, had colonized most of Africa, Australia and the south Pacific and the Philippines were firmly Christianized, much of Asia had its Christian roots spread through the Muslim and other traditional Asian lands, like Indonesia, India, Vietnam, China, and Japan, Korea.

While the messages of Christ-based hope and Easter life spread globally, unfortunately much of the Christian and Western world brought new colonial and mercantile practices of profit and subjugation. Some deeply religious people moved among others who cared more for wealth expansion and profiteering, or the formerly poor who simply wished to stake out their own new lands and work their physical salvation, worked out by the underpinning principles of largely Christian beliefs, from Catholic countries like Ireland and Italy, or the Orthodox peoples of Eastern Europe. Sprinkled among them were Jews and some Muslims, but the Christian world was growing, ever expanding, even Protestant evangelicals alighting in former Roman Catholic strongholds of South America.

Secularism, popular among some elites since the Renaissance, was also a force among the scientific minded and those Western-based thinkers that believed capitalism, or the new theorized Marxisms or other developed modern philosophies of science or economics carried greater weight than simplistic or outdated religious traditions and systems.

Year 1950. Christianity had gone to blows through the World Wars and survived, albeit bruised or tortured, despite the mixed Christian Germany and Catholic Italy becoming the would-be instigators of world domination and terrible destroyer of the Jewish across the width and breadth of Europe. Japan possessed its own divine tautology, which met its fate in the United States. I recently watched a 2016 film about the ravages of the battles of Okinawa, and read on a Jeff Shaara book on the same subject last year, concluded by the nuclear weapons deployed, and the awful killing of the two theaters of that last world war are still jarring to our 21st century senses. Despite the march of Communism across the populations and the those who fight and oppose it, "religiously" dominated regimes have left their imprint on our collective psyche.

Israel re-established, a new Jewish state revived among the Muslims and and the ancient Christians, while newer non-mainstream Christian  faiths were spreading their word and congregations across the globe. Jehovah's Witnesses, Seventh-day Adventists, and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormons) were becoming known throughout new and disparate populations worldwide, each with their own message of Christ and His promised life after death.

Secularism had its place, and other newer aged beliefs and peoples also came onto the scene, like L. Ron Hubbard and Scientology, or into the 1960s Hindu-based Hari Krishna or the Zen Buddhists, with the ever irrepressible growth of Islam, spurring Black Muslims in the United States and other forgotten sects of a the singular faith in every corner of the map.

Year 2000. A time and place where I was fully aware and living in, breathing in the intricacies of world geo-politics, religious movements, the continued rise of the secular movements and systems, the age of of the "nones", those that were "spiritual" but not religious, because to many of them religion was an ugly word and concept, a creator or sower of divisiveness, prejudice, or hate. Religions represented antiquated and oppressive ideas that only kept progressive and liberal, i.e. modern or post-modern good trends from fully establishing their presence where humanity, in the end, would arrive.

Social media through the Internet and other newer technologies were growing and expanding to the degree where institutional faiths could take a background and lives of those "nones", or maybe "nons", non-religious folks who could be filled richly with other thoughts and kind or humanitarian endeavors and groups, thus easing the conscience of those who wished to be a positive contributor and participant of what was right about the world as we knew it without an organized faith to align with, entering the current century, the 21st since Jesus Christ, 21 epochs to count and recount, while acerbic comedians and others of the new world intelligentsia mocked the old-fashioned and non-scientific acts of the past, namely the Resurrection, or any other of the Biblical miracles of traditional Christianity or the other monotheistic traditions.

Buddhism made more sense to the modern thinking science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke, since it was more about the inner self and mind consciousness than the outward vestiges of old time religion. Socialists and communists had their proposed answers, too, always. We the people were the Gods of this world, it was upon the secular governments to create life and order it, as we saw fit, an unknown, invisible higher God was not tenable. Even Israel had its secular believers rather than the ultra-orthodox non-gun toters, the ardent believers that would rather die in their convictions than stand up to and push out the Palestinians, or Shia militants, or other extremist jihadi Muslims that would recover the Holy City of al-Qodz (Arabic for holy, the holy place), Jerusalem: the Holy Mosque and the more visibly recognizable Haram as-Sharif in the heart of the Old City for their millions and billions of faithful. The Temple Mount of the Jewish peoples, the site of Mount Moriah and Abraham and his ancient destiny now considered through millions or billions of lenses some 4 millennia later

Here we are.

