The following is an excerpt from a new essay I'm writing, called The Bear Paw Journal. It's a memoir about personal discovery.
I walked around the circle. “Grandfather, Great Spirit, bring here around this circle an aura of divine protection and love so that I am protected from all harm.” I had no incense, no sacred bundles, but I did sing a song of praise, something I remembered from the Sisterhood of the Shields. The Sisterhood holds up the shield of the firstness of woman, an ancient system oriented to the woman warrior, the goddess, a system of knowledge which relates to mother earth, the stars, and the primal energies of the earth as female. As weather warrior and a student of our planet’s history of male wars and male bloodshed and senseless suffering, the need for more manifestation of feminine consciousness hovered over me. Spending my life in negativity encases me into a negative thought form, a fossil without life. To become enlightened, to become spirit and formless and united with all living beings, I sensed the need to clear the negativity—all psychic and emotional debris—out of my system and out of my lifetime.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Toward an Angelic State of Mind
The teachings of Emmanuel Swedenborg have shaped my ethical and moral values since I was a child. My subsequent introspections, experiences, studies, discoveries and teachings developed by the works, philosophy and spiritual teachings of Swedenborg form the narrative basis of the 37 essays and letters that comprise Toward an Angelic State of Mind: Essays of Spirit from a Swedenborgian Novelist.
Many of the essays in this collection first appeared in New Church Life, for which I wrote for twenty years. Thus, there are literally hundreds of attributed references to Swedenborg’s writings and commentaries. The other essays convey my experiences in the world as a teacher, author and lifelong student whose works and actions are bedrocked in Swedenborgian philosophy, mysticism and thought.
Consequently, as the reader passes through Toward an Angelic State of Mind, he or she will not only see various elements of Swedenborgian philosophy as they shaped my life, but also how I grew to integrate them in my every day walk — whether in a classroom full of inmates, down to the pristine Havasupai Falls of Arizona, along Thoreau’s Walden Pond, or navigating the heart of marriage with my wife of 42 years, Betsy. Toward an Angelic State of Mind is very much a series of photographs of a Swedenborgian’s life — a life filled with adventure, discovery, success, error, redemption, and the greatest of all gifts: lifelong love of wife and family.
Many of the essays in this collection first appeared in New Church Life, for which I wrote for twenty years. Thus, there are literally hundreds of attributed references to Swedenborg’s writings and commentaries. The other essays convey my experiences in the world as a teacher, author and lifelong student whose works and actions are bedrocked in Swedenborgian philosophy, mysticism and thought.
Consequently, as the reader passes through Toward an Angelic State of Mind, he or she will not only see various elements of Swedenborgian philosophy as they shaped my life, but also how I grew to integrate them in my every day walk — whether in a classroom full of inmates, down to the pristine Havasupai Falls of Arizona, along Thoreau’s Walden Pond, or navigating the heart of marriage with my wife of 42 years, Betsy. Toward an Angelic State of Mind is very much a series of photographs of a Swedenborgian’s life — a life filled with adventure, discovery, success, error, redemption, and the greatest of all gifts: lifelong love of wife and family.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Fall Colors Trip
We celebrated our 50th class reunion at the Academy of the New Church in Bryn Athyn, Pennsylvania on October 9-12th. Four high school chums - Bill and Carol Kronen, wife Betsy and I, headed out by car for two weeks of digitally capturing a million fall leaves as "they brighten up and let go," just as we hope to do at the end of our lives! Whale-watching and moose hunting (all with just our cameras) were on our agenda.
We clicked away to Deep River, Connecticut, and enjoyed Verne and Carolyn Wehr's lovely home on a lake. Thanksgiving dinner came early!
We hung out two days on the Cape Cod hook, whale-watching from Falmouth to Provincetown. We returned to Walden Pond, to the Minute Man statue, staying at the Colonial Inn, where my hero, Henry David Thoreau once lived. We love and always have loved Concord, Massachusetts. Concord initiated the Revolutionary War with its Minute Men, and led the charge of the American Renaissance, with great thinkers such as Emerson and Thoreau, Hawthorne and Whitman, Dickinson, and Longfellow. From Concord we travelled to Bar Harbor, and from Bar Harbor to St. Stephens, New Brunswick.
