[vc_row full_width=”stretch_row_content_no_spaces” css=”.vc_custom_1650401500057{background-position: center !important;background-repeat: no-repeat !important;background-size: cover !important;}”][vc_column][vc_custom_heading text=”THE READING ROOM” font_container=”tag:h1|font_size:60px|text_align:center|color:%23d5ae37″ use_theme_fonts=”yes”][\/vc_column][\/vc_row][vc_row gap=”10″ css=”.vc_custom_1650396763500{margin-right: 10px !important;margin-left: 10px !important;background-position: center !important;background-repeat: no-repeat !important;background-size: cover !important;}”][vc_column][vc_column_text css=”.vc_custom_1654631737359{border-radius: 5px !important;}”]<\/p>\n
Poetry<\/strong><\/p>\n For years now, I\u2019ve been writing poems. Here is the probable introduction to a proposed book of poetry called \u201cThe Songs That Never Were\u201d. As the title suggests\u2014some of these started out as possible songs that I got the ideas for while out on the road, thinking of Monique. Somehow, I just never got around to writing the music to them. This was mainly because the subject matter was so personal and off the beaten path; they just didn\u2019t seem to have that universal quality you usually associate with a song.<\/span><\/p>\n Slowly, I came to the realization that I was actually writing poetry rather than songs. Once I realized what was going on, that encouraged me to open up and take it even further. Here is the self explanatory introduction, and few examples of where this led.<\/span><\/p>\n Introduction<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n As a young man, my first venture into the artistic world was as a musician, singer, composer, recording artist, and rock performer. As the years passed, I began to notice that I found the typical form and style of song writing getting somewhat repetitive and confining, particularly with regard to the lyrics. The standard formula–verse, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge, verse chorus, out–was getting old.<\/span><\/p>\n Of course, no one is forced to adhere to this convention, but in pop music, it is so pervasive and universal that if you want to become and remain successful you realistically have little choice. Having said all this, I just realized that my biggest #1 hit, “Frankenstein”, is an instrumental that completely ignores this model. It is a perfect example of the exception that proves the rule. And since I have always considered myself something of a musical rebel, some rules are made to be broken. So, here I am, breaking more rules.<\/span><\/p>\n Now that I sit down to explain all this, the real issue is actually not so much form or style, as it is content. As the label “pop music” implies, such songs are intended to have popular appeal, a sort of common denominator or familiarity that falls within a certain comfort zone. None of this is something that occurred to me all at once, as in a flash of realization. Rather, this writing is a natural evolution. Some of the pieces in it are more like songs, and others are more like poems, while many lie somewhere in between.<\/span><\/p>\n Although I am referring to this as a book, it is more accurately simply a collection of writings done over a long period of time, and it would not have been written without my wife, Monique. Everything in this book was inspired by and written for her, and because she was so touched by these poems and their universal messages, it was Monique who suggested that we also share them with others.<\/span><\/p>\n But now–getting back to the actual writing and content– here’s how it all came about.<\/span><\/p>\n Being out on the road, touring, and playing concerts involves a lot of travel time. You’re on lots of planes, in tour buses, and cars. This offers the perfect opportunity for reflection and writing. I’ve written a lot of songs on the road, and still do. But sometimes when Monique is not there, the most natural thing for me to do is call and then write something to her, so she will have a poem from me to wake up to the next morning. I soon found that writing letters and poetry to Monique was much more fun and rewarding than struggling over songs.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n What I really began to like about this kind of writing was that it came so naturally, without any commercial intentions, and that gave it a sort of purity. Because I was writing personally and privately just for Monique, I could say anything I wanted–on any subject–with no other considerations whatsoever.<\/span><\/p>\n I found myself opening up and writing more from the heart– also on a deeper more spiritual level, and not necessarily on the types of subjects you would usually find in songs. Since art, nature, science, philosophy, and spirituality are among our primary interests, these became reflected more and more in my writing.<\/span><\/p>\n When Monique and I went back through our email, we found there were well over a hundred poems and possible songs, certainly enough for a book. The next step was to collect, separate, and organize them in some cohesive way. Of course, I could simply put them in chronological order. But they didn’t seem to flow naturally this way–probably because of the long gaps between writing, and the different and varying circumstances out of which each arose. Or I could select and place them in numerous arbitrary categories such as fate, humanity, forgiveness, redemption, love, joy, sadness, creation, life, and death. But this seemed unnecessarily artificial. After all, the mind likes variety, flow, and change. Who wants to dwell on one emotion for too long, especially if it’s something like sadness or death?<\/span><\/p>\n But finally, I hit upon a scheme that felt right–three major divisions that seemed to work. The abstract, the real, and the universal. I like these because they have a natural relativity and interconnectedness.