Monthly Archives: August 2019

When Truth Is Revealed: Mission Statement ImproVerse Haibun

She and I often sit in the throes of great deep philosophical and spiritual discussions about our life and lives, about existence and our place in it, about the purpose and meaning of life and how we fit and what we should do. How can we best serve our fellow men and women? What does God want us to do and can we do it and how should we do it?

Often, the Spirit teaches us great and grand truths. We put our hands over our hearts and exclaim: WOW! This is true truth! This is real.” And we smile and we feel motivated and inspired and we keep talking and we keep learning.

When this happens, hopefully a notepad and a pen or pencil will be handy and we’ll write down the truths that the Spirit is teaching us and we’ll take direction and inspiration and plans and dreams and we’ll capture them. And we only look at back at them later and maybe we will say “Yes!This is a great thing, a great truth!” And we’ll print them and put them up on our walls and use them as benchmarks and inspiration to what we should do and how we are doing.

What is Unwritten Truth?

Many times, too often really, we don’t take the time to write down the truth we’re learning. Sometimes the truths come so quickly that we can barely keep up in our own minds what they are, as they lap over on each other and grow and intertwine and intermingle and we see the visions and rejoice in what God is teaching us. So we don’t write them down. And sometimes we’re just too lazy to go find that piece of paper and pencil. We think to ourselves: “We will write it down later. This is so fantastic and so deep and so rich we will never forget it.”

But we do. Then, those truths and those heartfelt visions fade, fade,  fade away and are lost unless or until God sees fit to reprimand us, and maybe remind us of what we should have captured the first time and done the first time.

Vanishing Taught Truths Haiku

Socrates discussed,/
taught, learned. Did those truths vanish,/
too, the way ours do?

How Can I Help? Mission Statement Prose Stream-of-Thought

It’s as if God is saying “Dave, you’re the role model of somebody who left that corporate rat race. You are to build a life this way, more relaxed.”

People are thinking: “We don’t need six figure incomes. We can live simply and have everything we need. But we’re scared. We don’t know how.” What I’m thinking is that God is saying “I need somebody to show those people that they can be that way, that they don’t need all that stuff.”

Not Completely Off-Grid Living

People need to understand that they don’t need to go from the big-city living to off-grid immediately. In fact, a simpler life doesn’t need to be going completely off-grid. It doesn’t need to be that deep. My audience are those people who are caught in the rat race, who are saying “There’s got to be something different, something better, something I can do, and somehow I can do it. But how?” It’s looking at a life that says “I’m so used to making $80, $90, $100, $120k, a year. Can I make $40k or $50k a year and live out in Winneconne or Ringgold or Panguitch or somewhere else and be happy?”

Part of my mission with NaturesGuy.com  and with this blog is to tell them “Yes, it’s possible!”and to give them the courage to do it. That doesn’t mean to do it like me, like our way of doing it, but to do it in their own way, the way they want to.

The biggest truth is that so many people are wanting to leave, but they simply don’t know how, and they think it’s too difficult.

What if it’s not?

Our Lighthouse And Port of Refuge In The Storm: Haibun

The South swelters with mid-summer heat, with no port of refuge to be seen. Heading from the tree-shaded lanes of UGA and Athens, we found ourselves getting even more roasted as we drove through Hotlanta’s asphalt and concrete EZ-Bake Oven. The sun looked and cooked our black ragtop. Full-blast air conditioning seemed to do little to help.

At last, the sun slid behind towering thunderheads, providing welcome relief as we headed northward, toward our home on the hill. For awhile, all was still (as much as it can be with trucks and pickups and rich folk taking their fast cars out for a run on I-75 northbound). Magnificent bolts of lightening raced across the northern sky, lengthening out the dusk with their searing white flashes.

Then, suddenly, 30 miles southeast of our port of refuge, our home on the hill, it hit. One moment, it was a few light splatters on the windshield. A shift in the humidity and temperature caused the windshield to fog up slightly. As my fingers races to turn dials and press buttons to change the airflow, God began throwing garbage pails of water from the now black sky.

Thankful For Semi-Trucks With Blinking Tail Lights

There was no way to pull to the shoulder, no port of refuge from the storm. We couldn’t go around it. We couldn’t stop. Like Frodo the Hobbit, we had to go through. Suddenly, I could see the flashing red tail lights of a semi-truck. Here, I knew, was safety. I’d driven behind them in Tule fog in California’s Central Valley, and between Denver and Salt Lake City in November blizzards. Both of those had visibility of less than 30 feet. Here, I could see more than 100 feet, to the truck, so I knew I was safe.

Marnie was not as experienced. As I drove at a reasonable, safe speed, following the blinking tail lights, she sought her own port of refuge by burying her face in her lap. My hands stayed at “10 and 2,” and I never wavered, even when other cars passed me. I’d had dozens of cars similarly pass me before, heading down into Sacramento on the Donner Pass, and into Seattle on the Snoqualamie Pass. Many had ended up in the ditch or off the side of the road, headlights pointing like searchlights into the stormy night sky.

