,A thought for today may sometimes  be a function of the autonomous brain, a phenomenon that is away from will and occasionally operates at a lower or higher level in sleep or disaster than when employed in exploration of rational exercises. There is nothing in the dream world or panic driven or Tourette's  blurt that is controlled. If you believe our brain is under mastery, it is not. Let's never underestimate what we unfairly term, idle thoughts. To get to idle thoughts, which by the way are not idle, we have to let go. A risky state. Who would want to be one of the unforgiven, the mismanaged, the odd man out? Thoughts that arrive by muse post, are often unexpected and unanticipated and not necessarily welcomed, but they are always surprising. Some say that the higher power communicates with the autonomous brain and we ciphers are just the conduit. If that's true there are no bragging rights  and/or  we can't be blamed. I'm reading that great little book  The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron. She writes of stratagies to unearth the inner voice. Like every thing else in life, it requires work and desire. It also requires  in my view that you arrive at the point where you don't give a shit. Or at least willing to risk it.

When one thinks of obedience to one's muse, that gift demands a response that needs no defending. Call it what you like, if rebellion is your game and you ignore that call, you have not self-love. That by the way is learned and it's hard work and requires, as Erich Fromm has pointed out, Respect, Responsibility, Care and Knowledge, all are foundational for love and thereupon self-love as well.  That is of course, self-respect, self responsibility, self care and self-knowledge.  Because it's hard work it remains as a duty to yourself. Now I realize duty is a bad word amongst some these days who think they prize freedom above all else or at least what they perceive as freedom, but it really isn't when you realize that doing something that needs no defense is real freedom. It is therefore not a paradox to say that acts of obedience are freedom. Pay attention to your muse. Self-love is not such a bad way to be.

What kind of legacy do I wish to leave to a family or my neighbors or the world I cherish? Is it the album of photographs outlining the beauty and joy of the face and body we present to the world? Is it the mix of DNA we provide from our buccal epithelial cells, a legacy from our forebears? Or is it the inner man revealed with amusement of self, amazed with self, or affronted with self, that is the composite of the inner man? If we make a video to demonstrate our great golf swing or our benefit from Yoga or doing a total hip replacement while humming or singing sotto voce, Nearer my God to Thee;  it's great but still the outer man. Of course one's children know the legacy from one's  parental youth only. Grandchildren much less and great grandchildren not at all. Thereupon writing becomes a gift that speaks of identity along with photographs and DNA  and specks of oral history, old furnishing and tattered documents. When you write the truth and love yourself for the truth rather than the gloss and lock up your false ego you will do something truly meaningful. The older you get the more and more difficult it becomes to be useful. Everyone wants down deep to be useful. At least we don't want to be useless. So write.

!  The world abounds with creative thinking these days that often is defined as outside the box. It has to do with the capacity of Homo sapiens inclination, unlike any other learning species, for abstract thinking. I am in my imagination, holding the reins of a quartet of horses that are pulling me remorselessly along despite my heels dug into the dirt road, leaning backwards trying to hold them back with all my might. What newness does or at least what is perceived as newness, the creations outside the box, at least appeals to the horses, My point would be, "Hold your horses",  before we throw out whatever is in the box. Don't get me wrong. Thinking beyond the box can still be only a stones throw from the box.
   At 84 years I am composed largely of memories and blessed with them still, before they may ultimately flee. An old man sitting amongst his boxes and packaging and poking through them for thoughts to renew or remake, an old image for a new thought. It has become harder and harder not to become boring and I assume in some ways this subject or analysis is probably boring for those who value thinking outside the box because they may not have many boxes to poke into. I can't help that. I know that I am at least innocuous so leave me alone to pursue my unpacking  to look for stuff to write about!

Two years ago I was booked urgently for stents because of intractable angina. I couldn't even straighten the sheets on my bed without chest pain. The day of the surgery I was booked as a late add-on and the pianist stopped at McDonalds on the way to the hospital. I was sitting in the car waiting for her to bring us coffee as it was early and I could drink it well before my procedure which was still iffy as I  faced the fact that I could be bumped. I hadn't noticed that my friend Dion, a guitarist and singer and church friend was parked next to us and getting out of the car with his instrument. He had no idea where I was going and what I was facing but I guess he thought I might have looked morose or reflective and needed a lift. Standing in the parking lot he opened my door and started with You are My Sunshine and then to top it off Micheal Row the boat Ashore. What a good break for me to hear that and feel that out of the blue on the way to the hospital, by way of McDonalds. A lesson in how to never waste the opportunity to give out a little love to someone when you recognize the urging you have received by the spirit within. Micheal rowing across the Jordan is a black spiritual song reminiscent of the allegorical paradise  when arriving at the shore of the promised land. I'm not sure Dion figured out all the theology he engaged, but that gets figured out for us when we listen carefully and he sure did that day when I thought the odd chance was I would get to the other side.

