The New-Zion explored in the taboo of Israel

SEVERE:The safety and security of the entire worldwide Jewish community is in peril.
HIGH:Current Zionist activities and statements present an imminent threat to safety and security.
ELEVATED:Zionist activity has increased and the possibility of violence and intimidation exists.
GUARDED:Zionist acivities have declined and we are cautiously optimistic.
LOW:Zionism has been almost eradicated, but as long as there are Zionists, we must continue to monitor and assess their actions.

ASSESSING THE THREAT OF ZIONISM

True Torah Jews monitor news events to assess the threat of Zionism to the worldwide Jewish community.

Using a system similar to the US Terrorism alert, we will keep you posted of our assessment of the Zionism threat level based on current events.
Naturally, some areas of the world, such as the so-called "state of Israel" are in greater danger than most, but our assessment is for the entire world Jewish community.
Far from being the saviors of the Jewish People, the Zionists are the true self-hating Jews who have had nothing but contempt and outright hatred for the Jewish People and Judaism. Anti-Semitism has been the oxygen and lifeblood of the Zionists throughout the ages to the present day.
By contrast, we anti-Zionist Jews having been doing all we can to reduce hatred of Jews by proclaiming the true nature of the Jewish religion in contrast to the heresy and idolatry of Zionism. We hope this will help Jews awaken from the brainwashing of the Zionists.
Recent Zionist activity and statements which have been used in our assessment of the threat level are listed below with links to the News stories, articles and on the events.Indicates the response by True Torah Jews

The New-Zion explored in the taboo of Israel

By: Ken LaRive

The more taboos in society, the less freedom of thought there is, and mentioning Israel is a case in point. Any reference sets a barrage of mixed emotion for a place so dear to our collective hearts.

We speak of Israel these days as a Zionist Jewish State, and so it appears to be. But I use the word ‘appear’ to indicate that Israel means different things to different people, and not all of it is good. The problem is that the original benign concept of what Zion envisioned has changed.

Stigma and fear, with intentional media erroneousness, is contributing to the possibility of WWIII, and we Americans had better see past the smoke.

The beauty of Judaism comes in many richly colored coats and facets, with considerations of it being a race or religion the primary factor for confusion. A secular Jew, agnostic and non-practicing, is still considered by most a Jew. Secular, to some, means Godless, with other suitable adjectives like skeptic, or atheist. Still, there is no such thing as a secular Christian or Muslim, and that’s the rub.

For centuries a Jewish homeland was considered, and at the turn of the century the great majority of both religious and secular Jews thought Israel the perfect place. The difference was the method of acquiring it. Originally a Zionist ‘homeland’ inferred not disturbing indigenous populations, where gentle incorporation agreed with ancient textual revelations inferring a Jewish homeland would be given freely. In this way many religions could call Israel a homeland, as all Persian religions got their start in the area. It is indeed inconceivable that true Muslim believers would nuke their own precious sites in Israel, and the world expects a secularist to press that button.

From inception, America advocated separation of Church and State, but here we are with a secular warrior ally who is both. They deny the tolerant Jewish spirit with a biased yellow media and a threatening atom bomb in their back pocket.

The New-Zion is thought invalidated by the rewritten Belfour agreement of 1948, secretly ratified. Hezbollah are the ruminants of those originally exiled, still living in tent cities. Palestinians think themselves occupied, and they deny the New-Zion State’s right to exist. The Ideologies of the new secular Zion are duplicated here, dominating America’s far left, where liberal secularism is nurtured and thrives, the bane of our Republic.

When confronted, liberal-secularists may cry “anti-Semitic,” validating the taboo, but the truth is this: one can be anti-New-Zion, and not anti-Semitic, and this one resounding truth might finally inspire us to live in peace.

Crystial links

http://www.crystalinks.com/index.html

Morgus the Magnificent

http://www.morgus.com/main_index.html

UFO site

http://www.rense.com/ufo/ufo.htm

Aficam

http://www.africam.com/wildlife/index.php

LeMarche Antiques

http://www.lemarcheantiques.com/

Wild Game Innovations

http://www.wildgameinnovations.com/

Mighty Works Project

http://mightyworksproject.blogspot.com/

This kind of verdant delight is not without cost. For some Arkansas's flooding see:http://governor.arkansas.gov/newsroom/gallery.php?do:showPhotoList=1&gallery_id=243

The force of Big Brother's secular lies

The force of Big Brother’s secular lies
By Ken LaRive

In my opinion, there is a powerful force that threatens what we are as human beings. Modern men are drawn with hooks that confuse and stymie his spirit, breaking down moral and ethical values that have previously sustained his soul. This modern plague is called secular liberalism.

Where pride and value once gave strength of purpose, men are now coerced upon an ambiguous road without substance or personification. Where value once sustained, stood the test of time, our children flounder on bear rock with nothing but smoke and mirrors as guide, and cords that once bound the duel spirits of faith and hope are severed.

Lost, weak-natured men flounder in desperation, grasping man-made icons that desensitize, demoralize, and never knowing why. Hearts once fed and full by responsibility, are empty but for gloomy and miserable despondency. New selfish norms stimulate perverse ideals with little thought of consequence beyond immediate gratification. That strength of purpose to conquer and manipulate nature’s elements is trampled without respect, and the differences of men and women blurred.

Godless, with little sound reason or judgment, the ultra secular left has devastated social systems created by God’s law, and inadvertently replaced it with individual irresponsibility, justifications, inconsistent myopic ideals, short-sighted agendas, and legal loop-holes. Change is promoted without regard to what is basic human nature and need, and what once defined us as men and women, as parents, wives and husbands, is now downgraded and betrayed by the same minorities our great country protects.

Virtue is scorned, and the absence of righteous light that once kept evil at bay now fills hearts with dread and fear. Surrounded by the many false-fronts of promised fulfillment, spirit languishes on rocks, barren, and without the servitude that once bound us together as one nation under God.

Human rights, and the blending of race and creed comes with responsibilities, and what was once considered right and good is displaced and aborted by base and acceptable corruption. Our children sizzle on the hot-pan of unsustainable ideals, and infected realities ride on spectacular animations of color, shadowy music, and graphic high resolution, all riding on innumerable beams of light beneath our city.

The poor of spirit believes that the promised handout will incarnate from conservative destruction, selling self-responsibility and dreams for promised peanut handouts designed to enslave. This is the yoke of Big Brother’s liberal left, and the degradation of the human spirit is the price. In the process we forfeit not only our freedom, but our immortal soul.