<\/span><\/p>\n The “abstract” is that which exists only in the mind, your own personal inner vision. The “real” expands to include perceptions and experiences in the outer world. This would include all the pieces based on or inspired by actual events that occurred in my life. And the universal extends to infinity (encompassing everything) while completing the circle, and leading back to the abstract. You may think this sounds complicated, but it’s actually simple. Because, in essence, these three are actually one. They exist in everything, a point which I believe you will come to realize in reading this book.<\/span><\/p>\n Although I am an avid fiction reader, I haven’t read that much poetry. But I don’t think it has to be difficult, mysterious, or abstruse. I much prefer clarity in writing–a definite point of view, with meaningful insights leading up to that “aha moment” when you really get it. This is not an approach we see often in songs, but why not?<\/span><\/p>\n In closing, I just want to say that this whole process has been so unexpectedly liberating, inspiring, and uplifting … I can hardly find words to describe it. I know the verses in this book will serve far better than this humble introduction. And finally, I dedicate this book to my beautiful and loving wife, Monique, who makes all things possible.<\/span><\/p>\n With all my love, Edgar<\/span><\/p>\n P.S. Please click on the buttons below each poem to advance to the next one.<\/em>[\/vc_column_text][vc_separator][vc_tta_pageable][vc_tta_section title=”Fate” tab_id=”1654630165096-ab8610e5-2855″][vc_column_text]<\/p>\n [\/vc_column_text][vc_single_image image=”1635″ img_size=”medium” alignment=”center”][vc_column_text el_class=”edgar_poetry”]<\/p>\n Are we really free to choose When life seems so unfair We read in books of prophecy We hope to make a difference A set predestination A pivotal decision We seem to have free will Reality’s illusion [\/vc_column_text][\/vc_tta_section][vc_tta_section title=”Passing Through” tab_id=”1654630165192-e59ce65e-8b5b”][vc_column_text]<\/p>\n [\/vc_column_text][vc_single_image image=”1640″ img_size=”medium” alignment=”center”][vc_column_text el_class=”edgar_poetry”]<\/p>\n I sometimes feel so out of place I’m going to I know not where A stranger or an alien Another situation Perhaps I’m only sleeping By life I have been shaken Maybe I had another life And when at last I’m dead and gone One gentle kindred spirit And I pray that I may follow There is no final ending Perhaps we’ll see another day [\/vc_column_text][\/vc_tta_section][vc_tta_section title=”Another Planet” tab_id=”1654630228675-ca2eb197-9ac4″][vc_column_text]<\/p>\n [\/vc_column_text][vc_single_image image=”1647″ img_size=”medium” alignment=”center”][vc_column_text el_class=”edgar_poetry”]<\/p>\n I’m going to another planet With the captain and crew to man it Escape velocity I’ll be the only one in the world I will not be writing a history Peace and love In the day of the final ending No make-believe or pretending [\/vc_column_text][\/vc_tta_section][\/vc_tta_pageable][\/vc_column][\/vc_row][vc_row gap=”10″ css=”.vc_custom_1650396799482{margin-right: 10px !important;margin-left: 10px !important;}”][vc_column][vc_separator][vc_column_text]<\/p>\n Hi – my hopeful readers,<\/p>\n I don\u2019t know why this may be, but my Love, passion, and deep connection with writing all seem to have increased in recent years. Perhaps it\u2019s a stronger sense of my own mortality, or just a desire to reach out and communicate in a different way, other than just through my music. Whatever the case may be, I have this impulse and feel compelled to act on it.<\/p>\n When I was little I have vivid memories of my mother reading to me from the Bible, or books like \u201cThe Lord of the Rings\u201d and \u201cThe Chronicles of Narnia\u201d. \u00a0I Loved those books, and still Love that style of writing. I eventually decided to try my hand at writing something along those lines myself\u2014mainly short things I could read to my wife Monique as bedtime stories. I invented this magical realm called The Shadowlands in which everything would occur and just started to write.<\/p>\n Some years having gone by, I now have easily enough for a book, \u201cStories from the Shadowlands\u201d. The first one is a typical story from the series. The second one is more a sort of philosophical or spiritual monograph\u2014something I wrote some years before, and liked well enough to think still worth reading. So I just tacked a little introduction on the beginning, hoping to successfully convert it into a Shadowlands story. I hope you get as much fun out of reading these as I did writing then. So now\u2014sit back, relax, and welcome to The Shadowlands. <\/p>\n P.S. Please click on the buttons below each story to advance to the next one.<\/em>[\/vc_column_text][vc_separator][vc_tta_pageable][vc_tta_section title=”Predestination” tab_id=”1654631420465-416099f9-5a1d”][vc_column_text]\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0Predestination<\/strong> Since the beginning of time our primitive cultures and great civilizations have pondered the same age-old questions. Who are we? Where did we come from? Where are we going? What is our purpose? And eventually, is there a God? Does such a thing exist, and if so, how did It come into being? What are the origins of God, man, and the universe?<\/span> \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0My Story<\/strong><\/p>\n I don’t know you. Not at all. You might know something about me, or at least think you do, but I have no idea who YOU are. You could be anybody, nobody, somebody, everybody. So why should I open up my heart and tell my whole story to You? What will I get out of it? You, after all, are a perfect stranger\u2014and we’re not supposed to talk to strangers, or so we’ve all been told. It might be dangerous.<\/span>Fate<\/h2>\n
\n<\/span>As we all anticipate
\n<\/span>Our luck to win or lose
\n<\/span>Or is it simply fate<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>And random in its course
\n<\/span>We may become aware
\n<\/span>There is a higher force<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>An ending long foretold
\n<\/span>And some believe that what they see
\n<\/span>Is destined to unfold<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>And believe we stand a chance