At St. Johns, we boarded a fast car ferry to Digby, Nova Scotia, and drove all the way past Halifax, Nova Scotia, to Eastern Passage. After the sights of Nova Scotia, we drove all the way up to Baddeck on Cape Breton Island to take in the vast talents of Alexander Graham Bell demonstrated in his museum. Impressive! We came back to Bangor, Maine, via New Glasgow, and wallowed in the beauties of the White Mountains of New Hampshire and the Green Mountains of Vermont. After forty years of wishing, we avidly drank in Bennington, Vermont, with its Battle Monument, Bennington Pottery, and the Bennington Museum, where my Grandfather Gilbert Haven Smith has oil paintings from where he lived in South Shaftsbury, Vermont.
On our last day of the trip, on Sunday, October 26th, we were delighted to attend the Cadel Chapel (It's a Cathedral, actually) at West Point. We soaked in the most beautiful music from its male choir, including the tenderly sung hymn, "I Love You, Lord, and I Lift My Voice," which floated out to us from the nave. We were touched by readings of one of our favorite Psalms, Psalm 19, by a guest speaker from the American Bible Track Society, which that day donated one thousand Bibles to the new freshman plebes, just as it has done for a hundred years....
...Leaves surrounded us on all sides on our 3,000-plus mile Fall adventure. The yellow-purple White Ash leaves stand out in October, but after they change color, they are the first to fall after a heavy frost. Red Oak leaves glower at the paler Pin Cherry, whose purple-green leaves change to yellow, followed by the late blooming Quaking Aspen. Speckled Alder refuses to change color and alternates with the White Birch golden leaves, while the single-leaf Tupelo blushes next to the three-leaf stems of the American Mountain Ash with their bright berries and red leaves, prominent on high ridges in early fall. The Yellow Birch, along with White Birch and Mountain Birch, color the high slopes bright yellow in early October.
...The pale yellow Linden or Basswood leaves had no luck hiding all the skinny Sumac dark red and purple leaves, with their fuzzy twigs resembling antlers "in velvet."Mid-October's most prominent colors came from the yellow, orange, and sometimes red leaves of the Sugar Maple. The Red or Swamp Maple stands out early with bright red--with yellow and orange--color leaves, but it's the first to bare all. The aging American Beech leaves seem full of veins. The yellow leaves fade to bronze, but often stay on the tree all winter long. The Witch Hazel's yellow leaves provide camouflage for its small yellow flowers. The Striped Maple's huge leaves turn bright yellow or even creamy. The Large-Toothed Aspen brags with its larger leaves, but has the same colors as its smaller cousin, the Quaking Aspen....
...The names of places we encountered flashed with poetry, rhythm and humor. Where else but New England and the Canadian Maritime Provinces could you find these couplings?
- Bucks Port, Bar Harbor and Passamaquoddy.
- Bath, Boothbay Harbor and Christmas Cove.
- Round Pound, Nobleboro and Hog Island.
- Mashpee, Mushaboom, Meddybemps and Ecum Secum:
(that's right--Ecum Secum! No wonder Stephen King wrote maniacal novels--he's a Maine-iac, and not that far from Nova Scotia...)
- Pictou, Caribou, Necum Teuch and Tatamagouche.
- Lunenburg, Bayhead and Pugwash.
- Oromockto, Stewiale, Memramcook and Bangor, Maine....
We clicked away to Deep River, Connecticut, and enjoyed Verne and Carolyn Wehr's lovely home on a lake. Thanksgiving dinner came early!
We hung out two days on the Cape Cod hook, whale-watching from Falmouth to Provincetown. We returned to Walden Pond, to the Minute Man statue, staying at the Colonial Inn, where my hero, Henry David Thoreau once lived. We love and always have loved Concord, Massachusetts. Concord initiated the Revolutionary War with its Minute Men, and led the charge of the American Renaissance, with great thinkers such as Emerson and Thoreau, Hawthorne and Whitman, Dickinson, and Longfellow. From Concord we travelled to Bar Harbor, and from Bar Harbor to St. Stephens, New Brunswick.
At St. Johns, we boarded a fast car ferry to Digby, Nova Scotia, and drove all the way past Halifax, Nova Scotia, to Eastern Passage. After the sights of Nova Scotia, we drove all the way up to Baddeck on Cape Breton Island to take in the vast talents of Alexander Graham Bell demonstrated in his museum. Impressive! We came back to Bangor, Maine, via New Glasgow, and wallowed in the beauties of the White Mountains of New Hampshire and the Green Mountains of Vermont. After forty years of wishing, we avidly drank in Bennington, Vermont, with its Battle Monument, Bennington Pottery, and the Bennington Museum, where my Grandfather Gilbert Haven Smith has oil paintings from where he lived in South Shaftsbury, Vermont.
