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Let’s get things started

We’ll begin by asking why I’m here. Simple, to publish content that takes just a bit more space than a Facebook post. We live in a TLDR (too long, didn’t read) world and sometimes that’s okay. I get it. It’s the word-laden equivalent of those flashy videos that promise something amazing if you just watch all ten minutes to the end… and then nothing happens. Sometimes you’re just not looking for that. Eh, who am I kidding? Most of the time we’re not looking for that. But the world doesn’t work in sound bites and headlines. Sometimes we need to dig a little deeper and that’s what I’m going to try to do.

So what will we find? I’m not sure. I don’t have a grand scheme. I didn’t do a flowchart and I didn’t set out on a five year plan. I have very little idea what this will all look like and even less of an idea if anyone but me will look at it. And Mom. Moms always look. Hi Mom!

What’s in a name?

The Fourth Watch refers to the Hebrew time of just before dawn. If I’m doing my job I’ll be calling out the enemy from afar in the darkest of night.

Oh, so is it going to always be dull politics or religion?

No. I hope not. It’ll be a lot of that but I’m not a one trick pony. Maybe you’ll find some movie reviews (it’s January of 2021 right now so hopefully they’ll make some more of those), maybe some game reviews, though don’t get excited. I’m an avid gamer stuck in the body of a man that has other responsibilities so I won’t be digesting the latest games every two days like a stoner downing iced tea and cheese curls. No offense. There’ll be some dashes of just about anything if this whole experience catches on.

That’s that

As simple as that. Nothing flashy, nothing over the top. So if you like to read and like to think I invite you along. Come with an open mind and an open heart. Be willing to challenge yourself and yes, you can challenge me. May the Lord bless you and keep you and may we all be able to reason together.

Ones and Zeros

Ah, Simulation Theory. The idea that we’re all just a computer simulation driven by some supercomputer somewhere, out there, or maybe even here, just in the far future. Neat stuff, for science fiction. The idea comes in many different forms, from The Matrix to the much older, brain in a jar. Being at its core just an idea, it can be fun to toy with and fantasize about. We can play with our reality and look for glitches, clicking around on the internet for proof of vans disappearing in traffic or people locked in place, like a video game bug. We’re fascinated, I think, for two reasons. One, many of us love video games. From the hardcore player that treats it like a full-time job to the little get away drop games we tap away at on our phones. The idea of a simulated reality isn’t as farfetched as it used to be. We can grasp some level of the concept. Two, escapism. Be truthful, how many times have you sat in front of your computer waiting for the simple text, “*The Matrix has you…” to appear? Haven’t you felt that there is something more, something out there, just on the other side of the veil, waiting to be found? Maybe it’s that none of this is real at all. Maybe you’re becoming “aware.” Maybe you’re daydreaming and your dinner is burning in the oven. Better go check that…

That just freaked someone out.


Don’t worry, lucky guess.

If we’re a simulation we need to think of some of the things we know about simulations. In their current state simulations are pretty small, in the grand scheme of things. We have powerful computers that try to simulate something as simple as the weather. I know, simple is a relative term here. But that’s a point to consider. We can’t even simulate the weather we live in every day to a degree of accuracy worth considering spot on. We’re getting good at tracking the weather, but that’s in real time. Predicting the weather is a whole other ball of wax. We make some good, educated guesses, which is something, but we need a computer that doesn’t predict it but generates it, all of it. Throw that into a computer and watch as the CPU turns into a tiny toaster oven.

What about traffic? We have traffic simulators. Some of my favorite games are, at their core, traffic simulators. One such game is Cities: Skylines. Rooted in a traffic simulator it does good. Okay, not really. It does okay. I can build roads, rails, bus routes, subways, and such. The “people” of the game just don’t do very well at making choices. Heck, the game can’t even handle left turn signals. I know, depending on the traffic light you happen to be sitting at, not while reading this I hope, makes you think maybe I’m onto something. But really? Every traffic light in America simulated? Every car, every truck, every bicycle and pedestrian?

In each of those vehicles is a person, or more. Simulate every action. Every breath, every blink, every sip of coffee, whoops, spilled some, now simulate the stain on the carpet that will be there not only for the owner but for the used car lot owner to try to scrub out, unsuccessfully, and the second owner to frown at but live with because, hey, it’s a used car.

