I don’t know if God is real or not
I don’t regard the Bible as proof of God’s existence
I don’t regard the argument that
“Something had to create the universe”
As proof of God’s existence
I don’t believe Bach’s music is proof of God’s existence
(I believe Bach’s music is proof that Bach wrote music
That he dedicated his music to God was his choice)
I believe there are mysteries in that there are things I do not know
I also believe that no matter how much one knows or learns, there will remain mysteries
The biggest mystery is
What if anything comes after death?
Biology continues after death in the form of rigor mortis and decay
But what of the soul?
Is soul a concept of fact or faith?
Is soul a function of the brain?
A ghostly dimension that invades our body at some point after conception and exits upon death?
Is soul real?
Like the concept of God
There is no real proof or evidence that such a thing as the soul exists
The concepts usually associated with soul such as feelings, emotions, compassion, love, understanding, pathos are perhaps better viewed as functions of the brain
When my brother was on life-support after his aneurysm his brain function had flat-lined
He had no feelings, emotions, compassion, love, understanding or pathos
He was no more than living tissue
My parents were willing to take him off life-support because, although he was still their son and still my brother, he was no longer Edward
Edward had ceased to be
That a fully functioning sentient soul was trapped inside his body pleading to have the body kept alive is beyond reason
It in fact is a ghoulish concept
When my brother’s brain ceased, Edward ceased
Is there a part of Edward that lives on? That is eternal? Is there a fully functioning soul floating up on a cloud with big white fluffy wings?
If there is, I’ve seen no proof
I’ve seen no ghost
No mysterious messages from beyond
Edward never believed in that stuff anyway
But he lives on in me
In my brain
In certain mannerisms I spot in my son and my nephews
Biology and genetics can account for a possible interpretation of “eternal life”
And that shouldn’t sound cold
It doesn’t sound cold to me
When I look at my son and I see my brother
That gives me great comfort
When I look at John or Paul and I see him
I laugh and wonder
When I see and hear Chuck in Mark
I pause and smile
And I wonder
Who of my ancestors would be recognizable in me?
For I can only conclude that
They are here, with me
In my cells
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Dreaming Dreams
Back in 1978 I woke up one morning troubled by a strange and disturbing dream. I was standing in a gymnasium the floor of which was covered with metal coffins. The coffins were for all the victims who had willingly guillotined themselves. They had been under the influence of a charismatic leader who had convinced his subjects that if they went through with their suicides, they would all join together on the “other side”.
At the time, I was a member of a charismatic fundamentalist Christian fellowship. I was nineteen-years-old and I had been told and chose to believe that “your young men shall see visions; your old men shall dream dreams.” I went to the elders and told them of my dream and while they seemed interested, there was no follow-up.
Approximately two weeks later, my alarm clock radio woke me with the breaking news of the Jonestown massacre, the kool-aid suicides precipitated by charismatic leader Jim Jones. It wasn’t immediately that I associated what I was hearing with the dream I had had. It came to me in a rush a few days later that literally took my breath away. When the bodies were returned to the states, they were in the same coffins I had dreamed.
I approached my elder again after a meeting in which Jonestown was discussed. Obviously since we were a small marginalized group of people who spoke in tongues, dreamed dreams and such, there was concern about people perceiving us as cultish. When I reminded him of the details of my dream, once again there was some interest but absolutely no follow-up.
I was shocked. My thinking was “I dreamed this before it happened and this group, so preoccupied with charismatic gifts of the Holy Spirit doesn’t seem to care!” It was the beginning of the end of my association with Gospel Outreach and with fundamentalist Christianity overall. In the months that followed, I went to study in Paris and took the opportunity to formally quit the group.
As far as I’m aware, I’ve not since had a dream that seemed to have a precognitive quality (perhaps they all do, perhaps they’re all coincidence). I’ve never forgotten the dream or what I felt was the complete lack of interest from people who by all accounts should have been bowled over by what was potentially my “gift”.
I don’t believe I have a paranormal gift. I don’t care if I do or not. I don’t believe in ghosts, UFOs, Big Foot, Nessie, Yeti, leprechauns, unicorns, vampires (either with an "i" or a "y"), or elves. I don’t have the time or the patience to consider the possibility that our world is populated by gnomes.
I do, however, believe in Santa Claus because sometimes I’m him. Sometimes my wife is. And I bet you anything sometimes you are too.
At the time, I was a member of a charismatic fundamentalist Christian fellowship. I was nineteen-years-old and I had been told and chose to believe that “your young men shall see visions; your old men shall dream dreams.” I went to the elders and told them of my dream and while they seemed interested, there was no follow-up.
Approximately two weeks later, my alarm clock radio woke me with the breaking news of the Jonestown massacre, the kool-aid suicides precipitated by charismatic leader Jim Jones. It wasn’t immediately that I associated what I was hearing with the dream I had had. It came to me in a rush a few days later that literally took my breath away. When the bodies were returned to the states, they were in the same coffins I had dreamed.
I approached my elder again after a meeting in which Jonestown was discussed. Obviously since we were a small marginalized group of people who spoke in tongues, dreamed dreams and such, there was concern about people perceiving us as cultish. When I reminded him of the details of my dream, once again there was some interest but absolutely no follow-up.
I was shocked. My thinking was “I dreamed this before it happened and this group, so preoccupied with charismatic gifts of the Holy Spirit doesn’t seem to care!” It was the beginning of the end of my association with Gospel Outreach and with fundamentalist Christianity overall. In the months that followed, I went to study in Paris and took the opportunity to formally quit the group.
