From What Dreams May Come to What Dreams May Inspire

  Among my favorite romantic movies is WHAT DREAMS MAY COME. Last night I watched this 1998 stunning film once again, with it's powerful visuals and fantasies about what happens to us after we die. It is a beautiful fantasy of what heaven may look like--perhaps a fantastic vision of how we may wish heaven will be like and a darker, plausible vision of Hell for those who believe in Hell. As a side comment, it's so poignant that in a film that touches on the theme of suicide, star Robin Williams' character is the rock and salvation for someone whose soul is condemned by such an act. In the end, it was Williams who most needed the very words his character spoke to his soul mate.

What prompted this post is that I had one of my very vivid dreams last night. "What Dreams May Come," indeed. My epic dream was not a dream of heaven, but about a romance in Paris. Those highly vivid dreams with a defined story are rare in my life--such as a dream about Three Mile Island exactly as it happened six months before the actual accident (another story); a dream about enemy soldiers in an Asian country, exactly as it happened (an upcoming novel); or a dream about walking on the moon inside a domed settlement, looking up at Earth and the sun shining through the transparent dome, feeling the gritty, gray soil under my feet, and breathing cool, oxygenated atmosphere. The latter dream has yet to happen.

This time the dream was down to Earth, in Paris. I was someone else--a war amputee with a prosthetic leg and magic shoes that could transport me around the city, even walking on water (that happened in the movie). The woman was a complete stranger--a waitress who works at an outdoor cafe along the Seine River, although I have a very clear idea of what she looks like. Keep in mind that this woman was probably fabricated in my mind and I've yet to visit Paris, although my wife and I plan to visit Paris this year or next. A non-writer may wonder and raise an eyebrow. What am I doing dreaming about another woman? But a writer thinks differently and this writer's wife is secure enough in my love for her. She encourages my writing. She is the muse for my dreams.

Moving right ahead with the freedom to dream, I ask myself, could this be the idea for a story? The real question is, if you dream about a stranger, is there a stranger somewhere in the world who dreamed about you? Is there a waitress in Paris who dreamed about me around the same time? While the reality is, even if this was possible or true, it is as if I dreamed about being someone completely different, like an actor in a movie. I am not that person and fictional characters should not be confused with real life. For a writer, however, all things are possible and a new idea is born.

For my friends who are writers, producers, or actors, my apologies, but I don't trust you with the details of my dream. In God I trust--all others get your own ideas. But, this is one of those moments when a rare dream is the fuel for a fresh idea.

Seattle's Football Deflated, Tom Brady a Super Hero, Katy Perry Great

Great Super Bowl this year. I didn't have a pony in the race since the Steelers were knocked out, so no danger of throwing myself out the basement window if my team lost. But, oh, what a finish with both an immaculate reception and interception (alluding to the Franco Harris and the Steelers miracle of the early 70s). Mind boggling for Seattle fans when you consider all the hours, weeks, and months of grid iron battles, making it back to the Super Bowl, and after brilliant moments in the game, and on the verge of winning the game, it took about 2 seconds to snatch defeat from from the jaws victory at the goal line. I would have been okay with either team winning, but it appears Seattle was the one that had its football deflated. I admire Tom Brady, so I'll toast the Patriots with the rest of New England. Katy Perry, Lenny Kravitz, and company, BTW, put on a great half time show, despite the sound limits. My new sound bar makes it sound like you're at the game to enjoy the echoes and unintelligible lyrics, but since we know the songs already, the performance was. . . well, let's just say, "I saw the girl and I liked it."

Auld Acquaintances Are Never Forgotten

    The holidays for me have always meant taking a poignant, pensive reflection on my life, what I've accomplished, and where I'm going. The days between Christmas and New Year's Day have been a kind of purge of bad karma, a recharging of spirit, but a determination to  focus on the good, celebrate the highs of the year, and set the course for the New Year. I don’t believe in New Year’s Resolution, just a practical time to stop and smell the poinsettias, clear the slate, and start again. Some years dealt with loss--loss of members of my family, loss of love, loss of a family fortune, loss of opportunity. But when I weigh the years and compare them with the lives of many others, I know I am blessed and lucky. I've never lost hope, never lost my sense of humor, and never lost my determination to live life my way.  New Year's Day marks the end of reflection and the start of the first day of the rest of my life. There really is a blank page upon which it really is up to me--and no one else--to decide what will be written. 