A Fresh Chapter

A Fresh Chapter
By: Ken La Rive 111697

Elements have been used for man-made pain,
Born by perverted lusts of power and gold.
History is sold in dogmatic flame,
For wings of blood-lust blackness to unfold.

Suffering is the common way of man,
Cold-fired by his iron will to bend.
Joy falls through his hands like hot desert sand,
For the horror of his ancestor’s sin.

But there are wonders left on earth’s carved face,
Where precious dreams of hope can still be found.
As empty hearts transcend both time and space,
The spirit’s path is balanced safe and sound.

The gift of hope stirs deep in every soul,
Beauty of Truth is there for each to find.
A fresh chapter starts, and the story’s told,
Of new-found hope that shines for all mankind.

There’s still time for a glory song to sing,
Where the sweet voice of innocence will see….
That strength of purpose flies on righteous wing,
As basic Truth is freedom, to just be.

Keep your spirit true to your own heart,
Responsible to self with steady hand.
Volition is the path your conscious starts,
To know full well the measure of a man.

Stand your ground with a warrior’s moral path,
Of purpose found in what you’ve found as right.
Your life will give you joy in what you have,
And light your way throughout the darkest night.

Remember that your purpose is to learn,
That nothing in this life belongs to man.
As in your heart free spirit wills to burn,
It’s all on loan to help you understand.

Take whatever hand this life can offer,
Though pain of loss seems more then you can bear.
Find that good and bad have equal measure,
And possibilities will multiply there.

Bending Physics Part two of two

Bending Physics

Part two of two
By: Ken La Rive

Note* Previously covered was an introduction to another way of thinking. Physicists are embracing a new idea on how to look at the world called “Bootstrap Physics.” Floundering in their quest to unlock the secrets of the universe, Physicists are realizing that we have a hard time asking the right questions because of our linier way of thinking. Out intellect is actually getting in the way! Using a metaphysical spiritual method of thinking, refined for thousands of years in the orient, these scientists and mathematicians are now attempting to unravel the complexity of the physical sciences, as viewed from a different vantage point.

If you missed part one, contact me and I’ll see that you get it ASAP. Here I will continue…

A simple example of size can be found in the orange. We hold it in our hand. It has weight, color, texture, and some particles move in the air around it. We can smell these particles, and can distinguish it from many other fruits. Wow! How awesome is something so simple, and how much we take it for granted!

Suppose an orange was the size of the earth, and we could view it from our perspective, impossible, but just say we could. There before us would be atoms the size of cherries. How would they look? We have no real answer for that, but say we were now able to extract just one atoms, and blew it up to the size of say, Atwood Akers Subdivision. The nucleus, we know as the center, would be about the size of a pea, and the electrons that travel around it would be in an orbit somewhere on the Lawson’s rice paddies.

Wait a minute here. Yep, 99.9+% of this atoms is just empty space, as is all of the so called matter we see and feel. What this stuff actually is, is energy, held together by forces so mysterious that our linear minds, our linear hypothesis, our linear thought patterns, doesn’t comprehend enough to know even what questions to ask!

Strange isn’t it, but the original part of our mind we men have tried to bury under the guise of intellect may finally be the very thing we need to understand the greater part? Our metaphysic spirituality and intellect traveling in parallel, side by side, using each other, depending on each other, as we realize there are consequences for intellect without the balance of metaphysic spirituality. Each holds the other in check, and growth will be one of responsibility, based on natural aspects not readily observed outward, but inside.

Without our metaphysical spiritual side, our intellect will destroy this earth. It will poison it with chemicals, destroying ecosystems it took millions of years to develop in a virtual moment. Without spirituality, we will never tap into the true meaning of anything, but be continually unhappy, without direction, without conscience, without hope. We had this once. We once lived in harmony with nature, with few exceptions. No other animal on earth has developed intellect, at least none we have ever observed, and what has it brought us? We are the only species that will kill its own kind in mass, as an intellectual exercise. Without the spiritual side we have allowed the intellect to develop weapons of mass destruction so great that we could destroy this entire earth 300 times over in less than an hour. Everything, except for a few resistant cockroaches would parish.

Look, we will have to change. There is no denying that what we now face is like nothing ever presented to us before. There are medical businesses today that are doing genetic research unchecked. Can you imagine what they are doing now if what we saw ten years ago was a mouse growing a human ear? What other advances, horrific and beautiful are being primed, when human fetuses are being sold from millions of abortions, and our genetic map is now commercially owned.

Control of the individual human mind is a primary way to insure the intellectual framework of business and government remains intact. The network of paper money based on faith and promises, bolstered by wholesale information, takes our will as its own. From information compiled from the grocery store ID, the company wanting a piece of your hair and the genetic information it holds, to the selling of your name and all pertinent facts gathered in the public domain, will ultimately sell your own thoughts back to you.

Metaphysic spirituality shows the promise of unlocking who and what we are, and our place in the scheme of things. It is the balance of the equation that Einstein so tried to explain. Without it we are surely blind.

Our world and all of its color and beauty will die so slowly we will hardly notice. It will go unnoticed as the oceans, rainforests, and our swamps and woodlands are sliced and served to us, one piece at a time, as we multiply without a thought for the finite size of earth. We’ll keep buying and they will sell, until nothing remains.

Want to understand more about this new way of thinking? Read the poetry of NERUDA, study the ideas of men like Fritji Capra, Einstein, Oppenheimer, Boar, and Heisenberg, and study the philosophies that Buddha, and Lao Tzu taught.

It is not too late. There is still time, …but even if we could turn it around this very instant, the next generation would still view our time as the greatest waste since the extinction of the dinosaurs, and all of it our responsibility, our fault. But then, if we don’t turn it around, there will be no one about to judge us anyway, unless somehow roaches develop intelligence.

Finally, if it be that our ultimate quest is to touch the face of God, perhaps metaphysics can show us the way, still keeping our intellect intact. Einstein saw the words of God in math, and in the unity of his intellectual spirituality he saw an ultimate answer to the riddle of who we are.

“I believe that the world-view implied by modern physics is inconsistent with our present society, which does not reflect the harmonious interrelatedness we observe in nature. To achieve such a state of dynamic balance, a radically different social and economic structure will be needed: a cultural revolution in the true sense of the word. The survival of our whole civilization may depend on whether we can bring about such a change.” Fritof Capra. Berkley, April, 1981.

