The Human Conservancy...purpose

By Teal Burrell

SOMETHING to live for. This simple idea is at the heart of our greatest stories, driving our heroes on. It is the thread from which more complex philosophies are woven. As Nietzsche once wrote, “He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how”.

As human beings, it is hard for us to shake the idea that our existence must have significance beyond the here and now. Life begins and ends, yes, but surely there is a greater meaning. The trouble is, these stories we tell ourselves do nothing to soften the harsh reality: as far as the universe is concerned, we are nothing but fleeting and randomly assembled collections of energy and matter. One day, we will all be dust.

One day, but not yet. Just because life is ultimately meaningless doesn’t stop us searching for meaning while we are alive. Some seek it in religion, others in a career, money, family or pure escapism. But all who find it seem to stumble across the same thing – a thing psychologists call “purpose”.

Footnote: The notion of purpose in life may seem ill-defined and even unscientific. But a growing amount of research is pinning down what it is, and how it affects our lives. People with a greater sense of purpose live longer, sleep better and have better relationships. Purpose cuts the risk of stroke and depression. It helps people recover from addiction or manage their glucose levels if they are diabetic. If a pharmaceutical company could bottle such a treatment, it would make billions. But you can find your own, and it’s free.

From Inside The Sane Asylum...back on the road.

Back on the road with my two ole friends. Check back in a few days. Headed South. Always head south if you have a choice...only go North when it's absolutely necessary to do so. Especially in the winter...:)

I will leave you with a scribbling about my two ole friends from The Archives.

Be well, have reasonable thoughts and grin like you mean it...Doc

Two ole friends...

Two Ole Friends...

Some of you have seen this ole back sack and cap of mine. They have been with me for a while and they are special. They make every trip with me. They listen to all my bull shit, never say a word. Carries three pair of underwear, one pair of socks in case I have to wear socks to impress someone. Two linen shirts, a black hoody, just in case, and the basic hygiene stuff and a pair of old blue jeans, just in case I have to impress someone. A pair of sunglasses, lip balm, small binoculars and my favorite flip flops, a pair of fold up reading glasses, a note pad, a stick of sunscreen, a jar of cashews, my iPad, phone and an old first generation Nano. Carries all that for me and never complains, ..amazing. 

The cap now is a different story. About seven years old I would guess. Covered up a lot of bad crap for me...gray hair, trust me, a lot of bad hair, not just days. It can last an entire season. I liked the message that this cap gave me when I picked it up the first time from the counter. Relax...and on top of that, if your look inside there are directions for mixing The Cool Operator bar drink. Never tried it, but it's good to know its there. Just in case I have one of those blank moment emergencies and can't order my drink, I can just hand the bar keep my hat. Yep...This cap... always with me.

By the way, if you think you might need that Cool Operator recipe, let me know. Just in case you have to impress someone...after all, what are friends for?...Doc and ole friends

From The Road...The Old Barn

From The Road...The Old Barn

TK,  they call him. He lives to the north side of Bernice. I went to visit TK on my last trip into those parts. He gave me the following directions to find his house;

If you are coming from the south, turn right at the only red light in Bernice. Go over the railroad tracks and take the fork to the left. Drive until the black top turns to gravel and dirt. About two miles you will come to some dogs laying in the road. Make your way through the dogs and take the first dirt lane on the left.  As you round the curve you will see my house down in the pasture. You will find me in the old barn...

Sure enough, he was in the barn grooming a skinny ole paint horse he rescued from the grips of Horse Heaven.

I've known TK all my living days. We played in the woods, made pine top forts, explored small ponds and even double dated sisters on one occasion when we were still wet behind the ears. TK could write a dissertation on the Game Of Dominoes, simply because he claims to be the worlds foremost expert on the fine art of the game. Said the only time he loses a game is when he has to donate a game for the aid of  personal pity or use it as a long range strategy.

Tall and spry, dressed in faded Big Mac overalls with a loud welcome of, "look what the cats dragged in; see you found the dogs in the road!" He is always quick with a joke and a philosophy on just about any subject you can conjure up.

I don't even know how we got off on the subject of Dominoes. Never my intention. I only wanted a pint of his famous corn liquor. May have been the sampling from the pint Mason Jar. He tasted it first, said he wanted to make sure it was still good. Guess it was still good, he passed it over to me for my liking. Yep, it was that sampling that begged my first question. "Is it true TK, that you are the best Domino player in the world?"
"Y no," he said. "But I beat the hell out of the best that said they was."