On our last day of the trip, on Sunday, October 26th, we were delighted to attend the Cadel Chapel (It's a Cathedral, actually) at West Point. We soaked in the most beautiful music from its male choir, including the tenderly sung hymn, "I Love You, Lord, and I Lift My Voice," which floated out to us from the nave. We were touched by readings of one of our favorite Psalms, Psalm 19, by a guest speaker from the American Bible Track Society, which that day donated one thousand Bibles to the new freshman plebes, just as it has done for a hundred years....
...Leaves surrounded us on all sides on our 3,000-plus mile Fall adventure. The yellow-purple White Ash leaves stand out in October, but after they change color, they are the first to fall after a heavy frost. Red Oak leaves glower at the paler Pin Cherry, whose purple-green leaves change to yellow, followed by the late blooming Quaking Aspen. Speckled Alder refuses to change color and alternates with the White Birch golden leaves, while the single-leaf Tupelo blushes next to the three-leaf stems of the American Mountain Ash with their bright berries and red leaves, prominent on high ridges in early fall. The Yellow Birch, along with White Birch and Mountain Birch, color the high slopes bright yellow in early October.
...The pale yellow Linden or Basswood leaves had no luck hiding all the skinny Sumac dark red and purple leaves, with their fuzzy twigs resembling antlers "in velvet."Mid-October's most prominent colors came from the yellow, orange, and sometimes red leaves of the Sugar Maple. The Red or Swamp Maple stands out early with bright red--with yellow and orange--color leaves, but it's the first to bare all. The aging American Beech leaves seem full of veins. The yellow leaves fade to bronze, but often stay on the tree all winter long. The Witch Hazel's yellow leaves provide camouflage for its small yellow flowers. The Striped Maple's huge leaves turn bright yellow or even creamy. The Large-Toothed Aspen brags with its larger leaves, but has the same colors as its smaller cousin, the Quaking Aspen....
...The names of places we encountered flashed with poetry, rhythm and humor. Where else but New England and the Canadian Maritime Provinces could you find these couplings?
- Bucks Port, Bar Harbor and Passamaquoddy.
- Bath, Boothbay Harbor and Christmas Cove.
- Round Pound, Nobleboro and Hog Island.
- Mashpee, Mushaboom, Meddybemps and Ecum Secum:
(that's right--Ecum Secum! No wonder Stephen King wrote maniacal novels--he's a Maine-iac, and not that far from Nova Scotia...)
- Pictou, Caribou, Necum Teuch and Tatamagouche.
- Lunenburg, Bayhead and Pugwash.
- Oromockto, Stewiale, Memramcook and Bangor, Maine....
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Thoreau and Walden still rock!!
Think of numerous Academy teachers who introduced us to Thoreau and Walden.
Okay, so I’m the only guy who liked the book.
It took at least fifty-eight years for the United States to treasure this author and for the book to become a classic.
Eight hundred out of one thousand copies of Walden were still on Thoreau’s bookshelves when he died…in 1862…
Have you guys seen the 1995 Walden, by Henry D. Thoreau: An Annotated Edition Edited by Walter Harding??
It is just about the biggest find since Eckhart Tolle’s New Earth or Tutankhamen. One of the best gifts I ever received.
If you love incredibly good nature writing and thoughtful reflections on mankind, try it.
Did you know Ralph Waldo Emerson had his Transcendental Reading Group in Concord read Emanuel Swedenborg’s True Christian Religion, Heaven and Hell, and Conjugial Love?
Another touching story…..
Okay, so I’m the only guy who liked the book.
It took at least fifty-eight years for the United States to treasure this author and for the book to become a classic.
Eight hundred out of one thousand copies of Walden were still on Thoreau’s bookshelves when he died…in 1862…
Have you guys seen the 1995 Walden, by Henry D. Thoreau: An Annotated Edition Edited by Walter Harding??
It is just about the biggest find since Eckhart Tolle’s New Earth or Tutankhamen. One of the best gifts I ever received.
