“WHAT IF…”

WHAT IF Earths-Inner-Core-has-an-Inner-Core-of-its-Own-700x325GOD IS & SATAN IS?

This is not a religious question that I ask because each of us knows our faith in countless diversity. As well, centuries of wars are still being fought over religion in order to establish which of humankind GOD favors more. So this then leads me to ask: where is Satan and Lucifer, the leader of the fallen angels, in this holocaust? I imagine in good spirits as they observe the limitless human race move violently to declare and/or rescue our essence.

We humankind—at our nativity—receives a gift in the form of free will. This CHOICE allows us to decide on or prefer—and I presume not always reflect on—the impact our transactions may or will have on others. Then there is our own soul to consider: our genuine core. And always there is death and none are given their day or time or reason. So our life story is written in each second that we take a breath without knowing if after that another will follow.

Some say they have seen the after-life and I cannot deny their claims. For what is truth for one is not truth for another. Perhaps that is why we humankind continue to hate what we cannot believe and why wars are fought to force belief on others. We are, after all, human beings searching for truth; but my question is: Whose?

AND ALL THE WHILE GOD AND SATAN WATCH

“ME…IN THE AGING MIRROR…”

mirror1Over the last few years I’ve been on a hell-of-a-ride that, by a whisker, I live to tell their tale. The reason I begin my blog this way is to inform that not even the word grateful depicts how I feel to be alive: in the truest sense of that word—living. In the before I was appreciative; now I know life to be in the hands of each moment. Sure, I still plan and anticipate and hope because, well because I’m here. Yet, the feelings behind the words hell-of-a-ride are still brittle. When they strengthen I’ll tell their story.

Today follow me into the Aging Mirror… At my age I tend not to look into any mirror, let alone one with the word aging in it. But in spite of this confession, stick with me because I have a feeling we will both learn something. First I must set the stage for my mirror: Father Time and Circumstances. The Supporting Actors: experience, knowledge, right place/wrong time, troubles, second chances and intentions.

My childhood: Italian Father/English Mother and the associated forty-two first cousins may make clear my mad desire to record/write/blog whatever I observed or experienced. My first writings are in a red plastic diary with a small silver key and today books and blogs and life stories. When young I took no notice of time fleeting. But these days I ask Mother Earth to slow the milliseconds without upsetting gravity.

As to looking into the aging mirror these days; well that is a Horse of a Different Color. As Dorothy discovered in the Wizard of Oz she’d had the choice to return to Kansa all along; just a click of her Ruby Red Slippers. The analogy here for me is that when I look into the aging mirror these days I too have an option. I can choose to look away from what time has created or I can look with admiration at the woman I’ve fought to become. It isn’t what I see in the mirror—it is instead what is reflected back.

“TO BE OR NOT TO BE IS THE QUESTION…”

Whether or not William Shakespeare of Stratford-upon-Avon wrote or did not write the works attributed to him—as some claim—does not in my mind cast a shadow of a doubt that “The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark or HAMLET for short, dates between 1599 & 1602 and is a masterpiece of betrayal—a  blog for another day.

Today is about the phrase from Hamlet “…to be or not to be” that we the people persist saying to this day. Yet how or when the words is the question” were added to the phrase I cannot say. Perhaps the answer is in the play itself or in our need to find answers for questions that are unanswerable.

As in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, life and death is still in the balance of how we humankind are to be or not to be. Our energy is intensifying and we look to Mother Earth who looks back and asks us: to be or not to be? Generations of those who built a solid steadiness we counted on weep at our breakdown. Malevolent and Noble continually cross swords to assure a win and the people cry out: to be or not to be. Children, being children, sense the MIGHT of the swords and reach for a sanctuary. The Statue of Liberty—a gift to America from the people of France—stands in bewilderment at her role to be or not to be.

The older word Musing means thought or reflection or deliberation and broadcasts to the world…TO BE OR NOT TO BE IS THE QUESTION!