Just like God gave Eve to Adam, a balance, so too did God give us our intellect with spirituality to make us whole... This physical process, from unspeakable pressure, time, and temperature, where nuclear fires burn in the vast reaches, and cooling matter collects in orbital mass, so too do we look from our small perch. Can it be that the ultimate finale’ is the actual delicateness of life, crowned with the concluding icing, the realization of self? Our intellect is a definitive glory, but our spirituality is the phosphor glow in the mist of everything there is, lighting our way.

Bending Physics, colored stars, and Einstein's face of God Part one

Bending Physics, colored stars, and Einstein’s face of God
Part one of two
By: Ken La Rive


Several weeks ago while flipping channels, I came across an awesome movie. It was called “Mind Walk.” The credits told me it was based on a book called “The Turning Point” by Fritjof Capra. I ordered this book from our library and when it finally arrived, I just dove in. On page 82, on the chapter called “The New Physics” Albert Einstein is quoted in a 1920 argument with the Physicist Bohr about Quantum Mechanics. This sentence has followed him throughout his career. Einstein stated a metaphor: “God does not play dice.” It is because of that quote, and a question I pose here, that prompted these two columns. What did Einstein see that made him believe in God? And so, with my limited mental resources, this is what I have gathered…

Just like sound changes pitch as it travels toward and away from a point, Einstein knew that light traveling toward you was seen as a different color than traveling away, and the more dramatic the shift in color the faster it traveled. He called this, “The Doppler Effect.” Suddenly, observation of the sky took on a whole new perspective. Scientists took a deep breath as they amazingly realized that as we viewed it from 360 degrees, using our new computers, that not only could we project where each heavenly body was heading, but we could determine where it originally came from. It was more than just a mind blower to realize that all stars came from one original point in the sky, and it challenged what had been thought and taught for hundreds of years.

So now we have a new point of view. It is currently understood that there was a time, many eons ago, when everything was sitting together in a mass so great that energy closed in upon itself. With this imploding force and power it actually exploded. This idea is what is now called “The Big Bang Theory.” This original spot is so far away that what we fundamentally perceive around us is like what we might see inside of a minute soap bubble floating in a great Sahara dust storm.

Light from some of the stars has taken many millions of years to reach us, and we can see but a small part of our small galaxy. The thought that there are countless other galaxies and star clusters, is just mind boggling, even for a genius Physicist like Einstein.

It is hard to comprehend so great an amount of space and time, and the force and energy that holds it together is so far beyond what even our greatest of minds can fathom. Whenever they tried to find a building block, or just a mere fact, an exception would always occur, a paradox if you will. You see, when experimenting, matter showed itself to behave sometimes like a wave, and sometimes like a particle. How could something be both? Nothing could answer this riddle, not even math. It wasn’t until Einstein’s Special Relativity Theory, and the beginning of his Unified Field Theory that true discoveries began.

Scientists readily admit that the primary reason that Physics will not give up its secrets is because life here on earth developed a unique way of observing and learning, a perceptual process referred to as linier. This view, this way of perceiving the world, is based on previous experiences, learned and taught, with our very limited senses as guides.

Since what we see is so great, so awesome, we have learned to view just the part that makes sense. It is our way of putting some semblance of order in a world not understood, and may otherwise seem chaotic. We strive to put things in order, to arrange, to assemble facts and ideas, attempting in the process to create lines. Our intellect wants and needs order. We plant trees in lines, we write in historical time lines, boundary lines, we put thoughts on a page in logical lines, lines of meaning we give symbolically for sanity’s sake. It has been taught in the west that if we lost this ability that we would be “spaced out,” not being able to focus on a point, to promote change, to learn, or to take action. Today however, these ideas are in question.

Scientists are now realizing that a process we had long before the intellect was developed, a metaphysical or spiritual side, may be the key to unlocking the meaning of it all, the ultimate meaning. This spiritual side has been constantly pushed behind our intellect, thought to weaken it. Today scientists from many disciplines are realizing that our spiritual side may indeed be the strength we need, not only to ask the appropriate questions, but to give meaning to the answer.

You see, two hundred years ago it was thought that what we are, and what we understand around us was found in individual parts, like the workings as a great machine. The new scientists of that time told them so and they were believed. The scientific method is based on this assumption. Sure, scientists projected us on the intellectual road of advancement, but at what cost?

It was that primary theory that promoted the new science of Physics, and by math we attempted to draw an understanding, and where we actually fit into the infinitely big and the infinitesimally small. It worked only to a point, as one thing continues on to this very day… There seems to be no hard or fast rule that can readily be understood, and exceptions to every possible rule continue to stump even the most progressive of minds. Fact is, there seems to be no ultimate rule at all! Too complex? No. It is because we are looking at it wrong. Our linear thoughts, our myopic senses, hold us from seeing the entire picture.

This new way of thinking is called “Bootstrap Physics.” Einstein, and his contemporaries had been expanding on what was called a “Unified Field Theory” long before his death. This amazing theory states that the universe is not parts at all, but one indivisible whole! This non-linier way of thinking showed something different and unexpected.

Eastern metaphysical philosophy has been practiced for thousands or years, from Japan to China. It is the process of thought where intellect is pushed aside to get to an insight inside of ourselves, below the conscience surface. There, life is viewed as a process of balance in imbalance, symmetry in asymmetry, and only when this is mastered will you tune in with the balance of the physical and metaphysical aspects of the world. It is reflected in their art forms, where the mind attempts to move away from what we perceive linier, in order to see the broader canvas in three dimensions that lie inside, where your mind is one with the universe. You see, nothing in nature moves in a straight line, nor is there an observable straight line, a complete absolute symmetry, or balance. It just doesn’t exist, and so, this is why on that side of the world you would be hard pressed to see a line of trees planted in a row. It isn’t art. It isn’t Physics.

This new way of observation has opened a whole new perspective in Physics, as no longer is the universe perceived as parts of a mechanical whole, but one thing.

It is now seen that everything is so dependant on another that the universe, as Capra puts it, “is no longer seen as a machine, made up of a multitude of objects, but essentially interrelated and can be understood only as patterns of a cosmic process.”