We can quickly see how our feeble attempts at simulations are like comparing a child’s first Lego house to the Freedom Tower. Not even on the same planet, let alone same ballpark. But, of course, one argument is that simulations don’t generate the entire “world” all at once. This is the “holy grail” of computer games; generating a persistent world that evolves even when the player isn’t looking at it. In current gaming even much of the landscape isn’t there until I move my eyes to see it. To put it another way, in computer games if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to see it… it doesn’t fall. There isn’t even a tree. There’s code waiting in the bowels of the computer to be processed once your character goes to the forest. If the tree isn’t pre-determined to be fell when you get there a trigger will happen at some point, even if that trigger is a random number generator, and the tree will fall, and you’ll hear it, because you’re supposed to. In a computer game the world revolves around you. Even in massive online multiplayer games the world revolves around you. If you are going into a cave to defeat the dragon and you’re with five of your best friends, decked out in your greatest armor, bearing your Sword of Amazingness Beyond All That Is Amazing +2, with a healing potion at the ready, what happens when another party come storming out of the cave, just having defeated the dragon? Do you go home? The dragon is dead. Give it up and go back to being a lowly blacksmith hand at the town you started in? No. You stride into that cave with abandon! Here you come, ready or not! Because that dragon is back again, regenerated for your fantastical enjoyment. And you die because you forgot to take your Protection vs. Fire potion. Don’t worry though. Regroup and go again! All about you…

Photo by Athena on Pexels.com

That’s the danger behind Simulation Theory. Our worlds are incredibly small. They kind of have to be. We’re not Atlas, though sometimes it feels like the weight of the world is on our shoulders. The world moves with or without us. The sun crosses the sky because the world turns as it did before we even were. Don’t get me wrong, each of us is important and we each have our place, and every time a bell rings an angel gets their wings… wait, I got a little off track there. We all have value but we’re not The Value. Simulation Theory invades our subconscious and can turn some dangerous dials.

So maybe my comparisons to current technology falls flat because we’re talking about stuff beyond what we can even understand. It’s like sitting a cave man in a space ship. It’s like someone once said, “technology is magic to the uninformed,” or something there abouts. Alright, but here we go again, we need to imagine some being taking the time, with the level of know how needed, to put this all together and let her rip. To what end? To study ancient anthropology? To learn what humans were like in their natural environment before Global Climate Change/Nuclear Apocalypse/Meteor Strike/Insert Life Ending Tragedy Of Choice Here killed them all? Uh, okay. But to simulate us they’d have to know everything about us. They’d need a map of our genome, an understanding of our technology, a complete knowledge of our history, and a psychoanalysis that’d be the envy of every Psychologist. To simulate us they’d have to know us and that begs the question; why?

It’s pretty safe to say we’re not in a video game. If we are this is the worst and most expensive video game ever devised. We’re not a science experiment. If we are the scientists are wasteful. They’ve taken the time to program all that they know just to watch it play out in real time. They must know everything that can happen so they can program it to happen. If they already know, why bother? Surely the most advanced scientific minds in the universe have something better to do. Never mind that they’re diabolical. Our programmers gave us artificial intelligence so we’ll react to the environment around us and that same intelligence and emotions tear our insides apart. Nice of them. Maybe at this point you’re thinking we’re like ants to them, or mice. Besides, we’re not real so what do our emotions matter anyway? If they made us they know it matters. They can see it matters. And that brings us all the way back to the evil doctor experimenting with a brain in a jar. And that brings us back to this all being about you, or at least your brain, in a jar.

Simulation Theory, it tugs at us because we instinctively know we’re not seeing everything there is to see. It has the allure of secret knowledge, something we all want to get our little brains wrapped around so we can know what’s really going on. Some of us want out. We want someone to offer up the pill that will let us escape to the beyond. Sadly, to far too many of us, that pill is a self-induced 9mm to the brain. That’s not the road to enlightenment. If that’s you, get help, please. https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

Are we in a simulation? Well, the simplest answer is usually the right one (Occam’s razor). If we apply that, we’re real. The sun really is warm, the grass really does grow, and ice cream really does make you fat. Science is observable and repeatable. We can’t observe we’re in a simulation and we can’t even begin to come close to recreating such a simulation. So in that sense, it’s not even a proper theory, it’s a guess. It’s an idea, it’s a dream.

Simulation Theory offers up a fantastical tale that strips away responsibility and puts us at the center of the universe. I know, it’s not sold that way, but isn’t that really what we’ll do with it?

Most importantly; what affect does being a simulation have on you? Do you still feel? Do you still thirst, get hungry, grow old, get lonely? What of all the other simulated beings you meet? Do they have feelings, real or not, but don’t they feel them? Even if they really, in reality, don’t, to them aren’t they real, in that moment? How do you want your simulation to play out?

Sure, I believe that there’s more out there than we know. I believe the veil is much thinner sometimes than we think. Our existence is much more complex and meaningful in the grand scale of things than we sometimes believe. It can be confusing. It can give us ideas of simulations, multiverses, and aliens. Or, could it be, just maybe, this talk of God is true? Trinity is on the way, but not how you might think.