Domino is a good game. A game of skill. I would say it is about 10 percent luck. It requires a lot of concentration, thought, and plan smart ass grit. Not like golf or chess where silence is required of spectators and competitors alike. A good player must shake off any heckling remarks. A Domino player has much more on his mind. He is working on his style of play. TK for example said he played with an Amateur Style. As he describes it; "Amateurs play not knowing their next play. Just random, not following the expected strategy. It makes my competitors try and figure out what I'm going to do next. I know, if I don't know, then they couldn't know either." See how the moonshine brings out the best in logic?

TK plays most mornings at Hoot's Barber Shop. A gathering of the towns finest men, doing their part to keep the moral and social fabric of Bernice alive. A lot of social bonding and lies being exchanged. They call it therapy and gossip . I call it a reason to get out of the house. I always thought it would be great to host a live daily radio broadcast from Hoots Barber at the time of these gatherings. Maybe sell cassette recordings of the Therapy sessions...:)

There was an old straight back chair leaning against the wall. TK introduced the chair as, the retired in honor chair, of old man Pete Alford. As the story goes, Pete sat on that chair every Friday morning for five years, in this barn to best TK's Amateur Style.

"Alford was a nice feller, a fine upstanding citizen and looked reasonably good in his clothes for a man of his age. He just didn't understand the game of Dominoes very well." TK continue to spout, "I feel it is my duty to report that I beat him sober, not so sober, whittling whist I whistled, and even left handed. Beat him four out of five times when we played...well maybe three out of four." As he looked up and grinned. "Alford retired from Dominos in 1993 the same year the chair retired."

TK is known for his Wisecracking Psychology game strategy when he wants to humiliate his opponents and destroy their confidence. Here are a few techniques he shared with me:

.laugh as if you didn't intend to, while your opponent is studying the board.
.play fast for those that ponder and hesitate.
.ponder and hesitate for those who play fast.
.after you choose your rock to be played, pause with your arm in midair, purse your lips as in thought then lay it ever so softly on the table.
.each time after you win, idly say to your opponent, "one day I sure would like to know why you played that way." This implies stupidity and gives them something to think about.
.before you begin each game, let your opponents know that 50% of your foes seek mental health counseling after playing you.
.never appear to doubt the tale of your opponents, no matter how improbable. Except for Champions, and they have no need to gild the lily. They all are liars and braggarts. Smile, nod, and politely mumur as your opponent tells of humiliating ole Joe or Bob. Just say in admiration. "Gee Pete, you must have been really good...back then...gimme twenty-five."

We even played a game or two. After getting soundly whooped, I commented to him that I wished I were a good Domino player. He quipped, "Yep, I wish you was too."

You see, the Game of Dominoes is just like life. Confidence is no problem...keeping it is...


Be well, play your doubles when you can and always take the dirt Lane past the dogs in the road. You just might enjoy an afternoon therapy session with an old friend...I got a pint of good moonshine and more...Doc

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To Therapy

There is an Old saying..."you are only paranoid when you are wrong.

But if you stay paranoid long enough, you will be right."

Made Me Grin...Aunt Delmer

Aunt Delmer...

Now the name Delmer can be used as a boy or girls name. As strange as it seems, it has a meaning of one by the sea. Some Spanish twist to Delmar. The name reached its popularity in the 1930s and rose to number 430 on the most named list. In recent years, you don't run into many Delmers or Delmars for that matter.

I had an Aunt Delmer that passed many years ago. She was a feisty ole soul. Raised chickens for their eggs and on special occasions might sever the head of one she no longer admired. I remember her chicken and dumplings mostly. I think it was because she would ask, "how did we like the taste of Chicken Lips?" Or some other name as odd, much like Delmer.

Chickens go to roost at dusk, but that was not soon enough for Aunt Delmer. She usually ran the chickens to roost well before sunset, just before she went to milk her Jersey Cow. Her chickens always seemed a little nervous around her.

She did her wash on Thursday mornings just before daylight. She would build a fire under her black wash pot. Bring it to a boil and give the clothes a good stirring in lye soap.  Her son bought her a brand new Sears & Roebuck washer for Christmas one year. She would have no part of it and claimed it did not get the clothes as clean as a good boiling.

