Under the Cedars of Edenhope

[With appreciation for apt phrases to poet women of the early Australian bush and to Carl Riseley.]

Milicent Humphries pulled her shawl closer as she sat alone on the porch swing of her Iowa home. She was dreaming of the night, the first time she had peed in a graveyard. She had been eight years old when her Mum took her to visit the grave of Grandma Burns near their home in Edenhope, Victoria.

Of course, Milicent had lived in Australia at the time. Everybody had called her the diminutive “Mili.” It wasn’t until she was eighteen that she married a Yank during The War. He had properly, though not promptly, whisked her away to the United States of America. It had all been such a great adventure.

From a Distance

From a distance, all you hear is the persistent drone, barely audible, like somebody else’s mosquito. I guess that’s why they call them drones. They can linger up there for days, watching and waiting, probably relieving each other like on-duty patrol cops — like slow-motion tag-team wrestling — like owls, waiting for a mouse to make a careless move.

From a distance, the sound recedes into the background cacophony of fans running, children playing, dogs barking, and the shrill horns of motor scooters in traffic. It blends into the sound of life that reassures grandmothers that all is well when they wake momentarily from their afternoon nap. It is the sound of sudden and inescapable death — the thunderbolt of foreign gods thrown from heaven in retribution for unknown sins.

From a distance, remote operators watch, and guide, and drink Coca Cola, and decide who will live and who will die and when. You cannot know the faces of these nameless watchers. You cannot invite them to your daughter’s wedding or your uncle’s funeral.

Life Should Have Meaning

"You know, for some people, having an enemy gives life meaning... especially when they believe God has always liked them best. For others, sharing love and kindly support for others, without reservation, gives their life meaning."
~ David Satterlee

Essay: Implications of the Buddhist “no-self” concept

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Implications of the Buddhist “no-self” concept

From the book: Chum for Thought: Throwing Ideas into Dangerous Waters by David Satterlee

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Hindu #Buddhist #Saints

Chum For Thought:
Throwing Ideas into Dangerous Waters

Implications of the Buddhist “no-self” concept

The Hindu concept of atman is the indestructible essential self, which is reincarnated in a series of corporeal physical existences.

The Buddhist concept of “an-atman” (or no-atman) refutes the idea of an irreducible unitary essence that sustains an existence. An-atman presumes total dissipation at death and rebirth as a new constitution from previous cause.

The implication of an-atman is that no thing or person is special. Wealth accumulated for the sole benefit of self or favored others is meaningless because we are not only related to all else, but are nothing but “all else.”

With the distinction of all things and selves being illusion, there is no need to cling or grasp for anything desired but perceived to be unobtained. In fact, the desire for things-not-had defines the dukkha (“suffering”) of the human condition.

Since the accumulation of ever-increasing possessions and the

Essay: The meaning of the “Sacred”

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The meaning of the “Sacred”

From the book: Chum for Thought: Throwing Ideas into Dangerous Waters by David Satterlee

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#Religion #God #Worship

Chum For Thought:
Throwing Ideas into Dangerous Waters

The meaning of the “Sacred”

Let us take “the sacred” to be that which is accepted (by an individual, culture, etc.) to provide an ultimate reality, value, and meaning for life (Ludwig 3). Although there are some who believe that life holds no meaning and that nothing can be proved, these same people usually choose to keep living and hold some criteria that serves as their basis for making choices. I would propose that a sense of the sacred is universal among self-reflective beings.

With the above definition, “anything” can be sacred. For instance, for the very secular, scientific truth may be held as sacred. Anything that merits the use of ceremony may also be endowed with sacred attachment. In religion, baptism and weddings may actually be called sacraments. In a wider perspective, life is so remarkable, the unlikely conditions that make our life-supporting environment possible are so precious, and the potential of our creative nature is so inspiring, that everything should be sacred.

An unusual predominance of such feelings of sacred fullness and identification was first associated with epileptics in the late 1800s. Since then, a wide range of scientific experiments

Essay: Does positive thinking really work?

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Does positive thinking really work?

From the book: Chum for Thought: Throwing Ideas into Dangerous Waters by David Satterlee

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#Goals, #Focus, #Persistence, #Influence

Chum For Thought:
Throwing Ideas into Dangerous Waters

Does positive thinking really work?

Can "positive" thinking affect your life? Our beliefs often seem to be self-confirming, and we commonly believe in self-fulfilling prophecy, a prediction that makes itself come true. Napoleon Hill wrote a best-selling book years ago called, "Think and Grow Rich," which has gained renewed interest from the public recently.