And so, what if this so called big bang is just one of countless other big bangs, instigated by something far greater, where countless other phenomena is at work too, ad infinity. We will never know, unless we find the key inside of our own mind. This key will show that our intellectual thoughts and our metaphysical spirituality should work together in conjunction. Only by this combined unity can we develop further along this adventure path of understanding.
Look for part two in two weeks…

One other thing. Following the teachings of Buddha is compatible with any loving religion, and I mean especially Christianity.. Buddha wrote many times not to erect a statue or to make his philosophy into a religion. It is a philosophy, not a religion. 600 years before Christ, Buddha was a great human being.

A Thread of Hope

A Thread of Hope
By: Ken La Rive 08189921:15

Hope hangs the soul on a thread
Of it’s own design…
Fashioned by that perpetual need
And God’s great sense of humor…
Its laughter brings on tears
For what little we control…
And in the finite space of life
An infinite search for light…

Salvation is in the dreams
Of the bitterness we drink…
Ice arrows pierce our hearts,
And blood boils inside the womb…
But the burdens we hold seem lighter
Taking flight when the yoke is laid…
Where in the falling we grasp
A thread of strength called hope…

The unexplained, fear, and an angel without wings...

The unexplained, fear, and an angel without wings…

By Ken LaRive

Unexplainable things happen to all of us. Some will admit it, and some will not. There are times when it seems that there is indeed a divine hand in the doings and happenings of this world, and our lives are a tapestry of wonder, and astonishment. We explain it as chance, and rationalize it with every fiber of logic we can muster, but in the end, it is fear that pushes it aside.

With the chance of being labeled strange, I’m going to tell you just four things I have recorded in my life. It is all I have room for tonight, but I’ll tell you a fifth another time that will pail all of this. I swear to you, this is all true.

ONE: It was the summer of 1956. My family and I were on the midway of Ponchartrain Beach. Everyone was having a good time. Children were running and laughing, and there was the smell of popcorn and cotton candy in the air.

We had just finished a ride, and my sister Cindy and I were running down the sloping exit ramp, and past the heavy swinging gate, held in place by a large spring. She ran to my smiling parents, and they asked her if it had been fun...

It was the ride called “The Whip” and it looked like a tea-cup with a saucer stuck to the back, you know the one. It went around in a circle and because it was imbalanced would whip with a force that would pin you to the back. It was controlled by a steering wheel in the middle, and the “bad boys” would show off by turning it at the proper moment, pinning their screaming girl friends to the back.

Suddenly I got this feeling. Can’t say I can describe it really. I was only about seven then, not knowing the ways of the world, but this feeling was strong and directing my attention to the ride. I saw and focused on a little girl walking with her friends to get into a vacant tea-cup. I knew something bad was going to happen to that girl, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

Behind me I could hear my father calling for me to come on, but then… Her leg slipped into the hole, the slot, where the machinery met the tea-cup under the wooden floor. Then the heavy tea-cup swung off balanced and pinned her leg with a smacking force strong enough to break it. She screamed.

I remember her scream, and I made a promise to myself. If ever that feeling happened again, I would do something about it no matter how foolish I might have looked. I chided myself for not yelling out, but then, there is a kind of fear about such things…

TWO: Back in New Orleans in 1974…, back from San Diego and Vietnam, newly married, I was about to start University. We lived for a short while with my mother-in-law, “Dolsie,” as we were looking for an apartment. I went out with some old friends to the New Orleans Hypnotists Association meeting, a nurse and an X-ray Tec.

There were things I saw that night that I don’t have the room for here, but one very strange thing happened that I must tell you about…

While my friend the nurse was hypnotized, they made her guess a number from one to a hundred. The number was passed around on a scrap of paper, too fast for me to see, but I thought it was 29. We were supposed to think that number. My friend the X-ray Tec didn’t see it ether, but I whispered to him to think 29.

On the blackboard of your mind you will see a number,” said the hypnotist. “What is the first digit?”
“Two!” she said quickly.
“Yes,” he said. “Now, look at the second digit. It is written as plain as day. What is it?”
“Nine!” she said, as quick as the first.
“No dear, that’s wrong. Try again. Look at the board. What is it?” He said with a commanding voice.
“Seven!”

I looked at my friend. She had chosen every number that was being thought!

My friends dropped me off around 22:30, and I couldn’t get all that I had seen out of my head. My Mother-in-law walked into the living room where I had just sat down on the sofa.

“Had a good time?” she asked.
“Wow, it was so strange!” I said excitedly. “They had my friend choose a number form one to a hundred…”
“Was it 27?” she asked.

THREE: Maddy and I were sitting around one night playing cards. I have never seen anyone ever beat her. Her uncle taught her the game, and I always thought she knew what the cards were.

“What is this card?” I said pointing to the freshly shuffled deck.
“Ten of diamonds,” se said. I turned over the ten of diamonds.
“What is this one?” I said pointing to the next one in the pile.
“Jack of Clubs,” she said. I turned over the Jack of clubs.
“And this one?”
“Three of diamonds” ..and it was.
“And this?”
“Seven of hearts...” It was. We looked at each other, and I could see and feel the same thing she did. Fear of the unknown. I can’t remember ever playing cards with her again.

FOUR: We were at the Evangeline Downs Race Track about ten years ago. I remember the oilfield was poor, and so was I. I had about sixty dollars in my pocket, for our gambling and lunch. Several races went by and we won them all, just missing the daily double. I was betting three dollars at a time.

I was feeling good, and the sun was streaming through the window making a halo on Maddy’s blonde hair. “You look beautiful Maddy.” I said. “You look like an angel, …the only thing you don’t have is wings.”

I turned the page for the next race. There, on line three, ANGEL WITHOUT WINGS, was number three.

It was a long shot, but I knew without a doubt it would win. I looked in my wallet. I had fourteen dollars left. I knew if I had had my entire life’s savings in that wallet that I would have bet the whole thing. It wasn’t even expected to show, but I bet all I had.

It was second to last at the start, and laid back, slowly creeping past one, and then another horse. In the stretch it was number four. I was yelling… “Angel without wings! Angel without wings!” Sweat was pouring from me like a heart attack. I can’t ever remember being so excited. It pulled up to number three and then took off like it had wings! In a moment it was first and left the last one behind by several lengths on the line.

I had to sit down. I had won $67.30.

The difference of just one starfish...