   When I hear the words of "Auld Lang Syne"..."Should auld acquaintance be forgot," I think, wait a minute, the mind of this writer never forgets—in a good way. Memories have been a rich source of ideas for stories. Better yet, I prefer to selectively remember the best of times and filter out the bad days. I may not ever see you again in this lifetime face to face, but my mind and heart never forgets. In love, friendship, and in common mission, I do remember you. In love, I never stopped loving. One thing I've learned about the human heart is its huge capacity to love others, even as we loyally give our hearts, souls, and lives to one person. With parents, relatives, and friends no longer with us, the happier memories have crowded out the grief. In friendship, I never stopped caring and do hope there are more good times to share. In mission, it was grand while it lasted and wish we could do it again. Some of you have inspired my writing and, even better, inspired me during my life. 

   Even with the heart of a poet and being a dreamer, there is a solid feet-on-the ground acceptance of what is and what cannot be changed. Still, when I was very young, a friend wrote in my yearbook the simple abbreviation, "RMA”—Remember Me Always. I can say after all these years, I took that simple wish to heart as a promise to keep. I have remembered, so auld acquaintances are not forgot. 

   Happy New Year, my auld acquaintances, and to anyone else I offer a "cup o' kindness."

What is the cost of doing nothing about air pollution?

      Already, some members of the new incoming Congress is complaining about the air quality agreement reached by President Obama and the Chinese. The reaction to it goes along the line of "it will cost taxpayers and businesses too much." My question is, what is the cost of not doing it? Even if you have your doubts about global warming, there is another side that is not being mentioned by the media and that is the actual deaths from air pollution recorded each year. A study by Massachusetts Institute of Technology concluded that there are about 200,000 early deaths from air pollution each year in the U.S. alone. What is the cost to those families, our health care system, our communities, and, yes, to taxpayers? China has an incentive also. Early deaths in China attributed to air pollution are at a minimum of 300,000 to 500,000 people per year. Another study concludes that there are 1.2 million deaths. This new agreement for the two biggest polluters, with a deadline of 2025 in the U.S. and 2030 in China, will not eliminate fossil fuels, but rely more on technology to advance cleaner emissions. So I ask again, what is the cost of doing nothing? I cannot bring back my mother who died prematurely from COPD, but I'd like to know that my children and their children will breathe cleaner air.

Paying Respect to a Beacon of Journalism

     I can name a small handful of people who influenced my career directions in life, including a change of college majors from political science to journalism, as a columnist and writer of nonfiction, and on to efforts as a novelist.  The people who influenced me certainly include a scattering of authors, from Homer to Mark Twain and from Ernest Hemingway to Ray Bradbury. More specific to the art of writing, the path as a writer began with an unknown author in my hometown of Altoona, who kindly sent me a complimentary copy of her book that I read when I was in the jungles of Southeast Asia, while trying to think about my future with a war going on around me. Then, with my G.I. Bill grants for college (I still ended up eating popcorn for meals the week before each check arrived) it was time to decide between my John F. Kennedy-inspired direction in politics, or consider the realities that I did not want to spend more years in college. I was too anxious to get out into the world and do something with my life.  I always enjoyed writing--I supposed writing song lyrics, short stories, and love letters told me I was much better with my pen than with my mouth.
       When I switched to the School of Journalism at the Pennsylvania State University, a college professor of media ethics, who through his fatherly lectures and whose voice sounded very much like Harry Reasoner, instilled in me the idea that journalism without ethics is like government without morality. Then there was the newspaper editor who faced down a government, the CIA, and judges who threatened to imprison him just because he wanted to tell the truth.
    Today, we mourn the passing of Benjamin Crowninshield Bradlee, known professionally as Ben Bradlee. As anyone remotely connected to the media prior to Bradlee's retirement or in upper eschelons of government know, he was the executive editor of The Washington Post. Bradlee represented the finest example of a free and unbiased press. His unflinching courage to face down the Central Intelligence Agency, the President of the United States, and a judicial system tasked to stop him from publishing the truth, inspired me to look at the world with a true curiosity, open mind, and a willingness to suspend my own biases (character traits much of the broadcast news media of today seem to lack). 
    It was under Bradlee's management that supported Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward ("Woodstein," as he often called them when he called them into his office) in their efforts to successfully expose one of the biggest scandals of politics in American history. Anyone alive in 1972 probably remembers the headlines when operatives broke into the Watergate Hotel offices of the National Democratic Party. The entire news media then followed Bradlee's and "Woodstein's" courageous reporting--soon followed by nearly every newspaper and broadcast news organization in the world--resulting in the near impeachment and resignation of President Richard Nixon, who was exposed attempting to cover up the break in.
    It was also Bradlee's decision to publish, along with The New York Times, "The Pentagon Papers," given to the newspapers by Daniel Ellsberg, a former employee of the RAND Corporation, which was at the time a top secret Pentagon study that might have prevented the U.S. involvement in Vietnam. The report told the truth about certain incidents that led up to American commitment to the war;  predicted that U.S. casualties would be very high; and that, in fact, the war could not be won.
    The details of these two events are available in many books and on the Web. If Bradlee believed in a reporter's work, then you can be confident that the truth was being presented objectively. The evidence for his integrity and being respected is supported by 17 Pulitzer Prizes being awarded to The Washington Post during Bradlee's tenure. My point here is to pay respect to a man who stood for the highest ideals of a free press and as a credible watch dog to expose wrong doing in government, business, and, in a responsible way, present a window to the world that allows the opportunity for a free people to view the world and make their own informed decisions.