\n<\/span>But what if future history
\n<\/span>Is laid out in advance<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>No thought or deed can change
\n<\/span>Would be a situation
\n<\/span>So unthinkable and strange<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>We surely would expect
\n<\/span>To change events that follow
\n<\/span>Might have no real effect<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>But how is that explained
\n<\/span>If all that must occur
\n<\/span>Is beforehand preordained<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>For all to contemplate
\n<\/span>There is no real confusion
\n<\/span>We each make our own fate<\/span><\/p>\nPassing Through<\/h2>\n
\n<\/span>An experience so strange
\n<\/span>Looking for I know not what
\n<\/span>Expecting some great change<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>From a place I never knew
\n<\/span>I don’t know why I’m here at all
\n<\/span>I’m only passing through<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>In some forgotten land
\n<\/span>Something just beyond my reach
\n<\/span>I don’t yet understand<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>A different point of view
\n<\/span>It’s not my destination
\n<\/span>But what I’m passing through<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>In some one else’s bed
\n<\/span>Finding but not keeping
\n<\/span>These thoughts inside my head<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>From a dream I never knew
\n<\/span>Just waiting to awaken
\n<\/span>I’m only passing through<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>Out of which this one has grown
\n<\/span>And I’ve spent it just pretending
\n<\/span>That I’ll never feel alone<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>What will there be to do
\n<\/span>Perhaps I won’t be passing on
\n<\/span>But only passing through<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>I met along the way
\n<\/span>Though now she is departed
\n<\/span>How I cried for her to stay<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>That path her spirit flew
\n<\/span>To a joy beyond the sorrow
\n<\/span>I’m only passing through<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>The beginning can’t be known
\n<\/span>But still I seek a deeper truth
\n<\/span>As yet I’ve not been shown<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>One dawning bright and new
\n<\/span>It may not be we pass away
\n<\/span>We’re only passing through<\/span><\/p>\nAnother Planet<\/h2>\n
\nIn the rocket ship of my mind
\nBefore life ever began it
\nWho knows what I may find<\/p>\n
\nI’ll be leaving the old world behind
\nAnd the human race that outran it
\nIn the star ship that I designed<\/p>\n
\nFalling free
\nCuriosity
\nCalling me<\/p>\n
\nBut I’ll never be sad or lonely
\nFor nothing there will belong to me
\nAnd nothing there will own me<\/p>\n
\nJust to glorify the past
\nOr be looking toward the future
\nAnd expecting all things to last<\/p>\n
\nSerenity
\nVisions of
\nInfinity<\/p>\n
\nThere’ll be no one to mourn or cry
\nAnd no beliefs that need defending
\nIn wars where men fight and die<\/p>\n
\nNo tearful and sad goodbye
\nAnd only a love transcending
\nAs through the heavens I fly<\/p>\nStories<\/h2>\n
\nPeace and Love,<\/span>
\nEdgar & Monique<\/span><\/p>\n
\nThere is an old argument about destiny and free will. It goes like this. If God is truly omniscient and knows all, then obviously he would be aware of every decision any person might make in a lifetime, and therefore the outcome of every event in history. If this is the case, then God already knows the ultimate destiny of the universe–and herein lies the paradox.<\/span>
\nIf this is so, then every slightest detail in a person’s life is bound to occur in only one way, and in no other. Everything is preordained to happen one way because the outcome is already known in advance. But if the outcome of every decision is known in advance, then how could anyone be said to exercise free will; and if we are truly free to choose our own destiny, then how could the consequence of any act be known before that act was committed?<\/span>
\nThere is a story regarding this argument once told in the Shadowlands that is perhaps older than the argument itself. A certain king was much concerned with these matters and how they might affect his rule and the future of his kingdom. Being a seeker of knowledge, the king had gone to great lengths to gather learned men from the far corners of the earth to serve at his court. And so he summoned the man reputed to be the wisest among all these, that he might receive consultation and instruction.<\/span>
\nAnd the king said, “What is the nature of fate, and how does it operate? Is there such a thing as destiny, and how can it be known?”<\/span>
\nNow the wise man considered this very carefully. For he knew through his past experience in other courts that if his wisdom did not satisfy, he might lose not only favor with the king–but his head, as well. So he answered in this way.<\/span>
\n“Oh king, have you never heard destiny likened to a great and majestic tapestry–intertwined and woven with the threads of fate to form what we perceive as the fabric of reality?”<\/span>
\nAnd the king replied, “Yes, indeed I have heard it described so, but I always thought it only an analogy or metaphor–a turn of phrase or figure of speech. Do you mean to say there is an actual thread of fate?”<\/span>
\nAfter much consideration and deep reflection the wise man continued, “I have heard it said that in the far east there are magic forests in which grow the tree of life from which the thread of fate is derived.”<\/span>
\n“And you can obtain this thread,” the king marveled?<\/span>
\n“It might be possible,” the wise man said cautiously, “but being magical, the thread of fate is invisible to any human eye.”<\/span>
\n“Then how can such thread be woven?” pressed the king.<\/span>
\n“The threads of fate are woven on the loom of time, which occupies no space and has no tangible shape or form in the physical universe,” the wise man intoned.