The difference of just one Starfish…
By: Ken La Rive

Disclaimer: I have been telling this story many years before the book “Chicken Soup for the Soul.” I can assure you this story is true and accurate…

Back in 88’ we lived in the Cayman Islands. Day in and day out we were presented with throngs of smiling bikini-clad tourists wanting to drink and be merry. One weekend several of us families pooled our resources and rented a large house in Finger Kay, a secluded part of the island. Yep, we wanted to get away from all that.

We barbecued lobster and fish caught fresh from the crystal clear lagoon, drank Red Stripe and wine, and snorkeled for conch chowder.

Laura was eight then, and had a little friend named Caroline. They were inseparable. Each morning they would be on the beach at first light, combing it for the night tide’s treasure. I would put on my Niki’s and pass them up jogging. This morning though, I saw them further down the beach. The glare from the morning sun was reflecting on the waves, and I had to squint to see them. From this distance they looked to be dancing, but as I got closer I saw they were picking something up and throwing it into the sea. I stopped. They were throwing red starfish.

My mind went back six months before, to a place called Fountainblu State Park, in Louisiana. We had gone home for a visit. I borrowed a couple of bicycles from my sister and took Laura for a ride. It was a beautiful spring day, and we road down the deserted blacktop roads under the dapple of moss-covered oaks and pecan trees. Suddenly Laura stopped her bike and got off. She was crying. “What’s wrong?” I asked her. From the trees, she told me, there were caterpillars that were dangling down to the ground, and she couldn’t help running them over. “They will be butterflies! This is no fun at all!” She said loudly.

So with my worldly knowledge I told her this was all just a normal thing. We kill tiny things every time we put our foot on the ground, and yet we have a right to be here. I told her that these organisms were simple, and we were complex. I told her that it couldn’t be helped, and the day was still beautiful, and made to be enjoyed.

She seemed to try and believe me, and though she kept a stiff upper lip, I could tell she was having a hard time with it. I thought she was too sensitive, and the day was mostly wasted. As a city boy, I had been told the same thing in my youth. My Cajun cousins would laugh at my city slicker sensibilities when I would visit. I thought: Here she is again, wasting a perfectly beautiful day. I asked. “What are you girls doing?” They didn’t miss a throw. “We are saving these starfish. They are caught up here from the tide and will dry up when the sun gets hot.” It all came back. “Look, Laura,” I said in my perfectly condescending adult voice, “there are hundreds of starfish here. Look at them all! What difference does it make?”

She reached down with a smile and threw another one into the crystal clear waves. “Made a difference for this one Dad.” I laughed and shook my head, and continued down the beach. Then it hit me. It hit me right between the eyes. She was right! It did make a difference. I turned around and went back, and for the rest of the morning, and the next as well, I helped them throw starfish into the sea.

Walking the Matt in Aberdeen

‘Walking the Mat’ In Aberdeen
By: Ken La Rive

Scotland is an ambiguous place, full of social contradictions, and Aberdeen, in the north east corner of the country, is no exception. The people can be warm and friendly, and also prickly and suspicious. Not really unusual anyplace on earth, but with my capacity as a traveling oil field worker, I have the opportunity to study many different cultures. I have picked up some insights into the thinking of the local people here in Aberdeen, and I see this: They are changing very quickly.

It seems that the oil industry, (which has been such a boon to the overall economic prosperity of the town), is also deeply resented, by some, for ‘ruining oor toon’, as one colleague remarked to me while in conversation on a North Sea oil rig. Even though the industry has brought prosperity to a large number of people, it has also changed the underlying character of the town, and its citizens.

Not so very long ago Aberdeen was a small town, with a small town nature. Deeply entrenched, it had a highly developed sense of community. There were only a few industries in the town, with fishing and paper making being the main employers. The locals fondly reminisce of ‘walking the mat’ on the main avenue, Union Street. It is only about a half mile in length, and on a Saturday night, all the young lads and lassies would put on their ‘finery’, and stroll its length socializing and ‘chatting each other up.’ Even young people from the surrounding areas would catch a bus into Aberdeen, to ‘walk the mat’. Those with a bit of money might drop into one of the various pubs on the street now and again for a wee dram to ‘pluck up courage’, but even those without money could have an enjoyable time (with possibly more success in courting, being sober!). It was a happy and cheerful way to meet people, and the tradition was known to be responsible for a large number of marriages in the town, and the surrounding areas as well!

The coming of the mighty oil industry, with its influx of brash Texans (every American was a Texan as far as the locals were concerned), caused a basic change in the social structure of the town. Suddenly, locals who ‘went oot to the oil’ came home with pockets full of cash, and it was a case of either joining up, or be left behind while the ‘local’ oilmen bought fancy houses in the posh west end. Because of this, and because cars became much more common, walking the mat withered on the vine, while fancy nightclubs, and fast food restaurants took over. Also the local council became obsessed with the idea of being a ‘boom town’, and grandiose moneymaking schemes and dreams suddenly seemed possible. As with all nouveau-capitalistic societies, there has also been corruption, as money falls like manna from heaven through the city’s council chambers.

In Aberdeen, as in the other larger towns of Scotland, the Labor party has dominated local politics since the Second World War. As with most situations where a single party dominates politics, corruption becomes endemic. The influx of money made it even more prevalent. It is indeed an irony, that, because of the way history has developed in Scotland, the socialist tradition is very strong, - possibly as strong as any in Eastern Europe. The socialist Labor party was the only means by which the power of the dominating and oppressive establishment could be curbed by the common man. There is a powerful tradition here in Scotland, of the working men ‘standing together’ by voting Labor. Since the class war has been pretty much won in modern Scotland, there is no longer an ‘enemy’ to fight. Still, because of the people’s inability to see these changes, they still vote Labor. Old habits are hard to change.

However, get into a conversation with most working class people and they will express views that are indistinguishable from anyone on the right of the Republican party – pro capital punishment, pro freedom of the individual, pro low taxation, pro ‘small’ government, etc. They don’t seem to see any irony that, while voting for a socialist party, they hold views far to the right of most Republicans, and never mind the democrats! The Scots are a fiercely independent people, whose history has been one of endless struggle not only against the elements, but ‘absentee’ English (and Scottish) landlords, and the need to bring up families against the odds. Because of this, Scotland has produced some of the greatest radical thinkers, soldiers, engineers and financiers that the world has seen. Would, for example, Adam Smith (the founder of modern economic theory), Alexander Graham Bell, Alexander Fleming (the discoverer of penicillin), James Watt (inventor of the steam engine), Andrew Carnegie, and many more, have been the successes they were if they hadn’t had a strong sense of their own Scottish heritage? In the UK’s last election, three of the four great government offices of state government, Prime Minister, Chancellor of the Exchequer, and Foreign Secretary, were all Scots.