Quantum Physics Finds Its Way to My Next Novel

     

I invite anyone with a knowledge of quantum physics to comment. I have an idea for a novel that has been taking shape. As a prudent writer, I cannot give away the plot or direction the story will take, but using my science aptitude I've always had and speculating (hypothesizing to you scientists) in the area of physics, I hope to create the illogical logic that can function satisfactorily in a work of fiction.

Postulating on the Possibilities of Time Travel

     We perceive ourselves to live in a world of three dimensions. We can see in all directions, all sides, up and down, and forward and back. But, imagine living in a cube. We can move straight forward and back, right and left, but we cannot so easily move up and down because we are constrained by the forces of gravity; we cannot float to the ceiling to clean the cobwebs, just as we cannot float to the clouds with just our bodies to examine them more closely. If we were up, we could move downward quickly, but at the peril of our lives as we crash to the Earth.
      Similarly with time, our minds can envision the past or imagine the future, but the laws of physics constrain our bodies to the present. H.G. Wells realized this in his book The Time Machine. If a machine can assist us to move up and down in our physical world, why not a similar, although more complicated, device or object that can enable us to move in directions of time?
      The challenge of time travel from a view of scientific possibility might be solved through bending theoretical quantum physics. If one could harness anti-matter, perhaps suspended in a magnetic chamber, we could control the contact between positive and anti-matter. Physicists know that when elements of dark matter and matter from our physical universe collide, the result is a great release of energy that exceeds the relative energy released by nuclear and fusion reactions. However, if the amount of anti-matter could be controlled, could there be a non-destructive amount of energy released? The energy then could create a curvature in the fabric of space around an object. Physicists now know this bubble created around an object could still follow Einstein's laws of relativity and limits on the speed of light and yet create passage through space that exceeds the speed of light. In other words, a portal could be created that allows an object or person to travel in time.

       Is this too far-fetched in the realm of quantum physics, or am I on the right path to understanding theoretical possibilities?

Time Away from the Writer's Desk to Do Some Acting

The film shoot went very well on Sunday (9/28/14). The production is very well organized, shots well planned out, and takes were relatively quick, thanks to the professionalism of all, including actors. Satisfied with how smoothly it went, the director wrapped the location hours early. Even though it is a blink-you-miss-me moment on screen, it was a pleasure working for director and producer Carlos Entios Roman (Roman Pictures) and assistant director and co-producer Sharon Carpenter-Rose. SPIROS AND THE HOOD, a TV detective series, will be released in 2016. It was nice to work with Sharon a second time. In BABAR, THE JIHADI, for which I have the title role, Sharon played the arresting policewoman. A very interesting aspect of the day was the film location--inside the famous Jefferson County (WV) Court House where legendary anti-slavery activist John Brown was tried and sentenced to be hanged in 1859. One of the actors playing a fellow reporter Sunday (a retired reporter in real life), who gave tours of the court house for five years, between takes in filming, pointed to the very spot in the former courtroom where John Brown lay during the court trial (he had been wounded during his capture). The extra time allowed me to drive over to Winchester, Va., to have an early dinner with my sister and brother-in-law; give her a sleep number bed for their guest room, that my princess of The Princess and the Pea no longer wanted; and then be home early to spend the evening relaxing with my wife (the princess, lol) as we always do on Sundays. In all, a wonderfully full day. My wife, a gifted artist, when she is not teaching kindergarten, spent the day working on her encaustic art. Life is blessed! 

If you want to read more about abolitionist John Brown, I suggest starting with this Web page:
The Life and Trial of John Brown.