"Next year Jerusalem." "Or, "Next year in Yerushaleim." A different meaning for the Christians, the Jews, the Muslims, those historical sects that concentrate their thoughts and prayers on the fulcrum of belief and history, the anvil of belief and time, the crucible where the man of the lake, or Jesus of Galilee, was to be laid down and risen on the 3rd day. A weekend of weekends, for sure.

Debates ensue, details become obfuscated, religious and secular empires like the Romans involve their heavy hand, a Caesar must always be involved, whether it is a Napoleon of his age or a Mao Zae Dong of ours...

Year 2020. The present. Many believers, many atheists and agnostics who have little time for such old wives' tales, and the ones in between who cannot be sure. People of my faith go out in the thousands every year to an increasing number of ethnic groups and languages, proclaiming the supreme sovereignty of Jesus the Anointed One, the Promised Messiah, the Christ, as people of my faith are unique in proclaiming.

Not just Christ. The Christ. Capital of Capitals. The end all and be all, the Alpha and Omega.

Endless His priesthoods. The Master, the Saviour, the Redeemer, the Advocate with the Father.

So, where do we all fall on Easter? Will we rise again? Did He?

Have you ever felt that hope? I have.

Despite all the nay-sayers, the non-believers, the adamant atheists and the humble agnostics, the proclaimers of this reality or that, I do believe He was who he said He was. He has risen.

I have stood, like Him not quite two thousand years ago, looking west across the Kidron Valley into the Old City, the City of David, the Qodz of billions, the site of traffic and turmoil for millions of others, the graves aligning the hills on both sides, the Jewish, the Muslim, the Christian tombs in silent repose, notably that of Oscar Schindler, made famous for his bravery and the gratitude and vision of people like Stephen Spielberg hailing this Gentile man who saved hundreds, for saving those lives in the darkest hours of our shared human experience... The grave stones like those of my mother in far off Daviess County, Indiana, like billions of others: some in crematorium halls, others' weathered or wilted corpses left in unmarked rivers and jungles and desert wastes and mountain lairs and caves across the continents and smaller isles, still others in the microbes and corals of the vast and deep seas and oceans, perhaps other bodies frozen in tundras and ice, from the poles to the highest peaks and climes.

We all wait, we will all get there. And maybe Christ, The Christ, will come back to raise us up.

The First and the Last will seek His first and last, millions and billions of us, on that great Easter Day not too far from now, or maybe deeper into the future than I can tell.

I hope to see you then. I hope to see my mom again. I hope to see others that no longer live in 2020. I hope I can be worthy of such a fate.

And, I hope in The One that has caused the hopes of many to be lifted, and at times the same name used to twist and crush each other. Like a grape farmer or olive orchard keeper crushes the precious juices of his life giving fruits, we will be crushed into everlasting beings of goodness, perfection, and sublime beauty. Or not.

I choose the Easter Resurrection, come Heaven or low water.

Happy Easter 2020, in the deadly time of the Wuhan virus. Choose life. Be safe, and be ready for that day when we all sink and go below, to come back again as some new creature, whether as us as presently constituted, or as other atoms and molecules, moving on in the universe of entropy and multi-factored elements.









Thursday, May 7, 2020

Run for Your Life

Run for Your Life

Only some people do it. I have done it; I generally don't, although I do it in short bursts when I regularly play basketball. Try to play b-ball once a week, normally. And then, a few times a year, I run for intervals of 10, 12, 14, up to 19-20 minutes. Tracks or streets, ran for those periods of time.

Run, run, run.

Some people run long distances consistently. Good for them, mostly. There are a few detractors from running, which negatives usually are far outweighed by the benefits and positives.

Running helps the cardio-vascular system, primarily, which in turn benefits the rest of the body and the mind.

Running is generally good, but at times it is not recommended. Do you need a running plan?

Perhaps everyone should have one, some way of thinking about running, or jogging, or walking fast.

Running my mouth... In print, in a blog, in an essay, in a book, in a report, in article.

Run, baby, run. An old comic about a gang hoodlum gone Christian. "Run, baby, run!"

Run on, run away, run over, run up.

Run it.