Then again, as Aberdeen drifted into the twilight of the oil boom, people have started to waken to the fact that the money that has glutted the town has also had an impoverishing effect on the social structure. Gone are the fishing communities around the fish market (now closed). Gone is that ‘cozy’ atmosphere in the local pubs where in the Northern suburbs, in the old days, ninety percent of the customers worked in the paper mills, and knew each other intimately. Nowadays, you are lucky if you know anyone, such has been the influx of new people, and the exodus of ex-mill workers (now oil men). Most of the pubs have been ‘modernized,’ replacing time-polished wood with chrome and glass, and swapping cozy ‘fugginess,’ for the cold of modern ‘efficiency’. The comforting sounds of clicking dominoes and thud of darts have been replaced with annoying mid-Atlantic ‘musak’, designed to maximize the intake of beer, but also has the effect of minimizing the atmosphere, and traditional ambiance as well.

As for ‘walking the mat’, the young people of today would gasp in astonishment if you were to suggest such an unsophisticated activity for a Saturday night. Some might say that one would more likely get a mugging than a kiss from a bonny lassie. Yes, the oil industry has made the people monetarily richer, but has also taken something away as well.

In closing, a local Aberdeen joke: A visiting Texan, stopped to talk to a farmer who was leaning on a gate looking at his sheep. “Sheep hugh?” he ventured. “Aye” replied the farmer. “In Texas, we don’t allow sheep, we only got cattle” said the Texan. “Right enough?” said the farmer. “How much land you got here?” queried the Texan. “Nae that it’s ony of your business, - but I’ve got twa hundred acres” he replied proudly. “Waal,” said the Texan, “ back home, it takes me two days to drive across my spread!” “Aye” sighed the farmer, “I used tae hae a car like that!”

I had more then a lot of help writing this by my Scottish partner, (who, by the way, wishes to remain anonymous). I’m sure his reason is sound, but I speculate that a man’s opinion here is not so readily accepted, as might be possible in our own ‘free thinking’ America. Aye! What a shame. It is indeed a waste of spirit…

Thoughts on India

Thoughts on India
By: Ken LaRive

In order to get me on a 28X28 rotation I’m going to have to put in 35. I’m not used to being away form home this long, and though the pay check will come in handy, at my age money isn’t my greatest motivation. Life is indeed short, and the concept of working for money should not take precedence.

We have two full fledged doctors out here, Dr. Deepak, a young man who is about to go back to school to be a Pediatrician, and Dr. Pradeep, who is mastering the Hindu thought from a more pragmatic sense. He is teaching me through the eyes of his Guru, Tej Gyan, introducing to me Maksh, Maya, and the idea of Happy Thoughts. I’ve found our conversations to be most stimulating, and together they are attempting to help me face myself, the noisy scramble of my inner dialogue, and I’m told it is the road to finding peace, something I have found very illusive. There have been a lot of preliminary, before self reflection can take place, before meditation, and I have learned the concept of Maya, the illusion of man made design.

I have read a bit of the Rig-Veda, the oldest book in the world, and the fundamental essence of both Hindu and Zoroastrianism, predecessors of both Judaism and Christianity. I was astounded by the words spoken so long ago, six thousand years, and how relevant they still are today.

Dr. Deepack’s friend is our training officer, Sahab Singh, who has also taken me into the Hindu mind with stories of gods and their lives. Mr. Singh is a Sikh from the highlands of India’s far north, and is of the warrior class. Then there is my night man, Ravi. I call him “Jinn” because he accomplishes so much on his tour he must have a Jeannie’s help. Over many a meal of yellow dusted curry, fresh bread, and bowls of ripe pineapple and papayas, he takes me across the width and breath of India with explanations of the many differences of religions, and India’s rich heritage that goes back into the mists of ancient history. Dr. Deepak has given me a magazine that is a special anniversary issue of India Today, 2006, and I found it most informative. There are contemporary columns by some of India’s most renowned writers, Deepak Chopra, Siddhartha Dhanvant Shanghvi, Vinay Lal, and more. I’d like to share with you the focus of their thoughts and a couple of excerpts from The Hindu, a well known English newspaper.

I will start off with a very pronounced insight from Arvind Panagariya, in the essay “Will India overtake the Chinese Dragon?” He writes: “The Indian economy performed better between 2003-04 and 2005-06 than during any other three-year period since Independence. During these three years, India’s Gross Domestic Product (GDP)-a measure of the country’s total income-has grown 45 percent in dollar terms. Merchandise exports have doubled and service exports have tripled. The total number of vehicles produced during these three years exceeds the entire stock of registered vehicles in 1990-91. In telecommunications, India has gone from a total of five million telephone lines in 1991, to five million additional telephones every month.

These developments have placed India among a handful of future economic powers.”

Vinay Lal writes “Will Democracy Survive?” is an amazing essay of the struggle for Democracy to survive. The answer he prescribes to is: “Only if we have the wisdom and the courage to gamble everything on it.” Lal shows the dreams and visions for a democratic India, and the fear of its loss... He writes: “The wisdom and resilience of ordinary people have been exemplified not only at the ballot box, but in grassroot movements and cultural practices of syncretism.” He adds: “…the constitution of India remains, despite attempts to subvert its emancipatory provisions, a document and a vision that holds the promise of equality, justice, and opportunity.” At the end of this well thought out essay Lal mentions Gandhi. “…though Gandhi’s assassins never seem to rest, the specter of Gandhi remains to haunt, guide and inspire Indians who are resistant to everything that passes for “normal politics”, and have not succumbed to the oppressions of modernity.” And then Lal finishes with a powerful thought: “As I have elsewhere written, Gandhi took great risks and was not in the least cowed down by history, the sanctity of traditions, or scriptural authority. Six decades ago Indians entered into a tryst with destiny. The unique experiment that constitutes Indian democracy can only be sustained if we have the courage to gamble everything on it.”

Benazir answered the question: Will India and Pakistan for a viable Asian union? Answer: Yes, but only when Pakistan is a democracy.

Tarun Khanna answered the question: When will corporate India go global? Answer: When it claims the Diaspora dividend.

