Prodigal Poet: An Ecclectic Offering on God, Shakespeare, and the Beatles

Sometimes I forget just how much I take things for granted . . . how quickly my life could be altered forever with a mere whisp of change. I sometimes forget how easily my "normal" could be shifted. All it takes sometimes is a small occurrence -- a mere blurb on the grand scale of time. I am often telling myself how I should be more grateful, and not just in saying it every so often, but showing it, living it, breathing it. So often while I pray I tell God how sorry I am for not appreciating all the things I've been given. How I'm an ungrateful little cretin. And then . . . I do what human nature calls me to do . . . I forget again. It's not that I mean to be unappreciative. I don't think anyone means to be that way. It's just normal. It's normal to get caught up in our daily to-do's, lists, stress, etc. I think we're just wired that way. It's not an excuse, just a reason. It's arguable how good of a reason it is. And I'...

Sometimes it comes quietly. Sometimes it arrives violently. Sometimes it is met with shock and surprise; sometimes with long-held expectation. It is the culmination of life's every moment, every matter. It is feared; it is loathed, and occasionally, welcomed. Whatever it is, I don't think that it is the end. I don't mean to sound macabre, but death has been on my mind lately. It's not a subject I tend to spend hours upon hours thinking about. But my mind does naturally wander into the dark and dusty labyrinth of all things existential now and then. It's only human. With life, comes death. How can one avoid thoughts of it completely? While I certainly don't think it's healthy to dwell on the topic of death, I also do not think it healthy to never confront it either. It's one of those vastly complex subjects that has physical, spiritual, and philosophical importance. Death is different to everyone, on some level. For some, death is merely the ...

Being that Autumn is about to brush across the landscape with yellows, coppers, and russets, my thoughts begin to turn toward many upcoming holidays, including my birthday (September 30), our anniversary (October 22), Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Holidays always seem to be a time when memories of the past come drifting back -- memories of old family stories, places we used to live, people that we've lost. Things that we forget about in our day-to-day business . . . this is the time to feel them flood and wash over us, sometimes with the power of a tsunami, other times with the gentleness of a late summer rain. Last Thanksgiving we were fortunate to have the company of my aunt and uncle from Ohio (my dad's sister and her husband). She is all that remains for Dad of his immediate family. There are many cousins and nieces and nephews, and such . . . but his parents and oldest sister are now gone. There is much closeness between my dad and Aunt Phyllis; and it...