Wednesday, May 6, 2020

Carl Jung and the Chain of Fools

Carl Jung and the Chain of Fools

It all comes around, karma dictates. We reap what we sow; more over we are all linked eternally, they say. This is in the spiritual realms, but science has some answers and explanations of our collective connectivity as humans and animals and tribes and cultures, kin and family alike.

My daughter reminded me that Carl Jung, the protege of none other than Sigmund Freud, the all time cultural scientific wacko (maybe not too big an influence on those like Hitler or other German supremacists),  the same Carl Jung that my former college professor Doctor Hilda Rojas thought people of Brigham Young University of my faith ought to buy into as she taught me back in the 1990s, that we all are part of a collective sub-conscious, which manifests itself in many uncanny ways.

We are all connected, some how, or even linked and co-linked in most ways. Socially, economically, culturally, militarily, spiritually, religiously, nationally, internationally, by neighborhood, by community, by team or by association, financial guild or investment plan. Connected by race, language, ethnic group, gender, age, profession, hobby, interest.  So we all help each other, or hurt each other, or at minimum influence each other, consciously or subconsciously. Perhaps the overt conscious memories and fore front designs of our brains and thoughts are in fact the most powerful ones that drive us; then again, maybe the more covert subconscious, even this alleged Jungian collective, may have the overall most powerful drive within ALL of us, as this species, assorted and categorized across the planet and soon enough into the stars...

So I had this idea about someone telling me x, and then telling someone else this x, and he tells her x plus n, and she tells them x plus n , and they tell me in a new way x plus n minus y , and so on.

We are legion, as it were. We all communicate and speak to each other, even across the many generations, likely as far back as the ones who spoke no audible words but only grunts and cries, more like apes or wolves or bears.

We are connected.

I had some specific thoughts as to share as an example, a daisy chain of a thought or idea or message told to me, learned by me, and then passed on, and so on and so on, but I will let this sit in our thought processes for now.

Good evening and good night.

Tuesday, May 5, 2020

Love Letters from a Guy Named Feynman

Pocket worthyStories to fuel your mind.


Love After Life: Nobel-Winning Physicist Richard Feynman’s Extraordinary Letter to His Departed Wife

Where the hard edge of physics meets the vulnerable metaphysics of the human heart.


Brain PickingsMaria Popova




Arline and Richard, 1940s

Few people have enchanted the popular imagination with science more powerfully and lastingly than physicist Richard Feynman (May 11, 1918–February 15, 1988) — the “Great Explainer” with the uncommon gift for bridging the essence of science with the most human and humane dimensions of life.
Several months after Feynman’s death, while working on what would become Genius: The Life and Science of Richard Feynman (public library) — the masterly biography plumbing the wellspring of Feynman’s genius — James Gleick discovered something of arresting strangeness and splendor.
“My heart stopped,” Gleick tells me. “I have never had an experience like that as a biographer, before or since.”
In a mass of unread papers sent to him by Feynman’s widow, Gweneth, Gleick found a letter that discomposed his most central understanding of Feynman’s character. A generation after computing pioneer Alan Turing tussled with the binary code of body and spirit in the wake of loss, Feynman — a scientist perhaps uncommonly romantic yet resolutely rational and unsentimental in his reverence for the indomitable laws of physics that tend toward decay — penned a remarkable letter to a physical nonentity that was, for the future Nobel-winning physicist, the locus of an irrepressible metaphysical reality.



Richard Feynman as a youth
In high school, the teenage Richard spent summers at the beach in his native Far Rockaway. There, he grew besotted with a striking girl named Arline — a girl he knew he would marry. Both complement and counterpoint to his own nature, Arline met Richard’s inclination for science with ardor for philosophy and art. (The art class he took just to be near her would lay the foundation for his little-known, lifelong passion for drawing.) By his junior year, Richard proposed. Arline accepted. With the eyes of young love, they peered into a shared future of infinite possibility for bliss.