\n“And you can weave this thread according to my bidding,” asked the king?<\/span>
\n“Nay, not I sire,” said the wise man, realizing he might have gone too far. Not wanting such a responsibility on his shoulders, and wishing to keep his head on those same shoulders–where he had become so pleasantly accustomed to having it–he went on, “perhaps you might declare a contest throughout the kingdom to see who can weave the most beautiful tapestry, and then offer that person the commission?”<\/span>
\nThis was well considered on the part of the wise man, for he had already taken all this into account. So it came as no surprise when the winner was announced, since there was but one true master weaver in all the kingdom. It was lady Ebony of the Shadowlands.<\/span>
\nIt is said it takes a hundred years to become a master weaver. Lady Ebony was well past this mark, and more. The tapestry she wove was of such miraculous beauty as to defy imagination or description. All the other tapestries, though skillfully done, depicted readily identifiable scenes that could be appreciated for their great intricacy and artistic craftsmanship, but lady Ebony’s tapestry was something altogether different. Woven of iridescent thread to subtly catch the play of light and shadow, it actually seemed to change scenes before the very eye. Not everyone who looked upon it agreed on what they saw, but all agreed, without exception, it was breathtakingly beautiful.<\/span>
\nThere was one other thing remarkable about the lady Ebony. She had been blind since the day of her birth, and so had never seen the world as we see it. Who knew what images danced in her inner vision.<\/span>
\nThis filled the king with great excitement (as the wise man had known it would) since he reasoned that the intangible threads of fate would pose no difficulty to a blind woman. Who better to weave invisible thread than one who does not need to see?<\/span>
\nSo the king laid the question before the lady Ebony, who smiled in understanding. For though she had no eyes, she saw not only the kings will–but the part the wise man had played in these events, also.<\/span>
\nBeing of uncommon wisdom herself she answered, “Oh king, this is indeed a great honor you would bestow on such a humble servant, but one I do not fully grasp or understand. Do you seek to change or alter that which is and would be, to somehow improve or make it better? Can you not see that if you attempt to impose your will on destiny, you limit the free will of everyone who participates in that destiny? This strikes at the heart of the very question you consider.<\/span>
\nAre you not the king? Do you not hold the destiny of the kingdom already in your hands? And likewise, do I choose to weave invisible thread, or does the invisible thread of fate choose me?<\/span>
\nHere is the answer to your question. Free will and destiny are not in conflict, but in harmonious accord. Just as cause and effect are not opposed, but two balancing elements in the cycle of creation. So it is free will that shapes our destiny, and that one true destiny is shaped and assured by the free will of all. Do you not see?”
\nThe king ventured an uncertain smile. “I think I begin to see that the two of you are in this thing, together.”<\/span>
\n“Not so, my king,” the wise man replied. “The three of us are in this thing together, as is every living soul in the kingdom of man. If I have offered offense, I beg pardon. I have only sought to council and instruct, as is my place. But now, there is a question I would ask you, Oh king. Have you learned anything in the course of these events?”<\/span>
\nThe king bore just the hint of a smile. “Perhaps. I could say that I learned to leave the wise man to his wisdom, and the fool to his folly.”<\/span>
\n“Not bad,” said the wise man. “An old saw, but none the less sharp for its truth.”<\/span>
\n“And what did you add to your own immeasurable storehouse of knowledge,” asked the king?<\/span>
\n“Oh,” the wise man winked, “to leave the king to his kingdom, and the servant to his service. And in that I am content, though one could always hope for more.”
\n“There is one thing further,” the king said. He touched the wise man’s arm confidentially, but his eyes went to lady Ebony. “You taught me the most valuable lesson of all–to leave the light to the enlightened and the blind to their inner sight, for though it may seem darkness to us, who knows what it is to truly see?”<\/span>
\nAnd the lady Ebony’s smile was the deepest and most profound of all as she said, “Then you are a wise king indeed, and your quest for knowledge most worthwhile.”<\/span>[\/vc_column_text][\/vc_tta_section][vc_tta_section title=”Godfall” tab_id=”1654631420547-94042057-b0a5″][vc_column_text]Godfall\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nEvery culture has had myths and stories to explain the mystery of creation, and sometimes these ancient civilizations themselves have become the subject of great myth, mystery, and speculation. The very existence of some of these (like Atlantis for example) may be considered more mythical than historical. Did they ever truly exist, or are they just the stuff of legend, mythology, or man\u2019s overwrought imagination.<\/span>
\nSuch is the case with the story you are about to encounter. It belongs to the mythology of the Shadowlands, a realm long forgotten by historical reference, if ever it existed to be recorded. Only a few tantalizing fragments of Shadowlands lore still remain, and whether these obscure references are fact or fiction may never be known. The following is such a fragment concerning the creation myths of the Shadowlands, the truth of which is only yours to say.<\/span>
\nOnce, before the beginning, the expansion of space and the compression of matter, when there was nothing for energy to exert itself against, and no time to mark the occurrence of such events–there was a Being. This being was nameless, for there was nothing–other than itself–to recognize or understand the meaning of a name; but we will call it God.<\/span>
\nThis God was all-knowing and all-powerful. It could create anything. God had only to imagine something, and it would come into being and continue to exist. And if God decided it should no longer exist, it would cease to be.<\/span>
\nSo, God imagined vast reaches of space, and immense bodies of fiery energy to move within these endless boundaries. In this way, God created numerous universes of infinite complexity, setting them in motion with clockwork precision. He then introduced random elements to disrupt their smooth operation, in order to observe the results. But in the end, the outcome was always the same. Regardless of how elaborate the scenario, or the complexity of its structure, each element was ultimately under God’s control–and therefor had to follow his will and obey his laws.<\/span>
\nGod soon realized that–for all intents and purposes–everything he created was nothing more than an extension of himself, and that since he was all-knowing and all-powerful, he could not help but know the outcome of any action he might undertake. This was not much fun, and God became very bored and very, very lonely.<\/span>
\nThen, God conceived the idea of creating another conscious being that he might interact with. But once again, being omniscient, God could not help but know the every thought in the mind of such a being. How could another mind created by God conceive a thought God did not already know? What could such a being ever do that would be original, unexpected, or surprising?<\/span>