What is Reality

The danger of excuses

The question of what is real is older than any of us. The philosopher Descartes used the evil demon argument as a launch pad into questioning everything he assumed he knew to be true. In it he postulated that he was controlled by an evil entity that put all its energies into deceiving him so he could trust none of his senses. In of itself not a bad thing, questioning one’s own beliefs, but when taken simply at face value a destructive force. When the evil demon is taken out of the context of which it was designed, we fall down the rabbit hole of questioning just reality, not our own perceptions of said reality.
More modern versions of the evil demon are presented as the brain in a vat. The idea here is that you’re nothing but a brain and your reality is controlled by an evil doctor who inputs whatever reality his heart desires. It leads you to question if you can trust anything you perceive. Again, used as a device to lead to deeper philosophical questioning, it works, but do we take it too far? A modern example of this played out on the silver screen in the film The Matrix, where mankind was literally fed reality by a computer menace who used humans as batteries. The computer obviously never studied thermodynamics but that’s for another time.

Another version, the one studied in the halls of higher learning, is the idea that we live in a simulation. Somewhat like the Matrix but taken to the next level, we do not even have bodies. We exist only as a computer model, our conciseness a stream of ones and zeroes in a computer somewhere. The whole idea has traction in theoretical science and a cult following on the internet with people dedicated to the idea that the Mandela Effect proves the simulation is reset from time to time. If you’re not familiar with the Mandela Effect it can be interesting to browse when cat videos become a bore.

A close cousin to the simulation theory is the idea of a multiverse, where there are an infinite number of universes playing out every possibility that could have ever occurred. When asked what you’d like to drink with your meal in one universe you choose Coke, another tea, another water, and on and on. In one you even decide to have too many beers and die on the drive home from hitting a telephone poll, deer, truck, other car, rouge mongoose, or aliens doing unimaginable things to a cow. You can quickly see that the other you(s) have a much more tragic, albeit in some cases interesting, life than you do.

So can we disprove any of these and if we can’t what does it mean? We must first get to the heart of the matter. Toss away all the theoretical science (fiction) associated with the brain, simulation, multiverse theories and get to the root, responsibility. The real question, and I use the word “real” quite intentionally, is; am I in control? The twisting of Descartes evil demon puts responsibility not on us, but the demon. Everything is his fault. The brain puts it on the doctor, the simulation our programmer, and the multiverse absolves us of any responsibility at all. Choose whatever path you will because in some universe somewhere you’re doing exactly what you should be doing. Never mind there being an infinite number of you doing the wrong things, we’ll hang our hat on that one where we got it right. Also never mind the fact that the other you isn’t really you, it’s them, a universe away.

If we deconstruct the environments presented we can come to some quick conclusions. One, the thought experiments are supposed to be rock solid. You can’t disprove them. This is done through a slight of hand. The brain in a vat puts you in a state where you can’t know anything beyond what the good doctor wants you to know. If I begin to believe I am a brain in a vat the doctor can input stimuli that convinces me I’m not. Since outside stimuli is unavailable to me I have nothing to compare to. I’m stuck believing anything the doctor wants me to believe. A simulation does the same. I can’t know anything I’m not programmed to know. If I was never programmed to realize I’m in a simulation I’ll never know I’m in a simulation, regardless of all the signs that exist to prove exactly that. Even if I’m programmed to learn through experience, making me an artificial intelligence, I’m still bound by the rule set created by the original programmer. If that program tells me to ignore any thoughts that lead me towards the reality of my existence, I’ll never know. The multiverse is a little different. In it I still have all my capacities with the only limiting factor being my mental capacities to derive the realities of things. From here we could get into IQ, experiences, technology, and a whole slew of other things, but fundamentally I’m able to learn the reality of reality. The limitations are internal, not external. There’s no evil demon pulling strings keeping me from the truth.

Descartes quickly surmised that he was still he, regardless of the demon. Because he was even able to think of the demon meant that he existed even if his observations were out of his control. If my brain is in a vat, the same is true. It doesn’t matter if the doctor is letting me know or not, because I can think of the doctor means I exist. I may only be a brain but I am real. The simulation is different. I may be programmed to believe I’m real, that coffee is a real beverage, that I’m thinking all of these thoughts and writing them down, but in the end all of it is just a stream of electrons flowing through gates and switches on a computer chip. None of it is real in the sense that we think of real. But somewhere a real being created a real computer and programmed this real mess we’re in. How do we disprove that?
You’re probably thinking by now I must think myself some kind of genius if I’m going to say I can disprove ideas mulled over by some of the brightest minds in the world. I don’t. I’m not going to disprove any of them, because you can’t. That’s their point, to be unprovable. What I am going to do is give you a reason to ignore them, because of their broader implications. I will poke some holes in the ideas, just for fun, but to also help you see why they’re insignificant to you and the reality of which we live.