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“IT’S EVERYBODY’S LOSS…”

Janet's project 1 copyI know loss because growing up I attended the funerals of those who came before me. I touched their ice-cold hands, remembering how they felt to hold when warm. Women wept openly into their silk-thread hankies. Men stood close by to catch those faint of heart. And the true-life of the deceased became visible to each mourner that stood overlooking the coffin. “Pete, do you remember when she…” “Thelma, I remember him saying…”  “Did you know she raised those kids…” “He knew how to tell a joke, better than…” “She never said much, so quiet…” “He is in a better place…” “The little tot just didn’t have…”

Death Then—regardless of the reason—was a coming together to acknowledge a future devoid of the essence of our loved one.  

Death Today is shape-shifting to resentment and prejudice and religion and mistrust and illegal drugs and refugees and drunk drivers and ideologies and women’s rights and politics and greed and technology and all countries who kill their own and those who steal everything. 

Mother Earth has experienced centuries of wars in the names of religion and greed so maybe I should not be so saddened by the shape-shifting we SEE now. However, I am because this war is to kill humankind without any rules of engagement.

So I ask: “Who will be left to touch that ice-cold hand  

 of yesterday’s remembering?”

“IT’S EVERYBODY’S LOSS…”

 

“THE MORAL ARC ~ IS HUMANKIND TEETERING?”

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Perhaps I ask the question in this title because the local and international news venues of every ilk tend to deliver humankind’s worse traits to our homes, cell phones, social media, churches, schools etc. And if that were not enough, they interweave the wording toward one ideology or another. Recognizing this ploy is what drew me to ask this question: “What is The Moral Arc of truth these days?” Okay, for those who would remind me that there are warm moments included in the news to counterbalance the unthinkable I would ask: which news story actually remains in your awareness?

Moral is a word with many implications. My 1966 Dictionary A-Z has a three-inch column devoted to this one very important utterance. Here are a few: character; genuine; concerned; teaching; virtuous; duty; goodness, and moral fiber. And Arc is a word that is part of any curve; especially of a circle.

We Humankind are the writers—whether we believe it or not—of our life story. There are also elements we have in common like wondering of a Big Bang or a Cosmos Energy or God or Mother Earth—Our Home.

And second-by-second Mother Time Inquires: “The Moral Arc ~ Is Humankind Teetering?”

~ THE WEB ~

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~ THE WEB & A SPIDER’S WEB ~  

The  Web and a Spider’s Web are beautiful and deadly all at the same time. Coined by J. L. Montera

Yes I too stepped into the void that is The Web and doing so I learned new terminology and uncovered a world out in the Cloud that is The Web. I learned that each step one takes to build a platform is a crucial step not to be taken lightly. To understand that not knowing is okay at first but this luxury is not permanent and can be fatal. I took advice from the clued-up yet wondered how technology would ultimately impact me as a person. Would I find value added to my hard work or become stunted as to who I was and the products I create?

For example, to trust something called an eBook that actually does not exist until downloaded. Or copyrights with ISBN numbers that float by on the back cover of every river of creativity.

The Web is like a Stage where each name of every actor is present to prove their competence and guarantee their resources are enough for the World’s Stage. The governments of the world are present as well to capture the accolades that are collected in every monetary value.

Social Media on The Web are second-by-second scenes that soar past leaving a void where story telling used to be. There are harsh scripts by bullies of all sorts with the intention to do harm. Those attending the play have no recourse but to believe what the script intended so accept the unacceptable. Or worse, writes a different play that wounds and the plays go on.

The Web that is a Cloud and The Spider Web that sustains a spider are, I imagine, here to stay. So the last line of my play warns: What is beautiful can also be deadly!

“MIGRATION & HUMANKIND & ELEPHANTS…”

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In the Serengeti, every year between the wet and dry season, the elephants migrate hundreds of miles at great peril to their younglings and themselves. Yet to not migrate is a death sentence to this Keystone specie. As I write this, the words death sentence catches my thoughts as we watch humankind do the same all across Mother Earth.

My family migrated too, from Brazil and Italy and England and by Wagon Train. Their intention was a better life in America for themselves and those of us yet to be born. In so many ways THEY built the America we were to be raised in and taught us the value of a place called HOME.