If you love incredibly good nature writing and thoughtful reflections on mankind, try it.
Did you know Ralph Waldo Emerson had his Transcendental Reading Group in Concord read Emanuel Swedenborg’s True Christian Religion, Heaven and Hell, and Conjugial Love?
Another touching story…..
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Tornado Fever Excerpt
Just to whet your appetites, here's an excerpt from the beginning of the soon to be released Tornado Fever...
Call me the kid with a vivid imagination. The midnight flyboy. The dreamer. Luke comes from the Latin word for light. The world in which I traveled in was nothing but dark. It was all quiet when I said goodnight and fell asleep. Then… listen! Winds howl. Storms rage. My ears awaken me as if I’m in the middle of the Glenview Naval Air Base runway. A whole flight of jet engines crank up to full volume… It was the summer of 1949 and I was about to turn ten. My bed and the whole house shook in terror.
I crawled down to the end of my bed and put my trembling hands on the windowsill. I pressed my face against the cool windowpane; turning my eyes into saucers blanched white and etched with blinking images of destruction that crossed my irises left and right as they traveled at the speed of light. Looking out, I couldn’t see the familiar mulberry branches, splayed out in front of me, that hid the beloved view of our green side yard, the grass always ready for games of baseball or croquet. No, I was looking into a different world in a different time and space… Where was I?
First thing I see is cars pushed off roads, trees uprooted or snapped off, windows broken, some trailer houses toppled.
With every passing minute, more damage… roofs torn off, boxcars pushed over, and entire trains derailed… instant carnage. Through lightning flashes, I see rural buildings demolished, whole frame houses demolished, cars lifted off the ground, trees in a nearby forest uprooted, snapped, leveled, or debarked by flying debris. Screams stuck in my throat. Fear paralyzed me. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t yell for help.
Call me the kid with a vivid imagination. The midnight flyboy. The dreamer. Luke comes from the Latin word for light. The world in which I traveled in was nothing but dark. It was all quiet when I said goodnight and fell asleep. Then… listen! Winds howl. Storms rage. My ears awaken me as if I’m in the middle of the Glenview Naval Air Base runway. A whole flight of jet engines crank up to full volume… It was the summer of 1949 and I was about to turn ten. My bed and the whole house shook in terror.
I crawled down to the end of my bed and put my trembling hands on the windowsill. I pressed my face against the cool windowpane; turning my eyes into saucers blanched white and etched with blinking images of destruction that crossed my irises left and right as they traveled at the speed of light. Looking out, I couldn’t see the familiar mulberry branches, splayed out in front of me, that hid the beloved view of our green side yard, the grass always ready for games of baseball or croquet. No, I was looking into a different world in a different time and space… Where was I?
First thing I see is cars pushed off roads, trees uprooted or snapped off, windows broken, some trailer houses toppled.
With every passing minute, more damage… roofs torn off, boxcars pushed over, and entire trains derailed… instant carnage. Through lightning flashes, I see rural buildings demolished, whole frame houses demolished, cars lifted off the ground, trees in a nearby forest uprooted, snapped, leveled, or debarked by flying debris. Screams stuck in my throat. Fear paralyzed me. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t yell for help.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Botanical Walk
Here are some flowers encountered along a morning botanical hike with our former pastor, Frank Rose, in Pine Canyon Camp in the Chiracahua Mountains... beautiful!!
They remind me of a couple of quotes from Thoreau:
"The morning, which is the most memorable season of the day, is the awakening hour."
"Morning is when I am awake, and there is a dawn in me."
Globe Mallow
Mentzalia Multiflorum
Bearded Penstamen
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Son of the Academy
“Who is he? Who is he? Truly he is a Son of the Academy.”
At times he shone magnificently like the Andromeda Galaxy or like the Great Orion Nebulae, twinkling both in the skies above us and in the classrooms--in front of us. I was privileged to be taught by him in the ‘Fifties and ‘Sixties, and appreciated him even more in the ‘Seventies and ‘Eighties.
Swedenborg described a man he had once known on earth, who communicated with him from heaven. This friend could manifest himself by pleasant and enjoyable representatives, such as beautiful colors of every kind, and colored forms, and by infants beautifully decorated and clothed. I immediately was reminded of our mystery teacher. When we run out into the back yard to see the infrequent rainbow glimmering in grey clouds still full of moisture, I think of Mr. Academy. Both Swedenborg’s friend and our teacher acted with a soft and gentle influx, and insinuated themselves into the affections of others with the purpose of making our lives pleasant and delightful.