\nIt was at this point that God began to suspect that Godhood might not be the ultimate, optimal state of being he had first assumed. God pondered this dilemma. It was a paradox. Yes, he was God, omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent, all-knowing and all-powerful. But, it was these very qualities that imprisoned him. There was nothing to challenge him, nothing new for him to learn. God’s total freedom was actually his ultimate and inescapable restriction. Possessing all knowledge left him with nothing to be interested in, or curious about. This made it impossible for him to ever learn anything new. Possessing all power left him with nothing to work toward or achieve. Everything was already his, automatically, without even trying. God was all, and all was God. It was quite an unsatisfactory state of being.<\/span>
\nGod’s one ambition, his dream and most fervent desire, became to create something greater than himself. This was a purpose worthy of a God; however, it seemed virtually impossible. How could an infinite being impart more than this absolute knowledge and power to its creation?<\/span>
\nGod had a sudden insight. What other sight could he have? Being God, and the totality of everything, there was nothing but himself at which to look, and therefor insight. Thus God realized, If he ever wanted to experience the joy of an unexpected pleasure, like a beautiful sunset, learning a new bit of trivia, or hearing a joke without already knowing the punch line, God would have to place self-imposed limitations on some of his powers. There would have to be certain things he could not know in advance. He would have to know less, in order to experience more.<\/span>
\nThe logic of this was inescapable, but God was not content to accept it. He came up with a strange and amazing idea. What if he were to divide himself into millions of separate beings, giving each one a small part of his consciousness?<\/span>
\nIf there were a way for these beings to unite and share their consciousness, they would again have the total knowledge and power of God, but he would design their minds to function separately and independently. Each would know only the thoughts of his own mind, and follow his own self-determined destiny. And each would be free–in a way God could never be–to experience, to live, and to learn.<\/span>
\nHe would bless these beings with gifts he could never enjoy, himself. Instead of the endless repetition of knowing the outcome of every action, he would allow them to experience these consequences as new events, imagined and anticipated, but never known beforehand. They would not seem to experience all things simultaneously–as he did–but rather, events would occur in a sequence. These beings would be able to look back on the past with their minds, and imagine what might occur as a result of their actions, but things could always turn out differently. The future could never be an absolute certainty. It would be a new world of infinite wonder and possibility.<\/span>
\nAnother thing God could never experience was non-existence: an end to being, unconsciousness, inaction, nothingness. God was an immortal being, and by his very nature would continue to exist, forever. He wondered what it would feel like to have his consciousness stop, to have thought come to an end, to just cease doing anything and rest for awhile.<\/span>
\nHe decided to give the beings he would create the ability to experience a state of being in which they would be unaware. He wondered if all mental activity would cease during such a state. God had no way of predicting dreams.<\/span>
\nHis basic idea was to have these beings inhabit physical bodies that would reproduce themselves. They would have a cycle of existence: birth, life, and death–being born or coming into existence, experiencing consciousness and functioning for a span of time, and dying–the state of ceasing to function or register any further sensory input. In this way they would be able to experience both existence and non-existence, something God could never do.<\/span>
\nThese were all fascinating ideas, but God realized the danger of actually undertaking such a course of action. Of course, he could create such a universe and watch it develop as a sort of entertainment. But then, he would be right back where he started. He would be able to see into every mind and know every decision before it was made. As long as God retained his infinite knowledge and power, he would know the entire history of the universe before it began.<\/span>
\nNo, what God wanted was to actually experience this universe,
\nhimself. He knew that, in order to do this, he would have to give up his absolute knowledge and power, and relinquish his control. In effect, it would be more a transformation than a creation. He would actually be sacrificing himself to become these new beings, and the universe they would inhabit. The living beings would be his children, and as they grew in number, his consciousness would divide as they multiplied.<\/span>
\nGod would still exist, but his essence would be spread throughout the universe. His power would set the galaxies in motion, and his spirit would animate every living form. His energy would burn in every star; his presence would fill all space; his will would infuse the laws that would bring order to the universe; he would be present in every stone, every tree, and every blade of grass; and the essence of his consciousness and creativity would fill every mind.<\/span>
\nGod knew, once this thing was done, there could be no turning back. He would be committed, completely. It would be a new universe of infinite potential and possibility, and he could not know its future. But, for the first time in his existence, he would be free–and he would never be lonely, again. \u00a0God, transformed, would experience existence through his children in new ways he could not possibly imagine in his present state. He also knew the essence of his consciousness would help guide his children in the fulfillment of his original purpose … to create something greater than himself.<\/span>
\nThis act might reduce God to a shadow of his former self; he would lose his absolute knowledge and power, but he would gain the ability to live, to love, to learn, and to grow. And perhaps, one day, his children would unlock the secrets of their universe, discover their true origin, and find a way of reconstituting what God had once been. As they grew in knowledge and wisdom, they might eventually transcend their physical being. Linking their thought and joining their minds as one, they might recreate the infinity of consciousness that had once been God.<\/span>
\nBut this would be a new God. It would be himself, his spirit, plus the totality of knowledge and experience gained throughout the evolution of the physical universe. If this were to occur, God’s purpose would be achieved: the creation of something greater than himself!<\/span>
\nGod pondered long over these possibilities. He understood the risk. He could be lost forever, submerged in a universe beyond his control. But on the other hand, he might achieve his purpose. He could lose, or he could win! At least it was a choice, an alternative to his unchanging existence, and he decided to take it.<\/span>
\nAnd God said, “let there be light!” And there was light, but there was also shadow. There was choice, and inevitability. There was freedom, and restriction. There was anticipation, and regret. There was laughter in the midst of sorrow, and hope in the face of impossible odds. There was love and sex, joy and fear, life and death, and there was you and me.