The multiverse is the silliest of each of these ideas and yet the only one given actual serious consideration. Our universe is seemingly infinite. We believe there are edges to its existence and mathematically there should be an edge to it out there somewhere but every time we get better at looking to the stars we find it to be a bit bigger than we thought. When you start reaching for the edges of the universe time gets all funky and with its size and considering the speed of light, we really can’t ever hope to see the edge anyway. For all intents and purposes our universe is in fact infinite. Within this vastness that goes on forever you exist, a speck residing on a speck of dirt circling a speck of fire that circles a speck of only mildly understood ball of blackness that spins through a vastness of nothing with countless other specks. Do you feel insignificant yet? Yeah, well, if we’re to believe the scientific origins of our universe I’ve got some bad news for you, you are. Not only are you this speck of nothing but you exist in a speck of time that spans some fourteen and a half billion years. So tell me again about how there’s an infinite number of these universes playing my story with every possible outcome? I won’t get into the details but the multiverse serves the scientific purpose of explaining how we could be here at all. It gives nature the trillions of tries it needs to put everything together just so the porridge we call home isn’t too hot or too cold, but just right. Then theorists step in and start playing with the idea that all of the things we could ever do happen to us, the other us, in all those universes. Not only is the collision with a rouge mongoose a bit silly, but it’s also preposterous. Play the same game over and over. Every detail of your life played out with every possible outcome. Yeah. So right now in this universe I’m writing this. In another universe I’m writing this and in this very instant – insert name of whatever incredibly popular and super attractive personality you wish – bursts in from the freezing cold, stark naked, and kisses me right on the lips. Don’t laugh, not only could it happen but to one of me it did just happen. Now that me not only isn’t writing this anymore but is also going to be in a whole lot of trouble with his wife, girlfriend, room-mate, he lives alone so no problems, oh who knows it could be anything! And that’s the point. It could be anything, happening to you. There’s that “you” again. You exist an infinite number of times doing infinite things. If you are doing everything possible you really aren’t responsible or accountable for anything. Everything had to play out somewhere. You had to do it at some point or, at least, one of you did. If it was inevitable you’re not accountable. That’s the crux. That’s the heart of the multiverse. It doesn’t explain how we happened; it explains how we’re not responsible for anything that did happen because everything happened. The multiverse does a double fake on your reality. First it makes you the center of the universe and then it takes away all responsibility for being the center of the universe. Neat trick. One problem, those other you aren’t you. You don’t all come together in the end as some kind of Borg Collective of you. They’re their own speck, accountable for all the things they did, including cleaning mongoose out of the grill of their car. Now the multiverse isn’t as much fun anymore, is it? And as such, even if it is real, it doesn’t matter, it has zero impact on you, singular, and the reality you live in.

You made it this far! We’ll tackle simulation theory in the next post. Thanks for reading and take care out there, in which ever universe you find yourself in.

My bias vs. your bias

“I’m rubber and you’re glue, everything you say bounces off of me and sticks to you.” We all remember that fun little rhyme. It was a sorry attempt to say you couldn’t hurt my feelings if you tried. Ah, if it were only true. Of course it doesn’t work. We say these things when were six or seven, a simple act of return fire when we’re being picked on by some kid that picks his nose and, on occasion, tries the flavor to see if it’s changed any. But in the end Mr. Schnozz Miner wins because no matter how silly he is the words don’t bounce, they stick like a particularly good and juicy extraction. We learn that words matter and more importantly, opinions matter.

We’d all like to say that others opinions of us don’t matter one lick, but they do, and we all know it. If they didn’t we’d all be sociopaths. So, for those of us that aren’t sociopaths, we begin the long, terrible journey of finding acceptance. On that rocky strewn road we test ideas. We have ideas that brew in our little brains and we test them on other little brains that are just as confused as we are. When we get some good, old fashioned, positive feedback we lock that acknowledgement in our heads and over time build a worldview. Depending on where that feedback comes from we get good ideas cooking or we start concocting some wicked cocktails. All of it goes into a big bubbling pot of thoughts that we use to find our way in life. As time marches on we begin to lay out our beliefs and with those beliefs our bias.

Bias, in the simplest of definitions, is where we land on some arbitrary scale on an issue. The scale is the problem. My scale doesn’t measure like your scale. My weights and measures are tilted towards what I believe and yours are the same. It’s not like there’s a grand Pyrex measuring cup in which we all pour out our contents and get the same reading on how much is there. Your cup isn’t the same as mine. Imagine baking a cake like that. But that’s exactly what we are trying to do.

There’s an old saying about too many cooks in the kitchen. Not only do cooks start getting in each others way but they all measure with different cups. So there are two solutions to the problem; you can either banish some cooks or you can get everyone to use the same cup. That’s where we are today, deciding which recipe to follow. We used to do fairly well because though we may have disagreed on using buttermilk instead of whole milk or baking at 325 instead of 350, we at least had one cup. Now it seems we can’t even agree if there is a cup, let alone what to put in it.