Today I’m conflicted about humankind migration because the media of every flavor spins THE STORY in so many ways. So I go back to the voice of those who came before me. Their intention was a better life and education for their children and FREEDOM. Freedom is a word that means free expression so I ask: If one who is not allowed a voice arrives in a place that does, what are the consequences to them and the country they now live in?

How I wished I’d have asked that question of those who came before me. I’ve never known anything else but liberty—Migrate…Integrate…Assimilate…Build!

Like the elephants, humankind will forever migrate. The Serengeti Elephants eat 350 pounds of food a day. If their droppings were not left behind there would be no fertilization for the grasslands to grow and that would change and ultimately destroy the Serengeti and all its inhabitants as we know it today.

Yet again Mother Earth speaks on our behalf…But are we listening?

“eBOOKS, PRINT BOOKS & THE UNIVERSE…”

Let’s start with THE UNIVERSE—surely you must know that I would not attempt to explain the unexplainable! So I went to Wikipedia who descuniverseribes THE IT in these terms:

The Universe is all of time and space and its contents. IT includes planets, stars, galaxies, the contents of intergalactic space from the smallest subatomic particles to all matter and energy. And the size of the whole universe is not known and may be infinite.

Let us next look into THE IT that is eBooks. I know Wikipedia could tell us…but I’ve recently been living in that world—out there where elements spin in a universe of content that for all practical purposes does not exist. That is until a computer key somewhere in Earth’s space and time, clicks.

THE IT that is Print Books is, at first glance, Humankind’s storytelling in every genre created to date and the variety of those yet to be vetted. I could throw in Google Cloud Print but that is a print of a whole different color. The word Print means produce, like matter and energy in the universe, but on a much smaller scale of course.

What follows is a wrapping up of this blog… The Universe, remember, is matter and energy. This tells me that all that has been written and what is writing and what is yet to be written shall remain FOR ALL TIME! So I ask, “What PRINT might that leave on the Universe?”

eBook “How Angels Fly” @ http://amazon.com/author/jlmontera

 

“GLOBAL WARMING & A PICTURE OF MOTHER EARTH…”

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Each day I wake to a picture of Mother Earth that hangs on a wall across from my bed. Her colors are the shade of Salmon as they fight upstream waters to mate. Her blue shades are those of the oceans that buoy up thoughts of how deep does it go? The russet sands of windswept deserts. The white color is the home of Polar Bear and Penguins and the wonderment of what is beneath the ice flows.

There is another Picture of Mother Earth with the name Global Warming. Since I have not and will not be alive a millennium (1,000 years) I’ve not ventured into this quarrel. Yet, there are a few things I’ve noticed on the matter.

Since Mother Earth is a sort of Globe I would think that all governments would get on board with how to fix this critical dilemma that supposedly intends to obliterate humankind and any and all specie that consider Earth home. I do see wars—for whatever cause—high on lists. I see people wearing masks as winds share their caustic air. I see poverty that stores trash until the rains come and the rivers send it to the oceans. I see immigrants on capsized boats drowning in the seas and wonder how that changes the salt waters of Earth. And I see people with placards who hold responsible one another for The Cause.

Yet, each day that I glance over at my picture of Mother Earth I’m certain of one thing: Until humankind lives up to its name – HUMAN KIND – we the collective will miss treat one another. Then I get curious and wonder: How long will Mother Earth tolerate her errant children before she says ENOUGH!

“LOVE FROM ANOTHER DIMENSION…”

typewriter_legswtypewriter_sample_img_2A very long time ago I wrote what I considered prose or maybe it was poetry; I’m not very good at identifying genres. Be this as it may, I will share with you (over time) my own genre entitled: Thoughts.

OLD SWEATER: Her aged hands hold knitting needles as if in a fencing duel. Skeins of yarn wend their way out of her basket. Click/click/click… Fabric is woven into a meshwork of color. Her stitches conjoin threads for the creation. A whittled form emerges from her needled skill. Her love is its texture.

BURYING: Street faces serve as sentinels for the funeral procession. Darkly clothed mourners stand in sorrow-laden silence. A warm breeze carries religious rites to my wintery soul. Painful emotions kill my heart as the knife they drew from yours. Your tomb awaits and I throw dirt instead of a blanket over you.