\nThere is so much in this universe God never could have foreseen. And so it will always be, as long as we have the right to choose. As I write this in the contemplation of my thoughts, and you read it in the curiosity of your own, in a way we are one. The idea of this God is the bridge between us, and for a while, we walk it together.<\/span>
\nAfter all, this is only a story. But, could such a God exist? Could he be working within us at this very moment to achieve his ultimate purpose? And what will be the eventual fate of our universe? God knows.<\/span>[\/vc_column_text][\/vc_tta_section][vc_tta_section title=”My Story” tab_id=”1654631548677-97cf4397-acf9″][vc_column_text]Finally, here is something I just wrote. During the making of the album \u201cBrother Johnny\u201d, it was suggested that my bio be updated and redone. This started me thinking, and I decided I should write my own story in my own way. So, here it is!<\/p>\n
\nBut now that I think of it, maybe it\u2019s I who am the stranger, in which case you shouldn’t be talking to me. As a matter of fact, I’d be willing to bet that I AM the stranger (of the two of us) that is to say, stranger than you. But that really doesn’t matter. This imaginary conversation has already begun in my head, and I don\u2019t think it’s just going to stop here.<\/span>
\nSo, go ahead. It’s Your turn. Say something. Well, OK \u2026 sometimes a welcome silence is inviting. It indicates you’re a good listener, patient and attentive. But don’t let me dominate the whole conversation. I just want to make sure I’ve given you your own space here. But enough about you, I’m supposed to be writing about me, or so I thought.<\/span>
\nHere’s the thing. If you’re reading this, then you and I are in a way connected. I think that makes this an amazing universe! This is actually something just between us. It may seem to be a one-sided something, but that’s only partly true and not the whole truth.<\/span>
\nYou see, in giving you that space for a moment’s reflection I’ve just realized something. Whoever you are, you must have done something to be reading this, heard some music, bought a computer, visited a website. Maybe you just heard something from a friend; so much the better. Then it’s based on friendship, and that makes it all the more relevant.<\/span>
\nThe point is, there’s a reason in your life why you’re reading what I\u2019ve written here. No matter how seemingly small or inconsequential, something has led up to this moment. That means you have a different reason from anyone else. You have a unique viewpoint and perspective all your own, and therefore you will read a different story than anyone else in the universe. You will read my story and make it your own, and that is the essence and nature of art.<\/span>
\nThere are so many people who have written their stories into my life, and their characters into my heart. Just as there are so many musicians I feel I’ve had the experience of playing with, even though we’ve never met.<\/span>
\nAnd here is the first thing I think I’ve found perhaps worth saying. No matter who you are or who I am (who is the friend, or who is the stranger) this is the one thing that makes us the same. It is the desire to make this connection, to reach out, to touch someone–to say somehow to the universe–we are not alone.<\/span>
\nSo, you could say I’m writhing this for you. But\u2014to be honest\u2014that wouldn’t be exactly true. I’m also writing it for myself. You see, lately I’ve been experiencing this intense creative desire for self-expression, that is, to really get across the idea of who I am and what I’m all about. Now, I can do a certain amount of that through music, but how many songs can a person write about himself and his situation before it starts to get a little old. It seems a bit arrogant and excessive, doesn’t it? On the other hand, isn\u2019t this exactly what people expect artists and writers to do? They want it ALL to be true, straight from the heart, honest, sincere, taken directly from real life experience. They don\u2019t want to think we\u2019re just making stuff up.<\/span>
\nI want to tell the truth\u2014but only the truth I want to tell. For (to tell the truth) I don’t even know what the truth is half the time. I mean, it’s a slippery slope; that is, it’s all subjective. Let’s say you’re going to tell me Your life story, and you want to tell the truth. Well, what is that truth based on? Your memory, right? And just how accurate and reliable is that?<\/span>
\nFor example, what’s the first thing you remember? I don’t mean the first thing that comes to mind; I mean, what is the earliest memory you can recall? Do you remember when you were born? When you were one, two, three? How about when you were four, five, or six?<\/span>
\nOf course, you can say \u2026 well, I was born on such-and-such a date at such-and-such a time, but you don’t really know that is true from your own experience. Still, you are absolutely sure it’s true, because someone you really trust told you so. I think there are many things in life that are just like this, though in many different ways. That is, I think we are all quite sure of many things that we accept as absolute truths, without any question or examination.Just think about it.<\/span>
\nI also believe that everyone finds or arrives at their own truth, in their own life, in their own way, and that makes their truth different from anyone else’s. So, the best that I can do here is to tell my own truth, in my own way\u2014but memory is so peculiar, so patchy and random. How much of it is direct experience, and how much is based on things we’ve read or learned, things we’ve seen or heard, in a movie or on TV, things we’ve dreamed of or even\u00a0just made up?<\/span>
\nHere’s something I remember. When I was little, I had a class in elocution. And one of the things I had to stand up and say was this: It is the function of the mind not to remember, but to forget, by Anri Bergson.<\/span>
\nI don’t remember anything else I ever said in that class. I mean, I’m racking my brain and I still can’t think of a single thing. But I remember that one thing, vividly. I even remember the teacher’s name, Lou Carmack. Lou was a woman, and I thought it was really a cool name for a lady. It was probably short for Louise, or maybe Lucille, since this was in Texas. That’s where I’m from, by the way. TEXAS, which probably helps explain the elocution class. It didn’t work, though; I’ve still got the Texas twang.<\/span>