At this point you may be asking yourself if this is one of those recipe blogs where I write 3000 words of backstory just to tell you how to make a cake from a box at the end. Fear not, this isn’t Pinterest.

In order for us to form a more perfect Union we need to agree on some things. First and foremost, that there is, in fact, a cup. Do we or do we not have a Constitution? Are we or are we not governed by Law? Do laws really matter and where do those laws come from? If we can’t agree on these things then we’re not forming that union. We’re bound for a divorce. But before we can even begin to reset we need to pull even further back, back within ourselves, back to the playground, and figure out what makes us believe what we believe. Why do we believe the things we do? What shapes us? It’s not an easy road to travel. It’s full of bitter memories, let downs, failures, and forgotten dreams. But those ghosts from the past haunt our lives today, unless we banish them to the great beyond where they belong.

It’s up to each of us to dig within. There’s a lot of accusations out there right now. There’s lots of name calling and enough blame to go around. If we can’t stop reliving grade school we’ll never get to live as grown-ups. One place to start is with your own bias. Don’t set scales for others, your scale is tilted. It’s not about falling to the left or right of center. Did you ever ask, who set the center? What did they believe and where would they put themselves on this scale they demand we all use? I believe one way, you another. That’s okay so long as we can come together and reason with each other. I recognize my own bias and you recognize yours and together we can agree to where the center just might be.

Oh sure, there’s so much more here that could be pulled apart. It goes way deeper, of course, but even starting a conversation is in vain if we’re going to do no more than hurl insults at each other. If that’s all we’re going to do then I say to you, “I’m rubber, you’re glue…” and this time I mean it, nose picker.

The Simple Farmer

Once there was a man who lived in a kingdom ruled by a king he had never seen and even though he had never seen this king he followed his edicts well. He toiled in his fields, minded his flocks, and build a simple house to shelter. Rarely did he complain and even paid his taxes with no ill towards the king. Those that collected though, they abused the man and told him that the king demanded things the man knew were not true. Even though the man had never seen the king he knew him because though he was a simple farmer he was a literate man and could read what the king had written long ago. When the men tried to trick the man, he knew it was false because he knew the heart of the king.

The king was a great distance off and had no reason to even know of his subject but the king was wise and sent messengers across the vastness of his realm to report back all of its workings. One of these messengers returned and reported on the man. The king was wrought that one of his fine subjects would be mistreated so. The king decided to gift the man new land, away from those that abused him. The king would grant him more land than he had ever known. The land was wild but he knew the farmer would subdue it and make it a great plantation. He dispatched his decree to the governor of the farmer and to the farmer himself.

The Governor was distraught at the decree because he wished not to lose the taxes the farmer paid so he sent his own messenger to the man. The Governor’s messenger found the man readying himself to leave and told him the Governor’s own decree. The man may go, for the Governor feared the distant king, but the man must still swear allegiance to him. The man wished not to argue, though the king said nothing of the sort, and agreed.
The man settled in his new home and took up the task of molding the forests and fields into a farm. He built simple store houses and mills and a simple home. Life was hard but it was quiet, far from others. The Governor’s men would come time and again to trade with the man. Some settled close by and raised trading posts that grew into towns and grew again into cities. The Governor was greatly please with the trade and taxed it so he could enrich himself with it. With the taxes came those to collect them and they were unfair with the farmer once again. The Governor cared not and to balance his own books taxed more and more till the farmer and his tradesmen thought they might perish under the weight. The farmer was pleased to take up the new land but now he was worse than where he started.

In time the king remembered the farmer and sent one to look in on him. The report returned and the king was greatly please for the man had done as the king desired and though he was far away and alone the man had not forgotten his loyalty to the king and his law. However, the king was greatly sore at the Governor when he heard what he had done. In his anger the king decreed that the governor’s hold upon the man shall be broken. The farmer shall no longer pay taxes to the governor and the governor shall have no power over him. All the wealth the farmer could create shall be his and his alone to do with as he sees fit. The Governor was crushed and in his own anger said he would cut off trade with the farmer, pushing him back to scratching at the dirt far away and alone. But by now it was too late. The governors of other holdings were more than happy to trade with the farmer, even if they could hold no power over him.

In this time the king also devised another plan for the farmer. The king had a daughter who was unmarried. The king was saddened that the farmer toiled alone, so he went to his daughter and told her the virtues of the farmer. The daughter was pleased with what she heard and agreed to go and marry him if he would have her. The king only had one command, “Tell him not that you are a princess. The farmer is a wise man and will know who you are if he thinks on it but he must love you for who you are, not because of me.” The daughter agreed and set out.

The daughter of the king arrived and met with the farmer. She was a handsome woman but of great character. She was unremarkable by any measure and had a stern way about her but underneath she was kind. The farmer was pleased to call her his wife.