It's May the 21st and the rough places on Lotus Island abound with the glory of the plants of Mother Nature that have spread their bloom for all to see. This early summer and the heat have brought out the best of these tough plants that survive and thrive, seeding themselves, demanding little that their tender cousins require from us all. And they grow best in the rough places where they fill the area with color and fill the heart with awe. The Hawthorns, white and pink and red fill the high hedgerows as we drive along, in full bloom today, a stupendous amount of bloom and creating an abundance of haws that will self seed in the rough area. The Spanish Broom, vividly yellow, not limpidly yellow, abounds on the banks in the rough of the roadways and high places bordering the rough valleys, crowding together, a panorama of yellow. The Rosa vulgaris filling the low hedgerows in the rough places and against the rough fences,spectacular punctate pink as we travel the roads, always providing the simple sided of Nature's rose and not ever needy as its cousins. And the California Poppies littering the low banks grey and orange as they provide a splash of color against the green of the grass background they join. What a pleasure and it's free;  no chore watering, planting, fertilizing, pruning,layering,tying up. Mother Nature does it all for us and she chooses the rough spots. It's a gift.  Tough plants for tough spots that belong. And we can look forward if we are patient for the Himalayan Blackberries in the rough spots in the fall to join these May the 21st plants blooming that Nature has freely provided.

    Sunday last was Shepard Sunday. I go to church with the pianist early since she sings in the choir and they practise for half an hour before the service. Since I am there before almost anyone else, I have time to read  the lessons for that day beforehand and think about them and watch the church gradually fill up with what can be called the Body. Since I sit on the side isle near the front I can see virtually all of the members of the fold gathering into the seats, whereas sitting in the center seats means you only see the back of everyone's head. I can see the lectionary and alter as well as anyone else but the body for me is the important thing as well.
    In the practice of Medicine for forty some years I had the experience of being a member of the Body. That sense of union was equally strong and the commitment was alive. Last week the pianist and I went to the Annual Dinner of the Victoria Medical Society and despite being retired for seventeen years I felt an integral part of that Body and could pass the peace with untold numbers of the many. Of course it did not accord reliance to a Shepard but it had the qualities of service and mercy that I knew so well in the olden days.  
    Watching a Body file in and fill up in the fold and not stuck with the back of their heads of one another and passing the peace is another joy of age. Belonging!

    Balm,    Dictionary.com definition # 3/  Something comforting and soothing. Example,  soft music is a balm.

   If one looks for a definition of the balm of Gilead aside from questionable unguents and speculative associations that have little or no  biblical relevance as far as I can see, though they are comforting, the evidence is thin.We don't know who composed the gospel song, a black spiritual, but the root may be Genesis 31.

  However, despite unmentioned anywhere else, all that I can find is Genesis 31. It is the story of Jacob and Laban. Jacob goes to the land of his mother's brother to find a wife. He falls for Rachel the younger but is given the elder Leah and for that must work for seven years for Laban. Then he is given Rachel for seven more years of work and a further six years piled on. Jacob has had enough and removes his wives and children and flocks and surreptitiously escapes to the hill country of Gilead across the Euphrates hotly pursued by Laban.
    Things look bad but Jacob has obeyed God in this move, and moreover God has also appeared to Laban and cautioned him about no nonsense. They meet in the hill country of Gilead and know that they are kinsmen. Together they build a heap of stones they name Gileed. They build together a pillar they name Mizpah which means watch point. These symbols are a witness. Anger is comforted and soothed Laban kisses his daughters and grandchildren and leaves to his side of the pillar and the Gileed. Jacob goes on to his life with his wives and children and flocks.
    This may be the balm of Gilead. This Easter Day It could be a balm for the troubles around the world.

It's a bit gloomy but reality. "--you are dust and to dust you shall return."  Of course it is the stunning insight to realize that we are not "in nature", dropped in as Genesis implies, to dominate, but "of nature", composed of the same atoms and molecules as everything else, so to arise from the earth and return to it is food for thought as we celebrate Ash Wednesday and contemplate our life between the dust of creation and the dust of  reunion.That assertion of Genesis 3 no atheist could argue about.
   Last night I dreamt I was in a bar in Toronto with the pianist. I was served a poorly dressed pizza by a server dressed scanty.The pizza had a thin brush of something resembling cheese with a single tomato on tpp. She offered to speak to my psychiatrist and to my realtor for two sawbucks. I had to eat the pizza by hand and no serviette was offered. If I try to think of my life in between the dusts the glare of this metropolitan nonsense gives no immediate clue. Carl Jung where are you?
    I was out of my element.Toronto is a transit for me. It was hard to reconcile "in nature" and contemplation with my preparation for Ash Wednesday and the joy of my life between the dusts when I drew my being from the earth and joined the tree, the pansy, and the feathered and furry friends and mankind of every ilk as a part of earth. It is enough for now. If there is more my curiosity is peaked to wait and see. Oil and ash and a crucifix on my forehead gives me hope, but Genesis still implies the reality, "of nature".