Richard and Arline, 1940s
But they were abruptly grounded when a mysterious malady began afflicting Arline with inexplicable symptoms — a lump would appear and disappear on her neck, fevers would roil over her with no apparent cause. Eventually, she was hospitalized for what was believed to be typhoid.
Gleick writes:
Feynman began to glimpse the special powerlessness that medical uncertainty can inflict on a scientific person. He had come to believe that the scientific way of thinking brought a measure of calmness and control in difficult situations — but not now.
Just as Feynman began bombarding the doctors with questions that steered them toward a closer approximation of the scientific method, Arline began to recover just as mysteriously and unpredictably as she had fallen ill. But the respite was only temporary. The symptoms returned, still shorn of a concrete explanation but now unambiguously pointing toward the terminal — a prognosis Arline’s doctors kept from her. Richard refused to go along with the deception — he and Arline had promised each other to face life with unremitting truthfulness — but he was forced to calibrate his commitment to circumstance.
Gleick writes:
His parents, Arline’s parents, and the doctors all urged him not to be so cruel as to tell a young woman she was dying. His sister, Joan, sobbing, told him he was stubborn and heartless. He broke down and bowed to tradition. In her room at Farmingdale Hospital, with her parents at her side, he confirmed that she had glandular fever. Meanwhile, he started carrying around a letter — a “goodbye love letter,” as he called it — that he planned to give her when she discovered the truth. He was sure she would never forgive the unforgivable lie.
He did not have long to wait. Soon after Arline returned home from the hospital she crept to the top of the stairs and overheard her mother weeping with a neighbor down in the kitchen. When she confronted Richard — his letter snug in his pocket — he told her the truth, handed her the letter, and asked her to marry him.


Marriage, however, proved to be a towering practical problem — Princeton, where Feynman was now pursuing a Ph.D., threatened to withdraw the fellowships funding his graduate studies if he were to wed, for the university considered the emotional and pragmatic responsibilities of marriage a grave threat to academic discipline.
Just as Feynman began considering leaving Princeton, a diagnosis detonated the situation — Arline had contracted a rare form of tuberculosis, most likely from unpasteurized milk.
At first, Feynman was relieved that the grim alternative options of Hodgkin’s disease and incurable cancers like lymphoma had been ruled out. But he was underestimating, or perhaps misunderstanding, the gravity of tuberculosis — the very disease which had taken the love of Alan Turing’s life and which, during its two-century heyday, had claimed more lives around the globe than any other malady and all wars combined. At the time of Arline’s diagnosis in 1941, immunology was in its infancy, the antibiotic treatment of bacterial infections practically nonexistent, and the first successful medical application of penicillin a year away. Tuberculosis was a death sentence, even if it was a slow death with intervals of remission — a fact Richard and Arline faced with an ambivalent mix of brave lucidity and hope against hope.
Meanwhile, Richard’s parents met the prospect of his marriage with bristling dread. His mother, who believed he was marrying Arline out of pity rather than love, admonished him that he would be putting his health and his very life in danger, and coldly worried about how the stigma attached to tuberculosis would impact her brilliant young son’s reputation. “I was surprised to learn such a marriage is not unlawful,” she scoffed unfeelingly. “It ought to be.”
But Richard was buoyed by love — a love so large and luminous that he found himself singing aloud one day as he was arranging Arline’s transfer to a sanatorium. Determined to go through with the wedding, he wrote to his beloved:
I guess maybe it is like rolling off of a log — my heart is filled again & I’m choked with emotions — and love is so good & powerful — it’s worth preserving — I know nothing can separate us — we’ve stood the tests of time and our love is as glorious now as the day it was born — dearest riches have never made people great but love does it every day — we’re not little people — we’re giants … I know we both have a future ahead of us — with a world of happiness — now & forever.
On June 29, 1942, they promised each other eternity.



Richard and Arline on their wedding day
Gleick writes:
He borrowed a station wagon from a Princeton friend, outfitted it with mattresses for the journey, and picked up Arline in Cedarhurst. She walked down her father’s hand-poured concrete driveway wearing a white dress. They crossed New York Harbor on the Staten Island ferry — their honeymoon ship. They married in a city office on Staten Island, in the presence of neither family nor friends, their only witnesses two strangers called in from the next room. Fearful of contagion, Richard did not kiss her on the lips. After the ceremony he helped her slowly down the stairs, and onward they drove to Arline’s new home, a charity hospital in Browns Mills, New Jersey.
Meanwhile, WWII was reaching its crescendo of destruction, dragging America into the belly of death with the attack on Pearl Harbor. Now one of the nation’s most promising physicists, Feynman was recruited to work on what would become the Manhattan Project and soon joined the secret laboratory in Los Alamos.