On the farm the farmer again toiled in the fields. His bride made a home but was ever mindful of the farmer’s desires. He came and went as he pleased. He worked on this or that when the mood struck him. He arose from his bed when he wanted and retired when he grew weary. His wife never dictated to him what he should do or when he should do it. She happily made space for him and was joyed at his accomplishments.

A short time after their vows were made their union bore fruit and the farmer’s wife had a daughter. The farmer was overjoyed and smiled from ear to ear. He remembered the king and what he had done. “We shall call this daughter of mine Tseh’erets, which means Justice in the Land.” And there was justice in the land of the farmer. Again the wife bore life, this time a son, and again the farmer was pleased. “We shall call this son of mine Tobelek, which means Prosperity from the King.” And Tobelek was just that. As Tobelek grew he organized the fields for greater yield. He refurbished the storehouses and increased the output of the mills. Where Tobelek went prosperity followed.

Many years passed and the land of the farmer grew exceedingly great. He grew so great that the governors of the many lands under the king grew fearful of the farmer. “The farmer’s land out does us in every way. It is the greatest province in the kingdom.” And they envied the farmer. Surely the simple farmer wasn’t the cause. It must be the land the king had given him, they thought. His land was greater, the soil better, the trees taller, so the governors devised a plan. “Let us send spies to the land and see if we can wrest it from him before he becomes too great. Let us put in his ear that he is as great, no greater than the king himself! Then the king will throw down the man and give us this great land.” And it was done.

The spies came to the land and set up in one of the towns close to the farmer. They befriended him at first and whispered to him about how great he was, sowing the seeds but they failed to take root. The farmer thought on their words, and though he turned them over in his mind he always returned. No, what his new friends said did not seem right. The spies turned to Tobelek and he rebuked them by laughing in their faces. “My name condemns you,” he said. They turned to Tseh’erets and she cursed them. “There is no justice in the words you speak,” she spat at them. The spies did not even tempt to go to the farmer’s wife for fear that she would kill them outright, never speaking a word. For though they knew not who she truly was they knew her ways and feared her greatly. Thwarted in their attempts they devised a new plan and set up a den to trap their prey.

The trap they laid was layered in fine silks and soft pillowed couches. Thick rugs lay upon the floor, drink flowed from crystal, food was piled high upon silver trays. The spies brought in beautiful women and adorned them in fine attire. They hired musicians from afar to bathe the den in soft sounds and giving the women a tune to dance to. The spies spent every coin they had and borrowed what they didn’t. The finery was a lie but a bold one. So bold it would convince the wisest of men, so they hoped.
On one of the few days the farmer ventured into town the spies pleaded with him to come see all they had done. The farmer was in no hurry this day and agreed. Upon entering the den they set him upon the couch, poured him fine wine, and offered him exotic treats that they had prepared. The farmer was aghast at all he saw and was very uncomfortable though his seat was soft and inviting. With a swig of his wine and but one bite he excused himself and hurried home. “We have failed,” one of the spies lamented. “No,” replied another, “we have but dangled the hook. In time it will be set and we will pull him in.”

For a time the farmer gave little thought to his experience but as the summer sun beat upon his brow his mind turned to the coolness of where he had been. His mouth grew parched and as he swigged his warm water he remembered the cold wine that was there. What ill if I return just once he thought. My wife minds not where I go and when. My son has set good labor upon the fields. My daughter sees to it all is well and fair. He made up his mind he would return to the den, just to check in, and not to tarry long.

While the farmer was away the spies fought to keep up their charade. Money had grown so scarce that one of their number was recalled for his governor could no longer afford to keep him so far. But the absent spy was wise and though his lord had fallen on hard times kept in contact with the others and advised them with letters on what they should do. Spare no expense, he wrote to them. Forget not the prize.

The farmer made good on his self-made promise and returned. The spies did all they could to be the greatest of hosts and the farmer slowly grew more comfortable with his surroundings. Often he did not stay long but slowly he developed a habit of calling whenever he was near. As time went on he began to make excuses to himself as to why he should go to town, and of course, why he should visit his good friends at the den.

“The hook is set! Pull with all of your might,” advised the spy from afar. And his brethren did just that. As the farmer drank deep his second glass of red and watched the women dance a fog settled in his head. The spies gathered around and whispered to him, “why do you work so when you could be here? You have all you could ever need. You are far greater than any governor. You rival even the king.” The words slowly entwined the farmers head and like vines; their words coiled around his mind. “Yes,” he thought, “I have worked long, I can rest here.” And he slept. The next morning he awoke with a start and was angry with himself at his foolishness. His head ached and his mouth was sour. The farmer rushed from the den straight to his home and burst through the door as his wife was finishing the preparations for breakfast. She smiled, served him his meal, and never said a word about his absence. The farmer, feeling revived, returned to his work. But as he labored the vines thickened. They grew. They coiled. They squeezed.

