It's hard to figure how a fellow about 30 had a bit more than 2 years of teaching and healing living in a rustic out of the way land with a few acolytes and yet was the origin of one of the world's greatest and most populous movements. Ultimately fostering deep and abiding personal commitments, great music and art and literature, the perpetuation of civilization though dark ages lasting more than a millennia. No one writing knew him other than by rumours and those Synoptics who reported the rumours displayed some confusion as did the acolytes. Others who deeply testified reported Royalty. Now in our current age we have new wind in various churches where "death is no longer swallowed up in victory."  Gone is atonement, salvation and grace. The new cosmology crosschecks whatever  of these rumours we have harboured from the millennia and  still some of us aren't knocked down. Gee, explain why this basis of civilization in spades, lasted till the Enlightenment. Explain to me why in some churches we are left with eating thin gruel. Explain to me why we have a segment who have nothing left to worship. Explain why this fellow is seen as a very good teacher and a country healer of sorts in the new way of thinking and that's about all.  With the New Cosmology, mystery crosschecks Mystery and thin gruel is all some have left!

Over the past dozen years I have written four books, three of which I have self-published and the last I have distributed to my family, but ,what I have come to realize recently, as I am in my eighty fifth year ,the books were always for me. The format was always short stories, poems and essays about my life, always happy and mostly true. As I read them now, over and over, again and again, it is a constant reminder of what I have been given in life and for which i am grateful. And moreover at 85 one needs to be reminded because everything seems to be newly discovered all over again. I have to admit I may becoming a simpleton since I find the writing thrilling. On the other hand I may be more a narcissistic than a simpleton which seems to be an equally abysmal choice. Though on the other hand maybe at one's 85th year I can handle either one with aplomb. What is that catchy little song from the olden days, "Don't worry, be happy."? I can handle that. So should most of us. Loving yourself isn't all that bad. As I wrote in a lecture on writing to a group, "Where you treasure and protect your voice there will always be an authenticity to it that speaks of you whatever you write. When you lay your voice on the page, and your verities emerge, you have already told your tale."