To save my soul.

I claim to not hate anyone. And to actually love my enemies. That would put me above the fray. And make me a remarkable man. But it’s possible that my barrier against hate is being torn down. I’m starting to feel pangs of hate.  Toward Donald Trump. I despise the guy. More than I’ve ever despised anyone. Could that put me on the verge of full-blown hate? I’m afraid so. But I’m fighting. To forestall a declaration of hate. In order to save my soul. --Jim Broede

Our innermost broodings.

I have dared say in other places. The same blarney that I post in my blog. But that can be dangerous. Because I believe much of my own blarney. And that tends to get me into trouble. People take offense.  And some surmise that I’m crazy. Of course, I can take that. I have a thick skin. And I freely admit. That perhaps I am wacko.  And proudly so. Because that allows me to speak my mind and gut. To tell my own version of truth. After all, this is my forum. I don’t need to cow-tow to editors. To anyone. We all need an outlet like this. To unleash our innermost broodings.  --Jim Broede

My attempt to laugh.

Some people are stupid. No getting around it. That includes my sister. And some of my best friends. But still, I try to love them. Embrace them. Forgive them. For being stupid. I say this. Here in my blog. Because I dare write.  What I feel and believe. I am associated with some pretty stupid people. So stupid that they voted for Donald Trump. And still support him. Months after he became president.  I find that not only stupid. But dangerous.  I’d like to persuade them. That Trump poses a peril. To our nation. And to sane and safe life. As we know it. Could be that Trump is insane. Even some day becoming as wacky as Hitler. Maybe I’m all wrong about this. Maybe I’m the stupid and dangerous one.  For saying what I’m saying. Maybe I should keep all this stuff to myself. That would be the safe approach. So that nobody knows how I feel. But I say it. Because I am scared. Being surrounded by so very many stupid people. Of course, some of you may think I’m kidding. That this will soon become part of my stand-up comic act. In my attempt to laugh.  Rather than to cry and go insane. --Jim Broede

Now a convert.

I got religion. In an unexpected place. On Wednesday night. With my Italian true love, Cristina. She’s to be with me for the rest of the idyllic phase of my summer. A good thing. Because Cristina has me doing stuff I normally don’t do. When living alone. Anyway, I went. Very willingly. With Cristina. To a concert. By talented musicians organized by and featuring guitarist Roger Waters, founder of the iconic British music group Pink Floyd. Which I had heard of. But never really listened to. Believe me. I am now a convert . To the Pink Floyd style of music. Mesmerized. Captivated. Sitting there. Next to Cristina. Mere specks in a sellout crowd of 15,000. I felt elevated. Above the throng. Which was going wild in exaltation. Meanwhile, I remained subdued. Stunned into silence. In appreciation of a truly religious experience.  I must show proper respect and reverence. I’ll be thinking about this. For a long, long time.  More to come. --Jim Broede

To risk.

True understanding must come with more than words. With something beyond the beyond. Mere words are insufficient. Far too limiting.  I don't know how to make myself clear with others  I am always searching for new ways. To express myself.  That's why I muse. To experiment.  And to risk being misunderstood.  --Jim

In search of knowledge.

It’s greed, greed and more greed. That’s the problem.  With capitalism. Too much wealth in the hands of a relatively few shrewd and greedy manipulators of the system. The desire for some to become obscenely rich. It’s insatiable. Often, but not always, at the expense of the common good. And who’s to say what economic system serves society’s best interests? I’m inclined to favor socialism. But that, too, can be manipulated by the greedy. Maybe we are all greedy. To some extent. In different ways. The solution may be to change human nature. An impossible task. So we live with what we’ve got. Donald Trump. For now. Is that any better than Hitler or Stalin? Anyway, I plead ignorance.  And readily admit to having no viable solutions to political, social (moral) and economic problems.  Other than to grumble. And to get on with life. In my cozy cocoon.  Venturing out. Occasionally. In search of knowledge. Most times, I find my happiness. From within my refuge. My inner sanctum.  --Jim Broede

Our cruelest pursuit.

Politics can be very, very cruel and selfish. But sometimes I wonder if the cruelest and most selfish pursuit of mankind is capitalism.  Allowing the rich to be the world's dominant force. Even more dominant than religion. Or is it that capitalism is our true religion? Blocking us, as a society, from entry to spiritual paradise.   Forever. Causes us to live in Hell. Without knowing it. Deceives us. Into thinking that money is the ultimate form of happiness. Our credo. The rich shall inherent the Earth. And maybe the entire physical world.  --Jim Broede

Give me more of life.

I am living in the shadows. And the only way to see beyond. Is to use my blessed imagination. To follow my instincts. Knowing that once I flee the physical world (Plato’s Cave). I will become spirit. Thereby freeing myself. To explore the entirety of physical creation. As an observer. From above.  But even then, there will be something beyond the beyond. Always another beyond. Which will keep me in pleasurable awe. Forever and ever. Always searching for the end of the rainbow. And never quite finding it. For good reason. That would be the end of my journey. The end of life. And I prefer remaining on the journey. And even getting purposely lost. So that I can sidetrack. To a new place. Always feeling more and more alive. That’s the joy. To experience the life force. To continually fall in love. With ever-changing reality. Not knowing what’s to come next.  Wow! Wow! Wow! Give me more of life. --Jim Broede

Might as well savor it all.

