It’s Christmas Eve and all through the world
many are stirring restlessness in fitful sleep.
For there are storms of evil exposed in the East,
and faithless father-figures failing everywhere.

And though there’s surely a renewal of Christmas faith
with those who in the dark and bitter cold, and flashes
of war in the night sky and with those protesting with
uncovered hair, or fearing life-threatening diseases.

The world in danger, as it was four score and seven years ago,
with a rise of this evil presenting a third type of hell.
It is now it seems a baby of future-hope may be born,
In the most humble of beginnings, and difficulty of times.

Will she be cold in the dark with a star of fire in the skies,
Or in the Kurdish mountains with defiance in her eyes.
Or possibly in oriental lands threaten by disease and strife
Or even along a border as her mother seeks a better life.

She will come in this world of ours and we’ll come to know
there’s more to Christmas then decorations and lights aglow.
There is hope for salvation beyond religious show, and the spirit
brings us wisdom, love and hope if we’ll open our ears to hear it
… and hearts to feel it.

Fortune favors the brave
is what I was thinking when
writing Ambition…

But it is not bravery, but truth
which drives us forward
the truth about ourselves.

Being clear about ambition
is understanding  the value
of making dreams come alive.

We are who we are, this is truth,
but this is but the beginning,
not end of what we can be.

It is the fear of failure
which bravery must overcome,
yet small compared to the drive.

Dream and drive, and drive and
dream, and be present and happy,
loving life and your journey.

Insight precedes ambition, precedes passion and hard work, which precedes accomplishment, and rewards of success… No steps can be skipped.

The eaglet doesn’t just wish to fly
but finds it in his heart to leap and try.

Mozart learned of music before
he could pour passion into a score.

Michelangelo didn’t just climb a ladder with a brush
to paint a ceiling… but for ambition to inspire all of us.

There is no horizon on imagination, if we are to explore
thought, and learning to find an exciting and distant shore.

The journey maybe arduous and we may at times fail
but the ambition of purpose will get us back on the trail.

Regret is for those who lack the will and belief in self to try,
for they will look back and vainly wish they’d learned to fly.

One Saturday evening, rather early Sunday morning…  after partying as a young man would. I wandered up our driveway and saw a rat the size of a small dog…

Well how could this be!   Was I seeing things?…
but no – I see it fritter across the dimly lit garage floor.

Slightly inebriated but sobering fast. I used a snow shovel as a
shield to make my way to the door.

Now what to do?  Is this monster in the garage
something to forewarn my dad?  Do I leave the
garage door open to allow it to escape?

Now this was a delima… for what trouble would
I be in if I left the door open, or didn’t and it was there
in the morning as we were leaving for church?

So I woke dad, and he came with me to see the rat
which had this befuddled look as it peaked out
from behind some wood scraps.

Dad said it’s the largest rat he’s ever seen… and
I should go get the BB gun in the basement.

I hold the door open and dad shoots at the monster
rat… which now has out of fear turned its backside
to us.

The BB rolls out of the end of the gun and bounces
down the stairs… and of course does nothing but
make a loud pop, followed by, a bing, bing
as the BB found its way to the garage floor.

Dad says, we need to oil the gun… of course…
so we oil the gun and test fire into the garbage can
from under the kitchen sink… by now we are laughing
at the absurdity of this…

Again laughing, and giggling,  I hold the door open
and dad shoots the monster rat in the ass…
and it turns back around and looks
mournfully at us.

Dad says get the encyclopedia and look up
possum… (yes, this was way before google, and the
encyclopedia was our go to reference.)

There in the book labeled “P” I found a picture of
our monster rat… and read: when scared 
it would play dead...  well I thought this is not right,
It really just looks sad, as it plays mournful.

Dad says enough adventure for one night, go to bed,
I’m sure he’ll be gone in the morning… We were still
laughing, and feeling sheepish… and in the morning
the monster was gone, and we had the pride of
men who protected our homefront…

We laughed  about this for some time… deciding
maybe we should keep it to ourselves…
well for a while anyway

In the echo chamber there’s no
leader or follower, just before and after.
There is no need for truth or fact,
as our leaders become followers
and followers leaders…and wisdom
is a rare and latent defect of
another time found in books
the faithful no longer read… and
the faithless no longer believe.

Ideas are sound bites or invented
stories intended to drag the lost
down rabbit holes into a wonderland
which never did and never will exist.
All so a minority will have power over
the majority, enforced with violent intent
until we submit to the notion we have
no control and our system has failed us…

when all along it is we who have failed our
forefathers and the system they invested
in us.

Enjoy the moment young man
for this maybe the most like a king
you will ever be.
And the mastery of ample questions why
and the absorbent nature of a mind
which will never be so young.

Enjoy the spirit and energy endowed
in the time between perfect
unvarnished sleep and dreams.
And the explosion of growth in
understanding such as you
will ever experience.

For the world is simple for you as it
is unfolding before you. Surely you will
never quite see things with such eyes
of innocence, and sense of wonder.
And someday, far from now, you will seek
in vain to recapture this sense of wonder.

We collect things,
we are born wanting
and gathering.

We join together,
as it is in our being
to belong.

We are curious,
asking why, we
seek meanings.

We desire to
accel at something,
to be noticed.

We seek to win,
so as not to lose,
collecting accolades.

We count life
by collected things
and people.

We gather close
to us our people
and things.

We are defined by
these things, events,
and belonging.

Until we leave,
with exactly
what we came with.

A product of our past,
our culture, our experience,
our genetics, our time,
our geography, and
circumstance, good and bad.

A product of the dreams
we shape, and construct,
of the work we will do,
and our passion and effort
and wisdom we gather.

A product of the helping-
hands, the stories we are
told, and the love we’ve
been shown, as well as,
the chances we embrace.

We get to a place and
time to reminisce and we
know with weight of reflect
it is ourselves who own
the product of this life.

Some mornings I take
my everything for
a walk… my shadow is
tall in a sunrise, reaches
to the West, excited and
hopeful for the coming day.

At noon, everything
shrinks inward,
embarrassed in the glare
of noonday sun.
Finding respite in being
very close and small.

And in the sunsetting
evening, rising up
tall and proud, it looks
away, to the East
longing for the day
to continue, to extend life.

At night shadow is of
artificial design, and
schizophrenic. There is
little purpose or direction,
except to wait and hope
for the clarity of day.

Then comes the fog,
which makes everything
hard to  discern,
like a grainy yesterday
photo of forever, found
languishing in a drawer.

Loss comes with the rain,
when the clouds bring
tears to clean the
Earth of shadow. It
can feel as if the Sun of day
may never shine again.

But the rains cannot last,
for the Flowers need the
Sun too, and they are
beautiful and life finds
a way to hold onto its
everything shadow.

For without it, life
is nothing.