Feynman’s Los Alamos badge
Arline entered the nearby Albuquerque sanatorium, from where she wrote him letters in code — for the sheer fun of it, because she knew how he cherished puzzles, but the correspondence alarmed the military censors at the laboratory’s Intelligence Office. Tasked with abating any breaches to the secrecy of the operation, they cautioned Feynman that coded messages were against the rules and demanded that his wife include a key in each letter to help them decipher it. This only amplified Arline’s sense of fun — she began cutting holes into her letters, covering passages with ink, and even mail-ordered a jigsaw puzzle kit with which to cut up the pages and completely confound the agents.
But the levity masked the underlying darkness which Richard and Arline tried so desperately to evade — Arline was dying. As her body failed, he steadied himself to her spirit:
You are a strong and beautiful woman. You are not always as strong as other times but it rises & falls like the flow of a mountain stream. I feel I am a reservoir for your strength — without you I would be empty and weak… I find it much harder these days to write these things to you.
In every single letter, he told her that he loved her. “I have a serious affliction: loving you forever,” he wrote.



Richard and Arline at the Albuquerque sanatorium
In early 1945, two and a half years into their marriage, Richard and Arline made love for the first time. He had been too afraid of harming her frail health somehow, she too afraid of infecting him with the deadly bacterium consuming her. But Arline insisted that this pent up desire could no longer be contained and assured Richard that this would only bring them closer — to each other, and to the life they had so lovingly dreamt up for themselves:
I’ll always be your sweetheart & first love — besides a devoted wife — we’ll be proud parents too… I am proud of you always Richard –[you are] a good husband, and lover, & well, coach, I’ll show you what I mean Sunday.
But heightened as their hopes were by this new dimension of shared experience, Arline’s health continued to plummet. Her weight dropped to eighty-four pounds. Exasperated by the helplessness of medicine, which Feynman had come to see not as a manifestation but as a mutilation of the scientific method, he invested all hope in an experimental drug made of mold growths. “Keep hanging on,” he exhorted Arline. “Nothing is certain. We lead a charmed life.” She began spitting blood.
At twenty-seven, on the precipice of a brilliant scientific career, he was terminally in love.
On June 16, 1945, while working at the computing room at Los Alamos, Feynman received a call from the sanatorium that Arline was dying. He borrowed a colleague’s car and sped to the hospital, where he found her immobile, her eyes barely tracing his movement. Early in his scientific career, he had been animated by the nature of time. Now, hours stretched and contracted as he sat at her deathbed, until one last small breath tolled the end at 9:21PM.
The wake of loss has a way of tranquilizing grief with the pressing demands of practical arrangements — a tranquilizer we take willingly, almost gratefully. The following morning, Feynman arranged for his beloved’s cremation, methodically collected her personal belongings, and on the final page of the small spiral notebook in which she recorded her symptoms he wrote with scientific remove: “June 16 — Death.”
And so we arrive at Gleick’s improbable discovery in that box of letters — improbable because of the extreme rationality with which Feynman hedged against even the slightest intimation of metaphysical conjectures untestable by science and unprovable by reason. During his courtship of Arline, he had been vexed by her enthusiasm for Descartes, whose “proof” of God’s perfection he found intellectually lazy and unbefitting of Descartes’s reputation as a champion of reason. He had impishly countered Arline’s insistence that there are two sides to everything by cutting a piece of paper and half-twisting it into a Möbius strip, the ends pasted together to render a surface with just one side.
Everything that appeared mystical, Feynman believed, was simply an insufficiently explained mystery with a physical answer not yet found. Even Arline’s dying hour had offered testing ground for conviction. Puzzlingly, the clock in the room had stopped at exactly 9:21PM — the time of death. Aware of how this bizarre occurrence could foment the mystical imagination in unscientific minds, Feynman reasoned for an explanation. Remembering that he had repaired the clock multiple times over the course of Arline’s stay at the sanatorium, he realized that the instrument’s unwieldy mechanism must have choked when the nurse picked it up in the low evening light to see and record the time.
How astonishing and how touchingly human, then, that Feynman penned the letter Gleick found in the box forty-two years later — a letter he wrote to Arline in October of 1946, 488 days after her death:
D’Arline,
I adore you, sweetheart.
I know how much you like to hear that — but I don’t only write it because you like it — I write it because it makes me warm all over inside to write it to you.
It is such a terribly long time since I last wrote to you — almost two years but I know you’ll excuse me because you understand how I am, stubborn and realistic; and I thought there was no sense to writing.
But now I know my darling wife that it is right to do what I have delayed in doing, and that I have done so much in the past. I want to tell you I love you. I want to love you. I always will love you.
I find it hard to understand in my mind what it means to love you after you are dead — but I still want to comfort and take care of you — and I want you to love me and care for me. I want to have problems to discuss with you — I want to do little projects with you. I never thought until just now that we can do that. What should we do. We started to learn to make clothes together — or learn Chinese — or getting a movie projector. Can’t I do something now? No. I am alone without you and you were the “idea-woman” and general instigator of all our wild adventures.
When you were sick you worried because you could not give me something that you wanted to and thought I needed. You needn’t have worried. Just as I told you then there was no real need because I loved you in so many ways so much. And now it is clearly even more true — you can give me nothing now yet I love you so that you stand in my way of loving anyone else — but I want you to stand there. You, dead, are so much better than anyone else alive.
I know you will assure me that I am foolish and that you want me to have full happiness and don’t want to be in my way. I’ll bet you are surprised that I don’t even have a girlfriend (except you, sweetheart) after two years. But you can’t help it, darling, nor can I — I don’t understand it, for I have met many girls and very nice ones and I don’t want to remain alone — but in two or three meetings they all seem ashes. You only are left to me. You are real.
My darling wife, I do adore you.
I love my wife. My wife is dead.
Rich.
And then, with the sole defibrillator for heartache we have — humor — Feynman adds:
PS Please excuse my not mailing this — but I don’t know your new address.
Complement this particular portion of the altogether magnificent Genius: The Life and Science of Richard Feynman with Rachel Carson’s stunning deathbed farewell to her beloved and Seneca on resilience in the face of loss, then revisit Feynman on science and religion and the meaning of life.