I keep telling myself. That I am not crazy. That I am delighted with the absurdity of life. Maybe that's an indication. That I am crazy. In a funny, laughable and delightful way. I'll take it. And pretend that I am sane. Might as well savor it all. -Jim Broede

In my deep, deep sleep.

I have dedicated a great part of my life. To pondering. About the absurdity of life. I do this. Because that is what I was born to do. It’s my creator-given mission. Of course, I also take time off. And try to ponder not at all. To cease thinking. About anything. Maybe that is why I have been blessed with sleep. Moments of unconsciousness. But even then, I can’t fully escape. I lapse Into the consciousness of dreams. Though I can’t always tell that it’s me. Dreaming. It may be someone else. Taking control of my mind.  Sending me a message. That I often don’t understand. Perhaps I was born. To imagine. That I’m living. When really, I’m dead. Yes. Yes. I am blessed by my creator.  Who allows me to imagine. That I am very much alive. Whenever the urge emerges. In my deep, deep sleep. --Jim Broede

A cleansing of the soul.

If I had any sense. I’d settle down. For a few weeks. In a remote corner of the world.  With no access to the rest of world. No TV. No Internet. No newspaper. I’d live alone. In solitude. Yes, an opportunity. To get away from civilization. Away from human contact. Instead, I’d have to commune with the spirits. And with my inner being. My guess. Is that when I returned to civilization again, I’d be refreshed and rejuvenated. Feeling cleansed. Inside and out. --Jim Broede

Blessed. Believe it or not.

Being an Alzheimer care-giver. For 13 years. Was an excruciating experience. Initially.  But given time. It became a satisfying, and even joyful phase of my life. I’m a more empathetic human being for having gone through it. No regrets. I finished my care-giver stint in an upbeat frame of mind. Having discovered the benefits of good vibes therapy. Having learned to emit good vibes in the presence of dear Jeanne. Always. No matter the circumstances. Jeanne responded positively. Even in the late stages of Alzheimer’s. Unfortunately, I observed (at nursing homes) too many care-givers, even some professionals, that inadvertently may have done more harm than good. With bad vibes. With ornery dispositions.  That would have been me. Early on. Until I fell in love. With being a care-giver. Really, it was no longer a job. It was a pastime. To be savored. Cherished. I would never have believed it. If not for the experience. I became enlightened. Yes, I was blessed by the Alzheimer’s experience. Believe it or not. --Jim Broede

Being at my best.

I wonder. If after accomplishing a remarkable feat. We take time off. And return to mediocrity. Telling ourselves. That we won’t be able to attain that level of joy again. Therefore. Just bask in the memory of it all. And settle for being ordinary. Rather than extraordinary. That’s the tale of the Chicago Cubs. My favorite baseball team. The defending world champions. Winner of the World Series. For the first time in 108 years. The Cubs aren’t playing like world champs anymore. They keep losing more games than they win. Their players aren’t in the top echelon. To put it bluntly, they stink.  Last season, they had seven players on the all-star team. This season, only one. Looks to me like the Cubs have taken the season off. As if they deserve. Merely going through the motions of playing baseball. Without heart. Without passion. Without a mission. Maybe we all do it. We find it impossible. To live at the peak forever. We have to come down. For rest. And rejuvenation. We can’t always be at our best. It would be too exhausting. Too challenging. I keep telling myself. That’s all right.  I deserve a break. Merely marking time for awhile. So that I can come back. Another day. To show that I’m still capable. Of being at my best. --Jim Broede

A master of the ridiculous.

I practice being ridiculous. Because that makes me feel good. If I was serious all the time. I’d be a boring fellow. Therefore, at some point. Virtually every day. I try to do something ridiculous. Such as what I’m doing now. Writing about the art of being ridiculous. It is an art. More than a craft. At least with me. I have been blessed with creator-given talent. Yes, a ridiculous talent. I have cultivated it all my life. And I’m proud to say. that I’m recognized. Especially by my friends. As perhaps the most ridiculous person they’ve ever met. They often ask me, how do I do it? It’s simple. Practice. Practice. Practice. Every day. And every night. Round-the-clock. That may sound ridiculous. Because it is. More evidence. That I'm a master of the ridiculous. -Jim Broede

Scared to death.

I don’t tell people what to do. But rather what I would do. In a variety of circumstances. Perhaps similar to theirs. That should not imply that they should do as I do. That would be unwise. Because I make my share of blunders and mistakes. And what is right for me may be very wrong for you.  Everyone should make their own decisions. Tailor-made. To fit you. I have long maintained. That my worst enemy. Would be my clone. I would never want to meet him. He probably would scare me to death. --Jim Broede

A potential dilemma.

