This will never get old

"Young, all we ever think about is fun

All we ever want to be is twenty one
Hey, doesn't everyone want to sit on top of the world
R. Kelly on the radio, screaming out 
this will never get old..."

All we need is Batman.

At night, here on the 11th floor, Andrew and I sometimes feel like we're in Gotham City.

Out one window, the view is almost mysterious. Beyond the natural history museum and dinosaurs, there's a distant planetarium; then an endless stretch of dark Lake Michigan water. Looking north, the sky is filled with silhouettes, skyscrapers, and architectural chaos.

Here, high above the city, the floors are often strewn with workout clothes. Empty Gatorade bottles, wine bottles. Half eaten pizzas and pizza boxes. Half-wet towels tossed on beds. Skimpy clothes in the dryer that I don't recognize. Well-tuned guitars.

Sometimes, the lights never go out. The X-Box never gets turned off. Windows never close and the door is rarely locked.

I-phones are never, ever turned off. And the texters never stop texting. Because the nights are also long in Lincoln Park, Wicker Park and Pilsen. In Tallahassee and Gainesville.

Breakfast is often made at noon - then again at midnight. Or is that the opposite? I find friends and cousins on the couch as I sneak into the kitchen in the morning to make coffee. It's kind of a millennial mad scientist experiment on how to turn a lakefront condo into a dorm room.

But it's one I'm going to miss.

I've come to believe that what seems like sloppiness and recklessness; forgetfulness and foolishness - is really something altogether different. It's that these millennials seem to have a barrier the world hasn't broken yet. It gives them a kind of innocent sanity that we adults have lost as we've focused on the more mundane. It's a neurotic kind of courage to consume, experience and experiment.

They want to taste new IPA's and hear new music. To run the stairs, ride the train, brave the wind. Wear tee shirts even when it's cold. Buy everything at Trader Joe's and eat Jimmy John's for lunch. Share stories about spin classes and cross fit and UFC fights. Kiss. Hook up.

These Gotham days remind me that there are more important things in life then the ordered and mundane. That life can be bigger - and richer - if you submit to the experience. But if you've lost your sanity to cars and parking tickets and bureaucrats, forget it.

If you haven't, then be happy.  I'm so jealous. You're probably sitting high on your pile of pillows and blankets and dirty clothes on your bed, texting and laughing.

And you'll come to understand, later, that where you're sitting is on top of the world.

So, despite that initial OMG feeling I get waking up, seeing empty wine bottles and couch surfers, I'm really - really - going to miss this.

I remember the innocence of a different Gotham City long ago. There were Batman figurines and toys on almost every carpet in every room. I miss that, too.

That's why for me, in Gotham, this will never get old. Ever.

Above Lyrics from: Underage: Songwriters: Josh Osborne / Kelsea Nicole Ballerini / Scott B Stepakoff
Underage lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Audiam, Inc

And in the End

And in the end
The love you take
Is equal to the love
You make

- The Beatles - credit

When asked about the line Paul McCartney wrote in the last verse of the final song the four Beatles would ever record together, John Lennon said, "That's Paul again ... He had a line in it, 'And in the end, the love you get is equal to the love you give,' which is a very cosmic, philosophical line. Which again proves that if he wants to, he can think."

Lennon got the actual lyrics wrong.  But the essence of it - he understood perfectly... The love you get is equal to the love you give.

Perhaps McCartney was being cosmic - connecting to another writer across time and space. Another "thinking" man, using quill and parchment and not piano and left-hand guitar.

He was Thomas Aquinas, writing in the 13th century, about the same thing. But in far greater depth. In his theological treatise, "Summa Theologiae," Thomas tells us about the need for poverty - that it would cause a kind of humble awareness of the world around us. That it would result in an existential goodness. That we'd become part of something greater than ourselves.

Aquinas believed that if we would only strip away the things that clouded our lives, that suppressed our souls, that altered and influenced our reality, we'd discover goodness - and the truly supernatural in ourselves. And that it was an even greater perfection in the eyes of God that we shared that goodness with others.

That we are called to cause goodness in others.