Also gaining in popularity are the books/CD’s by Dr. Wayne Dyer, Dr. Deepak Chopra, and Mike Dooley regarding one’s ability to think one’s way into health, wealth, and happiness. More recently, a book and movie called "The Secret," talk about a person’s ability to "think" themselves rich, healthy, and happy and gives testimonies from "real" people. Does this stuff really work?

The most obvious answer to the power of positive thinking is the idea that

Story: Being Depressed

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Being Depressed

from the book: Life Will Get You in the End:
Short stories by David Satterlee

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Life Will Get You in the End:
Short Stories by David Satterlee

Being depressed is not a job for wimps. A first-person stream-of-consciousness account. It's kind of depressing, actually. Those of you who have been there may want to avert your eyes.

Being Depressed

The work of being depressed is a fierce and demanding labor. Life, if you can be generous enough to call it that, is lived in the grip of helplessness and impotence, peering without defense at the raving terrors assaulting the small window that promises a meager ration of outside light.

Every act of every person threatens harm. My futon in my private room is my best place. I could almost like being there except for the dreadful lethargy of that place. I tell people that I often lack the will to turn over in bed. If it weren't happening to me, I wouldn’t believe it either. Nothing calls to me to tempt me to give up my nothingness. Nothing makes more sense than laying still. 

I am driving home. Traffic is insane. Every vehicle is hell-bent on its own destruction or mine. Watch everywhere, check the mirrors again. Is he going to pass? Is she going to pull out? The rims on his front wheels are still turning, She might stop or she might pull into me. Take your foot off the gas and keep it poised over the brake. Slow down anyway. If it happens I’ll be going slow enough that only the car will be hurt. Moving past now.  Already scanning ahead. 

I used to drive all the time. I was good at it. It was freedom to move and I was the man and responsible for my precious cargo.  Now, driving is hell. The moan came from me but I didn’t think it. It arose from deep within my chest by its own insistent power. My left knee strikes the door panel, hard. It helped a little. Let it go again. Bam, bam. I’m only twenty minutes from home. Just keep going. Just keep going.

My family wants to help me get out of the house and I agree to go. My wife drives and the boys sit in the back. I’m pressed back into the passenger seat and leaning slightly to the right. I can’t get any further into a corner. 

Maybe they just wanted to eat out and conscience wouldn’t let them leave me behind. Maybe they feel sorry for me or just some urge to comfort the cowering beast. I’ll go. Food is the one thing that I’m not so indifferent to. No, not indifferent, this is what I’m supposed to do and the family is going and so will I.

The parking lot at last. Everybody sees it at the same time I do. There are two people standing outside the front door smoking. I can’t stand smoking. I can’t be close to smoking. Smokers are hateful, unreasonable, and an offense to society. The family just wants to get inside and they urge me to just get past it. I’m going to try. My God, I’m going to try.

Every step closer is harder than the last. I stare at them. It is important that they know how much they offend me. I growl, catch their attention and hiss while I hold my breath and quickly scout around them, keeping at least twelve feet of distance. The family walks ahead; they pretend not to know me.

[unfinished]

It would be unfinished, wouldn't it? Depression never ends... or it seems like it anyway. And, if you're depressed who has the energy or interest to see the effort through to the end and tied with a bow?

Poem: No Ifs About It

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No Ifs About It

Life Will Get You in the End:
Short Stories by David Satterlee

from the book: Life Will Get You in the End:
Short stories by David Satterlee

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Read or download this story as a PDF file at: https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B4eNv8KtePyKV0ZYSzVqbmg5M3M/edit?usp=sharing

An indecent (ie: not ready for prime time) proposal. A young man practices proposing (to his sister's stuffed doll, from the sounds of it). He probably shouldn't try this one on a real girl. Birdies and puppies and fish, oh my!  

No Ifs About It

If I had a little bird

Who sang a song to me,

Then I would build a home for it

Hung high up in a tree.

   Or

If I had a puppy dog

Who’d cry in pure delight

Then I would lay a rug for it

So it could sleep at night.

   Or

If I had a bowl of fish

Who'd swim and flit around

Then I would make their water fresh

And keep them safe and sound.

   But

If I had you here with me

I’d love you for all time.

And I would share my life. I would

Be yours and you’d be mine.

                                 February 29, 1972