Aunt Delmer could not read or write and would not have known her name written if she saw it. She was Half Indian and a little crazy like her full blooded daddy. He had a peculiar behavior. Usually when no one expected it,  he would jump to his feet and pretend he was driving a team of horses.
I always watched in amusement how he cracked his imaginary whip and yelled horse orders at the top of his lungs. Well this is not about him but about Aunt Delmer. Just thought you might get a little of her flavor as she ran her chickens to roost.

There is this story about Aunt Delmer I would like to share with you:

Seems the preacher came calling on her one bright morning. Trying to save her soul is my guess.
She was a religious sort but did not frequent the pews of the church very often. That in itself required saving...:)

Well, the preacher told her that she was getting of the age that she should be thinking of the here after.
She said, "Oh, I do all the time preacher, no matter where-in the kitchen, outside in the barn or yard- I ask myself...What am I here after?"

Be well, think reasonable thoughts and for Pete's sake, let the chickens go to roost on their own...
Doc

Front Porch Psychology..anatta

"There is no consistent self...so why should we take everything so personally?"

 What is this thing we call the mind, and how can we use it to make ourselves a little less miserable and a little happier? Maybe even just 10 percent happier. If there is no consistent self, it is at least my intention that my ever-changing self be equanimous and, well, 10 percent happier. No matter who I am.

Scribblings From Inside The Sane Asylum...a personal matter

From Inside The Sane Asylum...A personal matter.

The wisest person could ask no more of Fate
Than to be simple, modest, brave, true,
Safe from the many, honored by the few;
To count as naught in world, or church, or state;
But inwardly in secret to be great.

James Russell Lowell

My grandfather was quiet a character. I think about his character often as I have done throughout my long life. What makes character?  What is that "thing" that defines another? As I think back, I never saw my grandfather out of control and never heard him complain. Mostly saw a grin on his face. One of those S--- Eating Grins. If you know what I mean?

Never really saw him sad but once. The day I went into his hospital room and told him that the funeral service for my grandmother was beautiful. Small tear ran down the corner of his left eye. They were married for over seventy-five years. He died two months after her death. "Nothing more to tend" as he expressed.

He always greeted others with a crazy comment about life. Usually a little cynical in tone.  "Did it to get a rise out them," he would say.  It was his way to engage in conservation. Before the conversation was over, he would always turn to story telling. Some with a lie or two just to give them their money's worth. He never cheated a man, even in a good story.

I went into town with him one day and as he stepped off the curb, a young man in a truck almost hit him. The young man slammed on his breaks and yelled, "watch out!". My grandfather yelled the reply, "why you coming back?" Funny old man. He could never remember all the grandkids names so he just called us some critter from nature. Horsefly, horse collar, jack rabbit or even bumblebee comes to mind. I have always defined his character as a man who seemed to have made peace with himself and just got along with it all... Well it seemed that way to me.

Character. It's a noun. Stands on it own. The mental and moral qualities distinctive to an individual.
That is a nice sentence. Character traits are all the aspects of a person's behavior and attitudes that make up that person's personality. Everyone has character traits, both good and bad. Even characters in books have character traits. Character traits are often shown with descriptive adjectives and idioms like, chip off the ole block, fuddy duddy, sour puss or just plain deadwood. I tend to favor descriptive phrases like, he didn't give two hoots and a holler about what you thought.  Or, his daddy didn't raise no fool.

Ever given much thought to what your descriptive phrase might be? It's kinda like being asked what's  your sign. I always just say my sign says "slippery when wet." Now a phrase about your character needs to be more serious. One of those with Socrates qualities of moral character. "He had a disposition to behave in the right manner."   That may have been Aristotle? But a good example. It has a moral virtue kinda tone. Moral virtue requires habit and practice.  I had a habit of playing golf once, but found that practice was not proportional to getting better. At least in my case. Maybe the same for my moral virtue. We do have a tendency to practice our bad habits. Don't you think?

Listen, I'm not asking you to think about this as some grand deepening of your consciousness, I just needed something to write about, and one thing has lead to another until we got to this question. I think it's a personal matter to describe yourself in a single sentence, but I will give you a few examples. "She is a sad ole soul" or "he always aims at doing the right thing"...How about, "he was a cantankerous ole son of b----" and "It takes all kinds to make a world"...meaning different than most.  I think you get the idea. Give it some thought. You just might land on a few descriptive adjectives that defines you well. Print it on a tee shirt and wear it around for all to see. It would kinda be like wearing your personality on your sleeve, so to speak.