As far as I’m aware, I’ve not since had a dream that seemed to have a precognitive quality (perhaps they all do, perhaps they’re all coincidence). I’ve never forgotten the dream or what I felt was the complete lack of interest from people who by all accounts should have been bowled over by what was potentially my “gift”.
I don’t believe I have a paranormal gift. I don’t care if I do or not. I don’t believe in ghosts, UFOs, Big Foot, Nessie, Yeti, leprechauns, unicorns, vampires (either with an "i" or a "y"), or elves. I don’t have the time or the patience to consider the possibility that our world is populated by gnomes.
I do, however, believe in Santa Claus because sometimes I’m him. Sometimes my wife is. And I bet you anything sometimes you are too.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
World's Sexiest Man
Once again I failed to make People magazine's Sexiest Man Alive. What's worse is that I lost out to George Clooney. That's just insulting. Now Philip Seymour Hoffman I could see. But not Clooney. This really hurts...
Monday, November 13, 2006
Nice Review of Guitarred & Feathered Show
Bob Mahoney was at the most recent G&F show and was moved to write the following review and send it to Scott. As it wasn't published anywhere, I figured I would post it here. Read on:
Guitarred and FeatheredDaily Perks CoffeehouseNovember 4, 2006
It’s the old three-legged stool analogy – each leg is equally important and required to keep it upright. The legs on this musical stool – Phil Marshall, Scott Regan and Kinloch Nelson – were clearly each cut from a different type of tree and each turned on a different lathe. But they play complimentary acoustic guitar styles that make for a comfortable and sturdy work as a whole.
Each performer took turns this night playing and/or singing, with frequent collaboration on many of the tunes.
Kinloch Nelson uses his considerable technical virtuosity on aggressively-interpretive versions of a wide variety of song styles. Old TV themes like “Get Smart” and “Rawhide” were fun, “Sleepwalk” and “Song of India” were lush and dense with changes. A high point was a sad and gentle instrumental version of the Shirelles’ “Soldier Boy” – his elegant tone and texture gave a rich rosewood feel. He seems to use all ten fingers in a flurry of plucking and strumming that creates an atmospheric resonance.
Scott Regan is a wonderful and gifted songwriter – I’ll stand on Steve Earl’s coffee table in my hiking boots and say that. His style is cut from a straight-trunked maple. He has a unique perspective, which any good songwriter needs, and his compositions generally seem to expose the underlying grain of personal experience. His lyrics and song structure bring to mind John Prine or Michael Hurley; he clearly could play on the same stage with either and no one would be embarrassed.
Phil Marshall is that well-traveled, intricate piece of driftwood that has seen its share of shorelines. He delved into old standards and pop hits with a varied and often jazzy feel. He was equally at home with a soft, bossa nova strumming style as he was with rootsy country and blues picking. His solo reading of “Begin the Beguine” gave the song a feeling that won’t be found in any big band version. He launched into a gorgeous rendition of “Nature Boy” before cutting it short because he couldn’t quite remember the lyrics; the haunting instrumentation alone would have sufficed – it was that good. And his understated touch with the bottleneck in support of the other players always lent a nice feel.
They all pitched in on Nelson’s version of Lorne Greene’s “Ringo.” And speaking of Ringo, the Beatles were well-represented through “Norwegian Wood” (with deep resonant harmonics from Phil’s guitar) and “Blue Jay Way.”
These three should make their way into a studio and capture some of this stuff, although a small room full of coffee drinkers may be where they are most at home.
Guitarred and FeatheredDaily Perks CoffeehouseNovember 4, 2006
It’s the old three-legged stool analogy – each leg is equally important and required to keep it upright. The legs on this musical stool – Phil Marshall, Scott Regan and Kinloch Nelson – were clearly each cut from a different type of tree and each turned on a different lathe. But they play complimentary acoustic guitar styles that make for a comfortable and sturdy work as a whole.
Each performer took turns this night playing and/or singing, with frequent collaboration on many of the tunes.
Kinloch Nelson uses his considerable technical virtuosity on aggressively-interpretive versions of a wide variety of song styles. Old TV themes like “Get Smart” and “Rawhide” were fun, “Sleepwalk” and “Song of India” were lush and dense with changes. A high point was a sad and gentle instrumental version of the Shirelles’ “Soldier Boy” – his elegant tone and texture gave a rich rosewood feel. He seems to use all ten fingers in a flurry of plucking and strumming that creates an atmospheric resonance.
Scott Regan is a wonderful and gifted songwriter – I’ll stand on Steve Earl’s coffee table in my hiking boots and say that. His style is cut from a straight-trunked maple. He has a unique perspective, which any good songwriter needs, and his compositions generally seem to expose the underlying grain of personal experience. His lyrics and song structure bring to mind John Prine or Michael Hurley; he clearly could play on the same stage with either and no one would be embarrassed.
Phil Marshall is that well-traveled, intricate piece of driftwood that has seen its share of shorelines. He delved into old standards and pop hits with a varied and often jazzy feel. He was equally at home with a soft, bossa nova strumming style as he was with rootsy country and blues picking. His solo reading of “Begin the Beguine” gave the song a feeling that won’t be found in any big band version. He launched into a gorgeous rendition of “Nature Boy” before cutting it short because he couldn’t quite remember the lyrics; the haunting instrumentation alone would have sufficed – it was that good. And his understated touch with the bottleneck in support of the other players always lent a nice feel.
They all pitched in on Nelson’s version of Lorne Greene’s “Ringo.” And speaking of Ringo, the Beatles were well-represented through “Norwegian Wood” (with deep resonant harmonics from Phil’s guitar) and “Blue Jay Way.”
These three should make their way into a studio and capture some of this stuff, although a small room full of coffee drinkers may be where they are most at home.
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