\nAnyway, I digress. Why do I remember that one thing, and nothing else? The whole memory of that class even existing is wrapped up in that one phrase. I know why. Because, I thought it was really odd, at the time. I was very young, and it just didn’t make sense. Why should anyone think the mind was supposed to forget, when its obvious purpose was to remember stuff.<\/span>
\nI remember thinking–maybe this guy, Bergson, had something so bad happen to him that he didn’t want to remember it; and as time went by, he felt better. So he decided the thing the mind was best for was forgetting. I still remember puzzling about it–almost meditating over it–as one would a zen koan like one hand clapping, or an illumined darkness. And I guess, maybe I still do; otherwise, I would have forgotten it by now. Wouldn’t I?<\/span>
\nHere’s what I’m thinking right now. I remember hearing a whole lot of things way back then that I used to really wonder about–like, we’re only using about five percent of our total brain capacity, or dogs can only see in black and white, or maybe it was dogs can only dream in black and white. Anyway, how could anyone know? I certainly don’t want to know what was done to the poor dogs to find out.<\/span>
\nAnother one was, a fish on a hook doesn’t feel the pain the same way you or I would, because its brain is not developed enough. Well, of course not. It feels the pain the way a fish would. Is that supposed to make it any better, because it’s only a fish? Years later, I remember seeing a short Japanese film clip. A guy is walking along the beach and sees a tasty looking sandwich just lying there. He picks it up, takes a bite, and gets dragged kicking and screaming into the ocean.<\/span>
\nSorry, I’m off on another tangent. But getting back to the Bergson thing, another one I remember hearing is this. A complete and accurate recording of our every experience you\u2019ve ever had actually exists in the brain. We are just unable to access all this information with the conscious mind, but it\u2019s all there.<\/span>
\nDo you see where I’m going here? Just think what it would be like to remember every boring person you’ve ever met, and every stupid conversation you’ve ever had, every dumb thing you’ve ever read, and every phone number you’ve ever called. This is not to mention every painful or embarrassing moment you’ve experienced, every line you’ve stood in, and how about all those idle, meaningless, circular thoughts you can’t get out of your head when you’re trying to go to sleep? This certainly doesn’t seem like an optimal state of consciousness to me.<\/span>
\nAnd that’s where drugs come in. \u201cSeriously?\u201d Just kidding. \u201cAlcohol\u201d No, not that either. And that’s where Bergson comes in; maybe he was right, after all. It IS the function of the mind not to remember, but to forget.<\/span>
\nSo, most of our lives mainly consists of this unremembered past, which is probably a good thing too\u2014because there’s probably only about five percent of our lives worth remembering, anyway. It kind of goes along with the five percent of our brains we’re using. And that’s what makes the part we can actually remember seem so cool, so important, so significant, and so very interesting.<\/span>
\nHey, it’s only a theory. But, wow! Here’s another thought. Maybe I got the whole thing wrong, and that’s not really what Bergson said at all; or maybe someone else said it, not Bergson. I mean, it’s just a memory I have from over half a century ago. I never looked it up, or anything. And don’t you go looking it up, either. I don’t want to be getting a bunch of letters or emails about Bergson. I like things just as they are, thank you.<\/span>
\nWell, let’s see, here. I guess you may have noticed there isn’t much story happening yet, but it’s coming. I promise! I’m just warming up to this writing deal, here. The thing is, I guess I just felt like we ought to get to know each other a little better before I just jumped right in. I feel better now.\u00a0So, here we go.<\/span>
\nTo avoid any possible confusion here, I’m just going to assume that you know absolutely nothing about me, just as I know absolutely nothing about you. So, who am I? Well, let’s see. My name is Edgar Winter. I was born on the 28th day of December, just three days after Christmas, and three days before the new year of 1947, in Beaumont, Texas. But what do I really know about all this? Do I remember it? No. Did I experience it? All I can say is\u2014my parents told me, so I just know it’s true.<\/span>
\nNow, is it just me, or doesn’t this seem a little strange, peculiar, even crazy? I mean, here’s the most basic information a person can give, that defines who they are, their identity, the time they supposedly came into existence, and point of origin. And it’s all stuff you can never really know; it just has to be accepted, on Faith.<\/span>
\nTake your name. Where did that come from? Well, somebody else decided on that. But they didn’t ask you, did they? Either they just made it up, or it came from your family. And who are they, anyway, your parents? What about the people who grow up in seemingly normal homes, safe and secure in their identities, and then find out they are adopted? The actual circumstances of your birth and how you came into this world are something you can never really know for sure. Come to think of it, I could even be from another planet, for all I know. Yeah, that’s it, another planet. That would explain a lot of things.<\/span>
\nActually, I once told a kid in the 2nd grade that I WAS from another planet. He wanted to know why I looked so strange. So it was either that, or\u2014I\u2019m from Albania, where all the albinos come from. \u201cWhat? Albinos, you say?\u201d That\u2019s right, albinos. I’m an albino. Did I forget to mention that? Well, of course not. I was just saving it for the right moment. Even though I don’t know you, I can fill in the blanks here.<\/span>
\n\u201cYou’re what? An albino. Hmm, that’s unusual. What is that exactly, anyway?\u201d<\/span>