In time the farmer could no longer resist the pressure mounting in his head. He walked back to the den without thinking of where he was going. Once inside the story played out much as it had before. More to eat and more to drink. As he watched the women dance he again grew groggy. And again the spies returned, whispering, “why do you work so? You could stay here. Look, isn’t this nice? Her, you could have her, isn’t she beautiful?” The farmer smiled and softly replied, “but what of my wife?” “Her? Does she truly mind? Has she ever scolded you for what you do?” “No,” the farmer mused. His thoughts began to grow dark. The farmer closed his eyes and imagined the woman dancing, imagined her coming near, imagined a small candle in the distance behind her. This candle, did it just speak? He watched intently, looking past the woman as she sauntered, and the candle did speak, “what of the king?” The farmers eyes popped open with a start and he looked directly at one of the spies, “but the king decreed that a man should have but one woman.” The spy was taken aback. He mumbled and stuttered but another saved him, “Surely the king said no such thing. Governors throughout his realm have many wives. I hear the king himself has a thousand or more!” Is it true, the farmer wondered? In his haze he couldn’t remember what he had read about the king. He tried to grasp the truth of it but it was like grabbing a shadow and he could not lay hold of it. And he slept.

The morning was the same as the last. As the farmer ate his breakfast he said not a word to his wife but wondered, does she care for him at all? His work became harder than it ever was as he remembered the luxury that waited just in town. He could not focus on any task and the things that used to bring him joy were of no interest to him. The vines were deeply rooted and the hook was firmly set. The farmer made his way to town.
Seasons passed and the farmer spent more and more time away. His wife was filled with grief and loneliness. Her heart was heavy and she wet her pillow each night as she lay alone. In time a messenger from her father came and saw she was frail. He looked for the farmer and could not find him. The wife of the farmer made no complaint but the messenger knew the tale. He went searching for the farmer and found him where the farmer was wont to be. The messenger made sure the farmer did not see him and he spoke not a word to him. He quickly returned to the king.

The king was full of anger at the report. He sent word to his daughter that she should return. Her marriage was annulled and she shall no longer be tied to a wicked man. The king’s daughter left the farm, never looking back, never to return. The rage of the king was not satisfied and he spoke again, “My protection is removed from the farmer and my hand will not cover him. I give him unto himself, as he desires.” The royal court was roused at the declaration. “Shall we send him word of this?” they asked. “Do no such thing,” the king commanded. “My words are known to him and he has turned from me. Let consequence be my messenger unto him.”

After many weeks the farmer returned to his home and found it cold and dark. No fire warmed the hearth, no food upon the table, and the bed lay empty and unkept. The farmer worried so and feared for what had befallen his wife. As he made ready to seek her his daughter came to him. “Daughter of mine, tell me, where has thy mother gone?” he asked. “She has left this place as must I, for where she goes so to must I.” she answered. “Where has she gone and why must you go?” the farmer begged. “She has gone from you, where does not matter. You took all that she gave you for granted, thinking it yours by right. As she gave me life only in her can I live.” And with that she departed from him. The farmer stood in shock at the weight of his misfortune. Before he could think on what had befallen him his son appeared. “My dear boy, who has turned my fields into gold and mills for me diamonds from nothing, tell me you are with me.” the farmer whimpered. “This cannot be,” replied the son, “for as my sister came before me and her from my mother so to must I go.” And he said nothing else and left.

The shock roiled in the belly of the farmer and twisted into contempt. He thought for himself, I gave them everything, I worked myself to the bone, and now they abandon me. Gone with them then, I have wealth that will outlive five lifetimes and a place of fellowship I can enjoy the rest of my days. The farmer set out for the den.

He reached the town and made way to the place where the den had been only to find a dusty field. The tent was gone as if it had only been a dream. He searched throughout the town and found not one stitch of fabric, one drop of wine, not one morsel that was from the den. It was no more and those with it had fled. Distraught and confused the farmer returned to his home to find many bands of soldiers there flying flags of different provinces of the kingdom. “Here, good farmer,” called one of the commanders. “Look, for we deliver to you these commands from the governors. You have been found delinquent by a council and thus owe all that you have. The field to the south shall go to one, as to the north, the east, and the west. The yield in the mill to another, and your storehouses are seized.” The farmer looked at the documents the commander had given him. “Then my debt is paid and my destitution complete,” he sighed. “If only,” the commander smiled, “look here and see you are not absolved. Your labor will pay off the rest. Toil here as you have before but the fruit shall be for others. And think not that you will slack for our men shall remain to watch over you.” Downcast the farmer hobbled into his home, leaving the decrees of his demise to blow across his farm in the wind.