G. Parthasarathy answers the question: Will India and Pakistan press the nuclear trigger? Answer: No, but nuclear weapons are an irreversible reality in Asia.

Dr. Firuza R. Parikh answers the question: Will there be designer babies in the future? Answer: Yes, but technology should be used responsibly.

Nirpal Singh Dhaliwal answered the question: Will India get a seat on the United nations high table? Answer: Why does India need it? What has the United Nations achieved?

In The Hindu newspaper, Saturday, December 16, 2006: “Herbal cure for malaria… Leaves from the Chinese herb Artemisa annua have been used to treat mosquito-borne malaria for more than 1,500 years. Now, drugs based on the herbal extract artemisinin, or ginghaosu, are the main hope in the battle aginist the disease which kills one person worldwide every 30 seconds.”

And finally, an excerpt from The Hindu on the same date: “Eighty rats were on the loose on a Saudi Airline flight, after eating their way out through a leather bag. They belonged to a passenger, who was held for questioning.” Thought this noteworthy… Like there aren’t yet enough rats in Saudi.

Today we are having a bit of down time fishing for a wire-line that has parted just below the casing, and so I will continue my schooling with Dr. Predeep. Today, he told me, after fifteen minutes more of preliminary explanation, that he will guide me into the practical aspects of meditation. He says that there is a method that can sweep all damaging and unwanted inner dialogue away at one time. It is only a proper focus, a proper attitude, where Truth and understanding can be found. I almost swallowed my gum when he said, “It will take you further along your Path to Truth like nothing else can.”

Blood on the Irish Shamrock

Blood on the Irish Shamrock

By: Ken La Rive

I am writing this to try and put into perspective just what is going on in Ireland. It has a long history of unrest, and bloodshed. The first factor to consider when reading this, and it underlines everything: The problems there have little to do with religion so much as the struggle of those who have, with the those who have-not. So let’s do a bit of homework:

The island of Ireland has never been united under one ruler, except when it was part of the United Kingdom. People have claimed to be ‘King of Ireland’ throughout history, but their claim has always been disputed by at least some of the people. For a couple of hundred years, while Ireland was ruled by Britain, the Scots (mostly Protestant) inhabited large parts of Northern Ireland (Ulster), living uneasily with their Catholic Irish neighbors. Ireland went through a number of periods of rebellion against British rule, but this was always complicated by the fact that predominantly Protestant Ulster had no desire to break away from the UK.

When Ireland finally achieved independence from Britain, Eamonn De Valera, who became the first Taeshoch (Prime Minister), had to accept that Ulster would have to be split off from the rest of Ireland, and remain part of Britain. This was to avoid the prospect of a major civil war with Ulster, which would have resulted in a huge amount of bloodshed. The Irish Republican Army (IRA) never accepted this agreement and counted De Valera and his government as traitors to the Irish cause. The IRA fought against the new Irish government, and a civil war broke out, during which the IRA was defeated, and many IRA men were executed by the Irish state. (It’s ironic that the Irish government of De Valera killed more IRA than the British ever did).

Meanwhile, in Ulster, the Protestant majority entrenched their power within local government, and made it almost impossible for Catholics to obtain the right to vote, by maintaining arcane rules of registration. “One man – one vote” became a rallying cry in the Sixties for the Catholic minority as they fought for their rights. Around the same time, the IRA had a huge upsurge in recruitment, and commenced a campaign of terrorism, to unite Ireland. In response to mounting international pressure, the British government over-rode the objections of the Protestants, and introduced one man-one vote for all adult citizens. This caused an outbreak of violence, with Protestant mobs attacking Catholic areas. The British government sent in troops to maintain the peace, principally to protect the Catholic minority.

The IRA escalated their reign of terror, shooting people and setting off bombs in both Ulster and the British mainland. A Protestant terror group, the Ulster Defense Association (UDA) (with various minor offshoots), formed in retaliation against the IRA. There followed over twenty years of violence, with tit-for-tat killings blighting the lives of the people in this beautiful land. Here were two groups with opposing and incompatible aims. The IRA totally committed to a united Ireland, and the UDA totally committed to remaining part of the UK.

In desperation, the governments of Britain and Ireland, formulated a compromise. They agreed to put two referendums to the people of Ireland. In the North, the people would vote on the proposal that Ulster would remain part of the Britain until the majority voted otherwise. In return for giving up their arms, the IRA and the UDA would be allowed to take part in the government of Northern Ireland (each of these paramilitary groups has their political wing, with representatives in the local government of Ulster). There would be a cross-border body set up to cooperate in trade, power and gas supplies and other matters. The Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) would have the ‘Royal’ taken from its name, and be completely reorganized to ensure that there were a representative number of Catholics in it. (There are almost no Catholic members of the RUC – hardly surprising, because the IRA targets any Catholic policemen for execution as traitors to the cause). The convicted terrorists from both sides would be granted amnesty. In the South the people would vote on the proposal that Ireland repeal sections 2 and 3 of their constitution. These sections laid claim to sovereignty over Ulster and were a bone of contention with the Ulster Protestants.

The referendums were held North and South, with a huge majority in favor of what became known as the ‘Belfast Agreement’. There were various deadlines to be met before the agreement was made permanent, the principal ones being that the paramilitaries give up their weapons, and that the police force is reorganized. The power sharing government was set up in Ulster, with two of the former IRA leaders, Martin McGuiness, and Gerry Adams, being given seats on the inner cabinet of government. All of the convicted terrorists from both sides were released from prison.

A commission was set up to reorganize the police force, but the proposals that they came up with caused consternation among Protestants, because they contain no bars to ex-terrorists joining the police. One woman said on British television “just imagine how you would feel if your son was murdered, and you saw his murderer walking the streets in a police uniform”. These proposals have yet to be implemented because of these fears.

Using this as an excuse, the IRA has refused to give up even one single rusty revolver. In turn, the Protestant paramilitaries have held on to their weapons, and although some IRA weapons dumps in South Ireland have been inspected by an independent third party, shootings happen on an almost daily basis. A splinter group from the IRA recently set off a bomb in London.

The First Minister of the power sharing government, David Trimble, resigned in protest at the lack of IRA arms de-commissioning, and the Belfast Agreement has almost withered on the vine. The British government has made more concessions to the IRA in a desperate attempt to keep the agreement going, hoping that they will make a start to giving up their weapons, but so far – nothing. There are only weeks left before the deadline for full implementation of all parts of the Belfast Agreement. After that, within the terms of the agreement, the British government is empowered to re-introduce direct rule from London. Since this would almost certainly lead to a declaration of war from the IRA, the whole of Britain and Ireland waits anxiously for the men of violence to decide whether to accept democracy, or to unleash the dogs of war!