Searching for Early Self Defining Moments Part 1

Searching for Early Self Defining Moments

A famous psychologist who has published books and dealt with many known and unknown cases of mental health wrote in a book printed in 1999 that the average person, or the normal person, has ten "defining moments" that occur during the course of his or her life, and that many people are unaware or blinded to the significance of these events or incidents that truly define their character, despite the fact that those moments really have shaped them to be the person that they become and those moments still have emotional or mental influence on their feelings, self-concept, and their general welfare years, even decades later, perhaps for the rest of their life.

This well known professional of the mind and human wellness posits that if we as individuals can identify and flesh out those significant incidents in our lives, then perhaps we may be able to unlock answers about ourselves and become the people that we really should be, driven by the passions that we truly care about and the priorities that we love.

I am paraphrasing and summarizing the psychologists' thesis into my own words, but I believe that this is a pretty accurate assessment of what the belief, theory, or system, is, and how the knowledge and analysis of it can help us to be better people, more self-aware, empowered, actualized, if you will, to be passionate and successful.

In order to map out those incidents of our lives that our self-defining and so self-revelatory or powerful to understand, we need to think back on our lives and recall and define those incidents that we can remember and and the consequent results, fleshing it out to arrive at the top ten self-defining moments, in order to ultimately, as they say, "find yourself". He also breaks down those possible self-defining incidents into age brackets in

I thought about quite a few earliest memories from ages 1-5, and I would like to review them and possibly try to narrow them down, and potentially extract and scrutinize if there was one or more that was "self-defining", or perhaps the whole cumulative gamut, in the end, is really what defines me. I believe that my eldest daughter is more of this opinion, and quite a few others, including a few million Scientologists think the same.

1.  Playing Charlie's Angels with my sister Jen and her friend Amanda -- age 5-6
2. Being spanked by my dad at least twice, at least one of those times bare-bottomed by his bare hand. One was by the kitchen table, another I was taken to the bathroom. Maybe I bent (or was bent) over the edge of the tub? Age 3-4
3. Enumerating the seven dwarfs with a stranger in the waiting room of the dentist's or doctor's office, while sitting with mom --age 4-6
4.I wrote many more... In my Almanac book...

TO BE CONTINUED...