He worked, harder than he ever worked before, but with his son gone his fields failed him. His mills ground out dust and his storehouses ever remained empty. With his daughter gone his men fought and scuffled, never satisfied with anything. And the farmer, at the end of his long and unproductive days, sat in his simple home, alone, with only the cold draft to keep him company. And so was his way until the end of his days.

Oh Wisdom

Oh Wisdom, where have you gone? Why have you abandoned me? Your voice I long to hear yet silence greets my straining ear. Your words so soft, as gentle as a breeze, have gone silent within the roar of the raging wind.
I have raced to the tops of mountains in hopes of finding you there. I have waded into the deepest valleys in hopes of seeing you. I walked the city streets, searching in the alleys, peering down the wide avenues, traversed the canyons of concrete and steel. I raced to the tops of the tallest buildings and descended into the deepest subways. I searched the courtrooms for you. I looked in on the halls of the great ones, passing laws of the land. I went to the market and rummaged through every stall. I was at the Library, where I found a memory of you, but it faded like a wisp of smoke when a candle is put to rest. I even went to the cathedral in hopes you sat among the rows of pews, but there you were not. Even there the pews forgot.
Oh Wisdom! How I long to hear your voice! You spoke so often, whenever I needed you, you were there. Oh Wisdom! Your words you served me as my daily bread. I ate them, each bite bitter and hard to swallow, but in my belly, they turned to the sweetest honey to keep me through the day. What would I give for but a morsel today? A Kingdom I would give! A crown I would toss at your feet for what is a kingdom worth if it is absent of you? Without you a crown is too heavy for my head. I would bow under its weight. It would pin my head to the floor and in shame there I would lie for all my days.
Now I hunger. The worm turns inside of me, unsated, unsatisfied. No bread can placate him, no meat will stop his churning. Oh Wisdom! Where has thou gone?
I seek thee, upon each hill, across every plain, in the fields of plenty, and on the sands of desolation. In every village I stop, at every port I inquire. I darken the door of every farmhouse to manor in search of you. I wait at the gates to see if you will enter. I go to the well in the morning to see if you’ll be there. I overturn the merchant’s tables, prod the hay in the horse’s stalls, ascend the steps of temples, even have searched the grounds where we lay those to rest who pay their price for the Fall. Oh Wisdom, why do you hide yourself so?
Upon a hill I peer into the horizon as the sun breaks forth, in hopes to see you upon the new light. And there I see, distant but true, smoke streaming into the sky. I focus and see a great multitude has gathered. A celebration is about to start! Have they found you? Are you there? I rush to the scene and make way through the revelry. So many people, so full of hope, so full of joy! You must be here! To the front I make my way, my heart bursting, with hope pouring out, my cup overflows!
Oh Wisdom! My heart is bursting! My eyes, they overflow. The tears shield me from full view of what I see. You are here, here tied upon a tree. What have they done? My God, my God, what have we done? There you are, your shame in view, arms lashed with chains to a post, set aflame. “Let her burn,” they scream. “Her words burned our hearts, and now we burn hers,” they cheer. Oh Wisdom, misery has taken me. I cannot look but look I must. I see what can’t be unseen. I see the tears boil off your cheeks. I see your beautiful lips crack in the heat. I see you look at me. I see your sorrow; I feel every fiber of your being. You cry for them that turn from you, even now. Even now.
Oh Wisdom. In the cool of the next morning all that remains are the ashes of our sin. Gone from us is your council. Away is your guidance. The party is long over. The embers have gone cold. I know not what to do but to mourn you. I feel like I shall mourn forever more. What joy can be found now? What happiness will come? I will mourn with your ashes. I fall before the pit of your despair and bow my head into the heap. I will pour your ashes upon my head. I will rent my clothes in anguish. I will fast in repentance. Here I will remain until they carry me away.
Upon my knees, head upon the ground, I hear you. Oh Wisdom, your words, they whisper to me from beyond. What tricks my mind plays? But no, not the words of the past do you speak but words of things yet to come. Should I tell them? No! I will lock them in my heart. I will cherish them for myself. No. I will tell them. As you ask, I will.
Wisdom has passed. She taught you upon her knee when you were young. She told you stories to help you sleep. She guided you as you grew. She forgot you not, even when you had no time for her. She was always there, lighting the path before you so you would not fall. But like a rabid animal you turned on her. You snuffed out her light because it exposed your deeds. You shunned her words because your heart was hard. You laughed at her council and spat upon her teachings. You banished her from your thinking, and in the end, outlawed her very words. You found her guilty of false crimes and burned her like a witch. You rejoiced at her pain. You celebrated her passing. But do not think her mercy is endless, no, that is for another. Wisdom is a Phoenix. From the ashes she will rise and no longer will she suffer your indignation. With flame you banished her, but with flame she will return, and her fire will be never ceasing.
Oh Wisdom, I beg, remember me.

                                                                   --2019