Sometimes it’s best to not allow my friends, and especially my relatives, to influence me. To steer clear of their advice and promptings and requests. It’s not always the easy thing to do. Because I like to be a nice guy. I like to do favors.  Because I’ve been brought up. On the premise that blood and true friendship happen to be thicker than water.  But I’m not so sure about that anymore. I have an inner soul. A sense of right and wrong. That dictates to me. That strangers deserve equal treatment. Indeed, that might offend a friend or relative. I tell my Christian friends. That’s what I sense Jesus would do.  That poses a potential dilemma. --Jim Broede

Reason to fly the (Italian) flag.

I went knocking on a door today. In a quaint neighborhood. In St. Paul, Minnesota. Two Italian flags were hanging from the front porch. Yes, I am curious. About everything Italian. Ever since hooking up nine years ago. With my Italian amore Cristina. She will be with me in a few days. That’s our custom. She comes to me.  In Minnesota. In the summer. And I go to her. In Italy. In the winter. Anyway, back to the place with the two Italian flags. Turns out. That a guy named Pat Devito lives there. A likeable fellow. An American. Of Italian descent. He’s never been to Italy. His grandparents came from Bari, a port city on the Adriatic Sea. My aim. Is to encourage Devito.  To go to Italy. Long before he dies. To walk the same hallowed ground that his grandparents once tread. And to swim in the Adriatic. Meanwhile, I keep flying my own Italian flag. In appreciation of the blessed day that Cristina entered my life. --Jim Broede

Unhinged perfection.

Look at it this way. I’m as powerful as god. In that I don’t allow loved ones to die. I take it upon myself. To relegate everyone – not only loved ones but everyone – to a spiritual realm. There’s no discrimination. Everyone goes there. Even Hitler. Everyone has a chance for redemption. And forgiveness. And to live out their spiritual life. In a state of grace. Forever. In a spiritual dimension existing outside of time. This is god’s ultimate  act. Total redemption. Total forgiveness.  An utter state of blessed bliss.  Pure, pure love. Sure, you’ll tell me this is preposterous. A fairy tale. The work of an unhinged imagination. But hey, if I were god. I’d settle for nothing less than unhinged perfection. --Jim Broede

Answers to everything.

Seems to me that religion should be a soothing subject. To talk about. I certainly find it soothing. And engrossing. A way to relax. And to stimulate my spiritual mind. I’m fascinated by religions. I’d like to visit other inhabited planets in other faraway  galaxies. So that I could study the religious practices. I wonder if religions sprout naturally. For all forms of intelligent life. How many have a firm belief in gods? And an afterlife? Are we to believe that one god prevails over all forms of life in the cosmos? These are pertinent questions. In an attempt to make sense of life. I want answers to everything. --Jim Broede

To find living souls.

I’ve told this story before. Right here. Let me tell it again. It’s funny. Makes me laugh. Every time I think about it. The woman. In the dementia wing of a nursing home. Would greet me with the refrain, ‘Hi, asshole.’ So one day I responded, ‘Hey, I’m flattered. That you know my name. So nice of you to remember. I don’t mind if you call me by my first name. Ass. But if you want to be more formal, I’ll accept Mr. Hole. Anything. Even Asshole. ’ That startled the woman. Who was in the mid-stages of dementia. I had reached her. By giving her something to think about. An opportunity to make a choice. A way to stimulate her mind.  Maybe even her imagination. I never found a totally blank and lost soul. Everyone still had a living soul. And I was out to find it. One way or another. --Jim Broede

Superior beings.

I wonder. If advanced civilizations.  On other planets in the vast cosmos. Have a cure for our maladies. Mental and physical. I imagine they do. Oh, if only we had the means of communicating with them. They could teach us so much.  About their politics. And  their religions, too. Wouldn’t it be nice if they no longer had a need for politics and religions? Indeed, that would qualify them as superior beings. Maybe they are observing us now. But we are too blind and too dumb. To know it. --Jim Broede 

Lovers...of fruitful thought.

I wonder why some things don't end well. I'm in the pursuit of happiness. Believing firmly. That in terms of eternity. Everything will end well. So let's keep trying to make everything better. By addressing the issues. Of life. Without fear and trembling. Without castigating each other. Let's be lovers. Of fruitful thought. --Jim Broede

What will be, will be.

In some ways, I like to be frustrated and annoyed. With people. With events. With life for that matter. I would have it no other way.  Because that’s what turns me on. Swings me into action. To do something about it. If I can. And if I can’t, it compels me to practice acceptance. Often by ignoring the problem. And getting on with life. By dealing with the things I can effect and control. Yes, I have learned to live with stuff that frustrates me. Such as the Chicago Cubs losing games that they should have won. I keep telling myself. It’s only a baseball game. Not a life or death situation. Yes, I try to separate the little and insignificant stuff from the matters that might put my life or other lives in peril. If I have to worry about something significant. I worry about a friend. With dementia. I wish for magic for her. Maybe a miracle. To make her well again. Knowing full well, that what will be, will be. --Jim Broede