IN BETWEEN

From the inception of our birth until the event of our death, we are destined to become orphans, unless by some act of fate our unfortunate parents live beyond our lifelines.  On October 26th, 1998, my father died of heart failure.  Six months later, on Mother’s Day evening, my mother passed from the ravages of Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.  The anvil had fallen, resonating through time and space.   My perspectives of life were forever altered, tainted by the residue of personal regret ... more »

IN BETWEEN

From the inception of our birth until the event of our death, we are destined to become orphans, unless by some act of fate our unfortunate parents live beyond our lifelines.  On October 26th, 1998, my father died of heart failure.  Six months later, on Mother’s Day evening, my mother passed from the ravages of Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.  The anvil had fallen, resonating through time and space.   My perspectives of life were forever altered, tainted by the residue of personal regret and the vivid knowledge of mortality.  My son was a little more than a year old, destined to be an only child as my wife, Kathy, and I knew that we would not be able to have any more children.  The death of my parents shattered my prior interpretation of reality, and brought an emphasis to the limitations of life.  I wanted to leave my son a lifeline, a place where he could derive support, a pat on the shoulder or a needed hug.  Not for the selfish desire of media immortality, but to leave a physical record that he could resource, inspire his memories and perhaps use in his recovery from loss.

To Bear:  This book contains my thoughts on life and death, and the perspectives in between.  Pass this book onto the future generations of Lees; its presence owes its existence to the past, our forbearers.  Add to it when you can...your own insights into life, into death, the aspects of living and dying.  Make it not only profound, but profoundly yours.
       
This is the first volume.  I hope it will continue forever, as we continue to cherish, learn and prosper.  I have learned much from my father and mother, and I have learned from your insights and observations.  This will be your book Bear.  Add to it.  Let it be your reference and depository, a place of refuge and a moment of respite.



Bear, you are now 7 years old, and have increased your capability to learn exponentially.  These next passages are written for a time of introspection concerning the ability to learn and to focus.  I do not doubt that there will be certain periods in which you may feel overwhelmed by the cacophony of memos, the litany of appointments or the errands that follow your life schedule.  I hope that the following essays will help to guide you through those times, through the potential ignorance and enable you to perceive a positive balanced position between ambition and satisfaction.  There will be stillness standing amidst the maelstrom of madness, if you proceed with intelligent judgment and faith.


A Theory of Time Management

A Saturday Afternoon.  The ability to slow the perception of time, and therefore, its reality, to a slow dull crawl.  Time manipulation.  Not dull, such that boredom and ennui become a pervasive theme, but rather so fulfilling a moment of the present, such that the senses obliterate hesitation, transcends all moods and creates the existence of the present as the only existence that matters.  It is thus to be immersed in the total use of one’s senses, where all time slows, and that ball which must be struck seems the size of a wish.

Attempt to notice everything, Bear.  Every movement brought by wind, every underlying creak, one’s inner rhythms, the pulsating flow.  Feel your weight filling your shoes, spreading through the carpet, the floor, and the foundation below.  Notice nature’s rituals.  Are the birds flying clockwise?  To the north?  Where is North from your present position?  Taste the air for the possibility of an impending storm.  Taste deeper than immediate pleasure.  Hear for miles, and then, listen closely, for the rhythm of your heart.  Smell freshness, and of death’s descent.  Breathe to grasp the scent of power, power of potential.  Touch to truly feel.  Feel to feed upon the emotional tide.  Feel the weight and flow of objects.  Feel their justification and importance.  If you can imbibe all in the moment, then in your own way, you can “own” a bit of time.

Sit, Stand, Remain.

Focus and take it all in. Sometimes just sitting on the front steps, licking dripping ice cream cones with you is enough to slow any progress of time.


The Speed of Light

Raking the leaves that seem to immeasurably fall, during the fall, you asked me if anything was faster than the speed of light.  Knowing something of the Einstein’s theories of transmutability of energy and matter, I attempted to explain the concept of E = m x c squared, such that as matter accelerated to near the velocity of light, it transformed into light/energy itself.  From this concept, in between pondering thoughts and the brown leaves, you asked if this energy was then permanent.

I suppose that if the energy is transformed and not vanquished, it must be retained in one form or another.  In Newtonian physics, the energy inherent in an object would be a product of its mass multiplied by its acceleration.  In a collision with another mass, there is conservation of energy, as the original energy transfers into the second mass and a concurrent dissipation of heat.  Thus, it would maintain a semblance of permanence if not in its original form or intent.  The existence of a greater concept would remain, a faith based reasoning.  Understanding that there may be multiple perspectives of existence, special relativity, branes and the possibilities of alternative dimensions of measurements, energy may not only transform, but also may escape to other forms of existence.  The next point of concern was then the conservation of the spirit or the soul, if the soul represented the energy of the individual.

 “Is the spirit permanent?” you asked, prodding the dirt with a stick.   I nodded in agreement, as I didn’t have any proof, only a belief.  “I would assume that to be true,” I replied.
So much of what we learn, what we believe is based upon faith.  I can only conjecture.  I look to you and witness the speed of life, and behold a creation unfolding.  And everyday, every moment, with each rake of the leaves, I am eternally grateful.  Less