I was in no hurry.

The Last Miles Are Often The Toughest

At last, our exit appeared. A small voice whispered “Go to the next one! It’s better lit and straighter.” I ignored it, in a hurry to get home. As we exited, we could see … nothing. The dozens of street lights, stoplights, fast-food restaurants usually lighting up the intersection had been knocked out. No matter. The rain has slowed to a mere drizzle, so I headed home on the back road I knew so well, off of Old Alabama Highway.

Less than two blocks into our road home, I saw cars turning around and heading back toward me. Gazing down the road, I could see a giant flood flowing over the road. I sighed. The small voice — as it usually is — had been right. I turned around and got back onto the freeway, heading to the next exit.

There the lights were on, everything looked wet but familiar, and I could finally start breathing a little slower. Slowly driving down slick, wet roads, we at last turned on our yellow dirt road that headed toward our hill. I relaxed a little, but only then realized my 10 and 2 hands were almost cramping from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

The Lighthouse And Port Of Refuge On The Hill Surprise

I drove through the hickory, oak and cedar trees, up the hill and down the dirt road that is now so familiar to me. Suddenly, through a gap in the trees, our home appeared on the hill. Its front porch and upper bedroom lights blazed with a brightness that only air cleaned by the rain can bring. As I slowed the car to look, huge bolts of lightening from the storm we’d just gone through flashed behind the house.

It was as if the house was saying “Welcome. I’ve been waiting for you. You are safe now, here.” I put the car in reverse and backed up a few feet, to where I could see our own lighthouse and port of refuge, lights blazing like a giant battleship. I gazed at it for a moment, relaxed completely, drove through one more pothole puddle, and parked.

Home again, home again, jiggidy jig.

Home Again: Our Port of Refuge in the Storm (haiku)

Torrential rainstorm,/
light’ning, flooded roads. We see/
our house, lit. Harbor.*

or

our house, lit. Refuge.
10:19 pm August 13, 2019

From Hell To The Temple: Haiku

On a hotter than/
hell day, the Lord’s Temple is/
a good place to go.

OR
On a day that is/
hotter than hell, you can cool/
down in the Lord’s House.

Finding Orion And Ourselves – Blogging Free Verse

A young friend spoke today
a memory,
when he was lost and alone
in a strange and distant land.

Looking up,
far and away from home,
he saw thousands of stars.
And then, three.

Orion’s belt,
the Hunter,
just like in the sky
of his Georgia home.

Finding Orion,
no longer lost,
he felt safe,
secure,
protected,
and grateful
for the awareness.

His faithful memory
gave me
my own recollections
of finding Orion:
Diamonds hung
on a canyon wall.

That deep southern Utah night
was the first time
(at least that I recall),
but there have been many more
since then.

My first night
in my new Deep South home,
I stepped out
onto my back porch.
I was alone.

In this new place,
nervous and unfamiliar,
I breathed the gathering gloom,
sucked in the dank humors,
and looked heavenward.

There he was,
belt strongly girded,
Orion, the Hunter over me.
“Hello, old friend!” I shouted
and wept for gladness
and relief.

Next,
alone with family,
a celebration
in the South Pacific
with my son
and his new bride.

Late at night,
I waded into Moorea’s
unfamiliar warm waters,
leaned back
and looked up.

Surprise!
Orion the mighty Hunter
was there, but
standing on his head!
I still, again,
waved and shouted:
“Hello, old friend!”
and laughed for joy.

(I hadn’t yet heard
Moana: Aue, aue
Te fenua, te malie
Na heko hakilia, 
but when I did,
lost yet not
with my daughter
on our aue way
to a paradise waterfall,
I wept again,
just like now.)

As wisdom from the pulpit spoke,
I realized:
The bearded one
was right.
God is aware.
Always.
And He lets us know.

We might feel lost.
We might forget
who we are,
where we are going,
what we’re about.

But He who is mighty to save
will let us know,
always,
where we are,
always,
who we are,
always,
that we are watched over,
always,
if we look to the Heavens.

Consider Opportunity Cost: Revolutionary Blogging Sonnet

When I consider
all that may be gained or lost,
I far too seldom
think of the opportunity cost.

Playing soccer or baseball
was never a bad thing,
but I never once asked
what eternal growth they’d bring.

I can think of many times
I went to play in the sun.
But the more valuable games
were those with more than just fun.

It’s the eternal things which must be considered and weighed
to decide if time is well spent, or just frittered away.

Based on a April 2019 General Conference talk by Elder Dallin H. Oaks.

Guilty Of Less Love: IMprov Free Verse Lament

Deep in church,
that moment when
you realize:

Your heart is so filled
with frustration
and anger
and I-wanna-pull-my-hair-out!
toward the world
and those who might disagree
with you
that you forget
to love Jesus Christ
and you forget
to love others
and you forget
to share His love
with others.

Sadness.
Refocus.
Then resolve.
Then do.