I recall on my fiftieth birthday, my staff gave me a t-shirt that went something like this, " Therapy in progress, do not disturb any further." Still wear it around, as Therapy is still in progress. As you get older you will find you are not looking for something to wear on your sleeve but what will your tombstone wear? For me..."he has nothing more to say."

Wadsworth wrote a poem on character and described the nature of one as being, "such an odd, such a happy, kind creature as he." Maybe we won't become a limerick poem, or song, but surely we can try and just be a kind creature like he.

From Inside The Sane Asylum...motivation

Yep, no post for a few days. For some reason I am highly 

motivated today to do nothing. Going up to Shit Creek Paddle Store.

Seems there may be a good domino game about to happen.

Check back in a few days...Doc

Lemme Think About It...

"How do you decalcify your pineal gland?"

Sunday Morning...The Wall Cloud

Sunday Morning...The Wall Cloud

The Wall Cloud

Walter Thederahn

With the ebbing of time

It will take me back to the sea.

Scorpion, the Norseman's life

Aurora Borealis,

No, Eldorado.

Yet, August eyes

But to see the wall of clouds,

Dark, black clouds,

Holding the thunderbolts,

With echoing thunder- electricity.

The unfolding clouds,

Lighting flash,

White wall of clouds,

Of awesome might.

Still air then sudden rain,

Hail falls, this freezing vapor,

From the sky.

The windrose turning clouds,

Sets twister from the sky...

Dr. Ego-ology

"Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he will sit in a boat and drink beer all day."

...........

"Another thing, as you get older, it's much better to fall

on your butt and not on your face."

Thanks for introducing me to billy botts +Moik Zephier 

From The Road Series...the old sea captain

From The Road...The Old Sea Captain

The craggy-faced captain stopped and placed a pinch or two of tobacco in his ole scrimshaw pipe.

He wears faded blue overalls and a Greek captains hat. Early mornings, along Oyster Creek, you just might find him lumbering down the road towards the old wooden pier, carrying a old cooler filled
with ice, and a fishing rod slung over his beefy shoulder. Tackle swings like a pendulum behind his back until he reaches his favorite bench, close to the end. He pulls out a bag of shrimp from the cooler, baits his hooks and casts his line as far as arthritis allows—sits there until noon, either catching fish or not; it’s all the same to him. It’s the sun and wind and rain he’s come for—the view of shrimp boats headed out to sea, crews tiny as toy soldiers. He can hear the cries of hungry gulls, feel each vessel’s pitch and toss. He is captain of nothing now, save his own soul. And what his soul wants, is to keep his body close to water—until the moon captures him in her net and pulls it with cool, white hands into asunder.

I watched him today. Quiet, deliberate and some what sullen as he made his way. What words might fill his head, what thoughts left unsaid. He has loved both storm and calm, the flapping sail was his soul's applause, and his rapture was a roaring main. But now like a battered hulk he seems to me, cast high on a foreign strand...in port as it need must be, gives him yet another round of listless hours.

The smoke from his pipe lingered in the languid air...the grass, the trees and the garden flowers, and the strange earth everywhere. At times he seemed restless there without the hail of a passing sail, nor the surge of an angry sea.

He quits his pipe, and snaps head as if to speak, but coughs instead, then paces the pier like as if a quarter deck. With a reeling mast o'er head, the old captains cheeks were glowing warm. His eyes gleamed grim and weird, as he muttered about like a thunder-storm.

Then came the stay of a daughters hand and his grandchild 'twixt his knees. And so betimes he is restless here, his daughters home is a peaceful vale...but never the hail of a passing sail nor the surge of an angry sea...so it seemed to me.

Dr. Ego-ology...safety first

"Do you look both ways before you cross a one way street?"

.............

"Another thing, people who ask you for advice and don't follow it 

are called Askholes."

Inside The Sane Asylum...Altered State

Another epiphany...so to speak

Ego: "You see Jess, our brains are so automatic because physical tissue carries out what we do. How could it be any other way? The brain does it before our conceptual self knows about it. But the conceptual self grows and grows and reaches proportions where the biological fact makes an impact on our consciousness but does not paralyze us. The interpretation of things past liberates is from the sense of being tied to the demands of the environment and produces the wonderful sensation that our self is in charge of our destiny. All our everyday success at reasoning through life's data convinces us of our certainty. Because of that, maybe we can drive our automatic brains to greater accomplishments and enjoyment of life."

Jess: "Ego, did you know, generally speaking, a person does not learn much when their lips are moving? NEVER PASS UP A GOOD CHANCE TO SHUT UP!"