Aquinas writes, "…Now it is a greater perfection for a thing to be good in itself and also the cause of goodness in others, than only to be good in itself."  Summa Theologiae, I.103.6

Reflecting on how Aquinas's teachings changed her life, Maria Grizetti writes: "...it may follow from this also that one of the purposes of religion is instruction; instruction not simply on truths of belief and faith, but instruction relating to the human, the real, the natural in us, and leading us to discover the supernatural about us." http://bit.ly/1Tux0ML

In the West, many religions and Orders practice Aquinas's teachings today. In the East, we see the essence of the same concepts in practice, espoused by monks and priests from Malaysia to India to the mountains of Tibet.

And, while Aquinas's teachings were intended to be practiced in a very literal sense, they are difficult to follow today - living in a modern technological world. Despite that, their precepts illuminate the path to a profound insight: that within each of us is the supernatural soul - a soul that has a purpose.

Those that cannot part the clouds; cannot see to the core of their being; they will only receive the goodness that they can manage to share with others.

Those who have found this goodness, this supernatural self, have warm reflections on their life, "I am blessed by the love of my children. By my friends. My family." They are content.

In my own life, each day I feel closer to that goodness. More surrounded by love.

But I'm also increasingly saddened by the pain I see among those who have failed to follow Aquinas's 13th century theological map to happiness; his profound insight into the potential of goodness.

Yes, it's the same insight that Paul McCartney shared in that final verse. A punctuation to their final
song; their final act.

Just like a final punctuation in life.



And in the end
The love you take
Is equal to the love
You make

Make me forget about my sunburn

Let's go Flying
Take me anywhere the wind blows

Chasing fireworks flashing down the Carolina shore
Arms around me, you called me yours
That salty kiss made me forget about my sunburn

Sang with the birds
Every season has a turn turn turn
No use crying
We're not thinking about tomorrow

A chill in the air is just around the bend
You said, "we're never going to get this time back again."

- Lady Antebellum - credit

Tonight, in Chicago, it's going to be 20 below wind-chill. "Wind-chill" is winter weather-speak here; how people know what they'll find when they open the door and walk to the L stop.

With good reason. That chill wind sweeps across the slate-grey waves of Lake Michigan, gathers momentum and hurls itself against pedestrians, salt-covered cars, and dreary buildings. The frigid air creates floating planks of ice - and they are relentlessly added to the ever-growing glacier that stretches out across the lake.

This weather spares no one - even someone like me, who just moved from the tropical shores of the Gulf.

Understandably, I've had to undergo some winter survival training. "Put your scarf around your parka hood, like this," I was recently instructed by a pale and shivering expert. "And you have to wear layers, like two pairs of socks and at least two shirts."

I was mocked for my waist-high winter coat, which I reluctantly and naively bought upon my arrival. "Seriously, you need a much longer coat, one that goes to your knees. You're gonna freeze."

What a change a year makes. When I moved to St. Petersburg, I was warned to put sunscreen on every day, "no matter what you're doing." My dermatologist, wagging his finger at me, said, "With your complexion, you really need to wear long sleeves and pants on the beach."

Seriously?  Everyone else was wearing board shorts or bikinis.

Even though I lived 100 feet from a post card beach of white sand and turquoise waters, I was compliant - at least for a while. Which made me possibly the palest person ever to walk the beach every day.  Except for the white "V" on my feet, where my flip-flop straps crossed, I looked like I was already living in Chicago in February.

And what's so great about being pale? Nothing. At least with sunburn, it would eventually turn to tan - and happiness.

And so, I crossed the wooden sidewalk to the beach without my button-down oxford and jeans. As I did, the Florida sun must have been laughing at me. It wasn't even a fair fight - even with sunscreen. But it felt so good. The sun and my freckles and the smell of Coppertone. Freedom.

That night, no matter how much aloe I gingerly applied, it was disturbingly absorbed into my red skin and freckles. Yikes.

But I sense that was a kind of a turning point. I was ready for some risk. Some flying. Some happiness.

A few days later, I remember seeing my daughter in Sarasota.  When I met her at her door, she hugged me, stepped back and said, "Dad, you look so good."  She smiled and hugged me again. "Really, you look happy." I was.

Yes, I might regret it when I'm 75 and my dermatologist is shaking his finger at me again. But there's no use crying when you're not thinking about tomorrow. 

Long after arriving here in the frozen north, I still had tan lines, which made me smile. I'd look in the mirror and remember the Florida sun and sparkling turquoise water. The coconut smell of Coppertone on hot skin.

These days, in wind-chill land, I do wear my waist-high coat. I don't wear my hood - especially with my scarf wrapped around it. And while it's numbingly cold, it's worth it. There's an urban allure that's potent and overwhelming. I've met so many new, beautiful people. I see promise everywhere.