\nOK, here’s the deal. I’m going to explain it to you just the way I remember hearing it as a kid. So, the information may be way out-of-date, but I’m sure, generally correct. Here are a few general definitions:<\/span>
\nAlbino: a person with pale skin,light hair, pinkish eyes, and visual abnormalities resulting from a hereditary inability to produce the pigment melanin.<\/span>
\nA person or animal lacking normal pigmentation, with the result being that the skin and hair are abnormally white or milky and the eyes have a pink or blue iris and a deep-red pupil.<\/span>
\nA person, whether negro, Indian, Asian, or white, in whom the substance which gives color to the skin, hair, and eyes is deficient. An albino has a skin of a milky hue, with hair of the same color, and eyes with deep red pupil and pink or blue iris. The term is also used of the lower animals, as white mice, elephants, etc.\u2014and of plants in a whitish condition from the absence of chlorophyll.<\/span>
\nAlbinism (or perhaps I should say the potential for it) is simply a recessive genetic characteristic that occurs in one out of so-many-thousand people. The first time I heard it the number was 40,000 Then I heard 20,000. They keep changing the number, but anyway it’s a lot of people, which makes it pretty rare.<\/span>
\nSo, anyone might have this recessive genetic characteristic without ever being aware of it. You may even have it, yourself, and you would never know–that is–unless you just happen to marry someone who is the one out of another group of 20,000 people, and therefore has this same recessive genetic characteristic.<\/span>
\nBut wait, that’s not all. Even if two such people do happen to get together, they may never have albino children. The chances are still only about one in four that a child will be albino. That’s why this genetic characteristic is referred to as recessive, rather than dominant. It may remain hidden, and is not necessarily active. So, these two people could have three or four children and still never guess.<\/span>
\n\u201cWow! What an awesome cosmic lottery, you say.\u201d But hold on, there’s still more. From two regular, completely normal looking parents, my brother (Johnny) and I are BOTH albino. You know, the more I think about it, the “other planet” business doesn’t sound that much more far-fetched to me. Hey, just kidding\u2014a little interplanetary humor.<\/span>
\nSeriously, I want to say right here that I consider myself so fortunate to have had the two greatest parents in the whole world. Growing up, they were like a cross between Ozzie and Harriet, and the Cleavers. But getting back to the albino thing, my parents were particularly good with that. They helped me to accept it, to be realistic about it, but to see it in a positive light. Emotionally, that was not always so easy to do.<\/span>
\nHave you ever noticed how people may say they want to be different, but when they meet others who actually are, they don’t always react or behave that well? Mostly, people just want to be normal. And they like and make friends with others who are also normal, just like them.<\/span>
\nDifferent is OK as long as it’s something positive\u2014like being more talented, handsome or beautiful; more interesting, educated, or athletic. But if it’s some kind of different they weren’t expecting, people aren’t as good at handling that. They may become ill at ease, uncomfortable, or embarrassed. This may lead them to exclude, alienate, or even ostracize those they don’t understand or who just don’t fit in.<\/span>
\nBut, so what? This is no big deal. It’s really just kid stuff, and I’ll bet you’ve experienced something like it, yourself. Kids will make fun of anything\u2014too fat, too short, too tall, too thin, funny voice, big nose, anything!<\/span>
\nSo, where was I? Oh yeah, who am I? Well, my name is Edgar Winter. The name Edgar (I think) is supposed to mean something like kind or gentle warrior. Now, there’s a contradiction in terms, a real oxymoron. Does that mean I kill people gently, as in killing you softly? Killing with kindness? Or am I a pacifist, capable of fighting, but more highly evolved and in tune with the harmony of the universe.<\/span>
\nAnd then there’s Winter, a rather cold name. So, I’m a warrior, kind and gentle, but cold and unrelenting. No wonder I’m so confused. Also, I’ve got long snowy-white hair; so people naturally think I made up the name Winter, to go along with the hair and the look.<\/span>
\nAll I can say about Edgar Winter is, I wouldn’t have picked it. The Winter part is cool (no pun intended), but Edgar? It does sound English, which I like, but not cool or interesting English. Edgar is more stuffy-old-English, like a banker or a lawyer. Actually, my great grandfather was a lawyer, and my uncle, George, was a banker. But, not me, not in this lifetime.<\/span>
\nAs for my name, here’s what happened. My father (John Dawson Winter Jr.) married my mother (Edwina Holland). So, their first son was named John Dawson Winter III. Johnny Winter, now there’s a cool name. Then, three years later, they had another son. What to do this time? Well, my mother’s father was Edgar Alfred Holland, so I became Edgar Holland Winter.<\/span>
\nAnd there you have it. My brother, Johnny, was named after our father, while I was named after our mother’s side of the family. The irony is, I look like our father, while Johnny looks a lot more like our mother. Oh well, who knew? In any event, I love my family, but let\u2019s get back to me.<\/span>
\nI may as well tell you some things I actually know. I’m almost 6 feet tall, about 180 pounds, light complexion, blue-grey eyes that tend toward violet in bright light, long white hair, short white beard and mustache. So much for general appearance.<\/span>
\nI guess the biggest and most important thing we haven’t talked about yet, is music. I’ve loved music ever since I can remember. As a matter of fact, I know this sounds crazy, but I was actually playing music BEFORE I can remember. My dad showed me my first chords on the ukulele. I vaguely remember the process of learning the chords, but I have no idea when or how old I was. My brother was playing the uke when he was seven; that\u2019s when we started singing together. He’s three years older, so I must have been around four.<\/span>