His twinkling eyes remind me of the Orion Nebulae, the Andromeda Galaxy, the rainbow sparkling in the clouds, and the family campfire. He is easily able to illuminate the darkness and bring light and warmth to whole groups of gathered individuals during their natural and spiritual quests in his classrooms to determine their identity, their purpose, their mission, and their belongingness.
I sit at a small table, drink an green iced-tea latte, take bites from a blueberry scone topped with an occasional small pat of butter from Glenview Farms, and I glance out the window and for a moment - I thought I saw a phantom rainbow in the sky. I close my eyes and feel the warm campfire presence of this mystery man and am warmed by the memories. I turn to the very last page in the New Church Life, and see all that’s left of my imaginary campfire. The embers glow, sparkle, and twinkle up at me. Dismayed, I read in black print under Deaths: Mr. Charles Snowden Cole, at Bryn Athyn, Pennsylvania, May 18, 2008. 93….
He wasn’t just Mr. Charlie Cole. He was Professor Charlie Cole. He was Dean Charlie Cole. I hear a bell ring in the Children’s Reading Room nearby and think, “Charlie just became an angel.” I think of meteor showers from the Orion Constellation, and console myself that, “The Orionides will remind me of Charlie Cole every October 21st….” I remember the Andromeda Galaxy’s misty patch of light took two million years to reach us, but now, like Charlie Cole’s twinkle, its gleam will be with us forever. Okay, Charlie’s earthly body is gone from us. But everything he stood for, corresponded to, and represented lives. His campfire never dies. It just turns to the man we all called charcoal (CharCole), still warm and light and alive, full of all the love he gave us; full of all the love we gave him back….
At times he shone magnificently like the Andromeda Galaxy or like the Great Orion Nebulae, twinkling both in the skies above us and in the classrooms--in front of us. I was privileged to be taught by him in the ‘Fifties and ‘Sixties, and appreciated him even more in the ‘Seventies and ‘Eighties.
Swedenborg described a man he had once known on earth, who communicated with him from heaven. This friend could manifest himself by pleasant and enjoyable representatives, such as beautiful colors of every kind, and colored forms, and by infants beautifully decorated and clothed. I immediately was reminded of our mystery teacher. When we run out into the back yard to see the infrequent rainbow glimmering in grey clouds still full of moisture, I think of Mr. Academy. Both Swedenborg’s friend and our teacher acted with a soft and gentle influx, and insinuated themselves into the affections of others with the purpose of making our lives pleasant and delightful.
His twinkling eyes remind me of the Orion Nebulae, the Andromeda Galaxy, the rainbow sparkling in the clouds, and the family campfire. He is easily able to illuminate the darkness and bring light and warmth to whole groups of gathered individuals during their natural and spiritual quests in his classrooms to determine their identity, their purpose, their mission, and their belongingness.
I sit at a small table, drink an green iced-tea latte, take bites from a blueberry scone topped with an occasional small pat of butter from Glenview Farms, and I glance out the window and for a moment - I thought I saw a phantom rainbow in the sky. I close my eyes and feel the warm campfire presence of this mystery man and am warmed by the memories. I turn to the very last page in the New Church Life, and see all that’s left of my imaginary campfire. The embers glow, sparkle, and twinkle up at me. Dismayed, I read in black print under Deaths: Mr. Charles Snowden Cole, at Bryn Athyn, Pennsylvania, May 18, 2008. 93….
He wasn’t just Mr. Charlie Cole. He was Professor Charlie Cole. He was Dean Charlie Cole. I hear a bell ring in the Children’s Reading Room nearby and think, “Charlie just became an angel.” I think of meteor showers from the Orion Constellation, and console myself that, “The Orionides will remind me of Charlie Cole every October 21st….” I remember the Andromeda Galaxy’s misty patch of light took two million years to reach us, but now, like Charlie Cole’s twinkle, its gleam will be with us forever. Okay, Charlie’s earthly body is gone from us. But everything he stood for, corresponded to, and represented lives. His campfire never dies. It just turns to the man we all called charcoal (CharCole), still warm and light and alive, full of all the love he gave us; full of all the love we gave him back….
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