So like the poetic words above, I say, "Let's go flying." Life is short.

Make me forget about my sunburn.


Above - Long Teenage Goodbye - Lady Antebellum

The Symphony, the Soul, and Destiny

She turns to me sometimes and asks me what I'm dreaming 
And I realize I must have gone a million miles away 
And I ask her how she knew to reach out for me that moment
And she smiles because it's understood - there are no words to say
It's all about soul

Bernard Haisch, PhD, in his book, The God Theory, says, "It is not matter that creates an illusion of consciousness, but consciousness that creates an illusion of matter." 

And this is likely a fact known to very few people - except perhaps physicists and ultra-nerds. But it has been clearly demonstrated in both theory and experiment (Gröblacher rt al., Nature, 446, 871, 2007).

Haisch believes that our universe is fine tuned beyond anything imaginable. That the evidence of this is so vast and so complex as to be in itself empirical. In our own world, for example, the slightest variations in certain elemental forces, such as gravity and distance, would have either quickly frozen our planet or instantly vaporized it by the sun.

He postulates that this fine tuning is to create a holography to be viewed by the quantum operations of our brains. Perhaps because its scope is so vast and complex that it cannot be rationally comprehended.  

In his review of Bernard Haisch's work, Professor Richard Conn Henry comments, "It took me decades to finally realize that this is not a joke, and that the universe is purely mental: that mind is fundamental; matter merely an illusion—and that this is physics, not philosophy (or religion)." 

So, if that's a physics fact, how can our minds - our brains - interpret reality? 

Elsevier’s published a peer reviewed study that proves the brain's quantum function. It describes warm temperature quantum vibrations in microtubules inside brain neurons. That EEG rhythms actually are derived from even deeper microtubule vibrations. And that "anesthesia, which selectively erases consciousness while sparing non-conscious brain activities, acts via microtubules in brain neurons."

The theory is called “orchestrated objective reduction” (“Orch OR”). It was first postulated by mathematical physicist Sir Roger Penrose, of Oxford, and anesthesiologist Stuart Hameroff from the University of Arizona.

They suggested that quantum vibrational computations in our brains are “orchestrated” by quantum activities in our microtubules.  In other words, the reality we experience in our brains and see with our eyes is orchestrated within the quantum realm.  It's the process which our consciousness, entangled in the quantum universe, orchestrates our reality. 

Of course, it sounds way too strange for science. Even Albert Einstein was disturbed by quantum physics.  He marginalized it as "spooky action at a distance."  But even Einstein was wrong. Today, quantum physics is one of the most proven mathematical principles in science.

So, according to Haisch, we live in a purposely designed and fine tuned universe. Perhaps created by God - but only a study of Haisch's book will offer his interpretation of "god." And, according to proven theoretical physics, how we interact and interpret this universe is via a quantum-driven orchestration of reality.

Before science knew of the quantum properties of our microtubules and the orchestration therein, the only explanations of how we viewed reality were associated with synapses, psychoses and neuroses. 

But Haisch, Penrose and Hameroff have shown something infinitely more complex. That, at the core of how how we interact with life - and reality - is a real, quantum soul. And that our souls see an orchestral view of a precisely designed multiverse.

And it's peer reviewed, proven physics. The soul.

And so, if our souls live within those microtubules, interconnected and entangled in the universe - which Haisch says says they do - then that explains a lot. 

Recently, I've been having lengthy philosophical discussions with my friend on love and destiny. We've been especially talking about why we haven't been seeing what we used to see - what we thought we'd see - in another soul. 

In other words, why isn't this lens working the way it used to? The way it did when we were able to see into another soul and feel the longing for a beautiful, connected future. The way we can feel moved by music? By the charisma and hope of youth. The innocence of a child.

And I think the answer is a quantum one. The way a gifted writer, artist or poet can reach the ideal creative state by achieving a higher - or different - level of consciousness. It evolves in the microtubules and is driven by the quantum soul that lives there. The artist's soul, the musician's soul.

And so, it kind of explains things. We are entangled and orchestrated. Will and determination won't change what we wish we'd see - and feel. We can talk and talk about when our reality will change and never find an answer. 

When will the orchestra play the symphony we so long to hear?  

It's all about soul. OMG.

Lyrics above - Billy Joel