Incidentally, some Brits think Americans have a responsibility for some of the above problems. Ex-Irish movements, particularly around the Boston area, has been fund raising for years. People stuff dollar bills into collection tins, thinking that they are doing their bit for ‘good old Ireland’. In fact most of this money has gone into the coffers of the IRA, enabling them to deal with Gaddafi of Libya, and anyone else who will sell them Semtex or Kalashnikovs. Think twice before you give money to so-called Irish charities. Your dollar may buy a couple of bullets, which will be fired into both knees of anyone who dares to speak out against the IRA. This delightful custom is known as ‘kneecapping’.

One final thought – if you are going to have a bad road accident, or get shot, the safest place in the world to do this is in Belfast in Northern Ireland. The trauma surgeons there are the most skilled in the world – they’ve had loads of practice!

Many thanks to my Scottish ‘Round Table’ friends whose enlightening and lively discussions explained this point of view clearly, and of course letting me take notes.

Bohemia, and "The beast with Red Cheeks"

Bohemia, and “The Beast with Red Cheeks”
By: Ken La Rive

It is so strange when you find in you the means to understand something, and you wonder where it came from. You may try to retrace your steps, but I find time and age distorts, and can’t be trusted. I’ll get to the point as not to be confusing…

The thought I will attempt here is profound, and not easily explained. It journeyed for thirty years with a barrier I tried to overcome back in university called Plato’s Republic. There, I tried to understand a conversation Socrates had with two young Athenians, Glaucon and Adeimantus. They spoke of a chief psychological phenomenon that all men possess, a noble association with what is called courage, and the reasoning behind a reality where one will willingly risk everything, even one’s own life, for such a nebulous ideal. In echoing marble halls, they studied and discussed the motivation of the solder, who’s main objective in life was defense of the city. They wondered what would make a man risk his life for little or no pay, march in punishing conditions, sometime with meager nourishment, and danger. What was his motivation?

It was hard for me to study the writings of Hume, Alexander Hamilton, Hobbs, Machiavelli, and Nietzche, who spoke of “the beast with red cheeks.” I just wanted to take pictures. I was glad for it later, as those ideas became apparent in a simple but intense conversation in an Internet coffee shop of Czech Republic. It was like a ghost from the past…

My young Czech friend, Martin, Maddy and I, in from the snow, was discussing the human condition of pre-democratic Bohemia. Martin mentioned a man named Vaclav Havel, who became president of Czechoslovakia in 1998. He had been previously jailed as a dissident, and became the founder of a human rights organization there called, Charter 77, long before the democratic revolutions of Eastern Europe were achieved. He saw it as inevitable. He realized that men have in them, and assign to the world about them, a degree of worth. Plato called this worth, thymos, where men seek recognition based on what worth they assign to themselves and the world. While in prison, Havel formulated astonishing ideas as to the nature of the evil that was the core of the system that jailed him, and he published these thoughts in the 80’s in an essay called “The Power of the Powerless.” There he tells the story of the greengrocer, and although I don’t have the space to put it all here, in a nutshell it is about a grocer in a totalitarian society who has a sign in his window, “Workers of the World, Unite.” Havel thoroughly questions the many various reasons why the greengrocer would agree to put that sign in his window. It protects the greengrocer, to a degree, from informers, and it gives a message to his superiors that reflect their agenda and interests, while amazingly shields its real meaning. This meaning is evident to all who live by the enslavement of the spirit, and know that the sign should read, “I am afraid and therefore unquestioningly obedient,” but indeed it is the semantics that leaves the greengrocer a bit of dignity. It leaves the greengrocer with what is called “disinterested conviction” and allows him to express: “What is wrong with uniting the world?” Havel wrote: “Thus the sign helps the greengrocer to conceal from himself the low foundations of power. It hides them behind the facade of something high. And that something is Ideology.”

And why not just admit that he was afraid? The reason is quite simple. The greengrocer believes that he has a certain amount of worth. This is the real reason that totalitarian communism didn’t work. The greengrocer believed that he was more then his fear and need, and even though he didn’t know how to articulate it, he felt stronger, and possibly a bit smarter then those who tried to control him. He displayed that sign because he is capable of choice, no matter how subtle, and sorely for the sake of principle. He is, however, according to Havel, fooling himself, but non-the less believes he is of sound principle, rather then being entirely fearful. But I think it really doesn’t matter, even if, because of fear, he didn’t express it at all. Survival is important, but if there is just a small glimmer of hope, freedom of the spirit surfaces. It is the nature of man.

Havel wrote: “The essential aims of life are present naturally in every person. In everyone there is some longing for humanity’s rightful dignity, for moral integrity, for free expression of being and a sense of transcendence over the world of existence.” And then on the other hand he wrote: “…each person is capable, to a greater or lesser degree, of coming to terms with living within the lie.”

Is this our true reason for being: dignity, and its opposition, humiliation? Both are so evident in our daily lives, and yet those two words are the description Havel gives for life in communist Czechoslovakia! Though Brezhnev totalitarian states attempted to make the populace complicit, not so much by terror, but by the constant dangling of the features, advantages and benefits of modern consumerism before them. This was the fuel, this desire for a better life, of material possessions, i.e., a vacation in the Alps, a refrigerator, and a foreign car, as materialism is the catalysts that pitted the desiring part of the soul with the thymotic part. Once that hunger is there, nothing else will quench it. A true Totalitarian Government must constantly oppress free will, when it can no longer function in its tyranny, it is doomed.

So here we finally come back to Plato’s thymos. It is defined in The Republic as an innate human psychological set of virtues like bravery, courage, idealism, principle, morality, self-sacrifice, and honor. Thymos is the process of evaluating these principles by putting value on them, and this value can be so powerful that it can outweigh life itself. As we evaluate ourselves in relation to how we perceive others to be evaluating us, whether accurate or not, we may then assign a value to ourselves based on that. Indignation is a feeling one gets when self worth is not balanced with what we perceive another’s set of values to be. Perhaps this model can help us ascertain the twisted reasoning that motivated the shootings these past few years in our American schools. These murdering individuals seem to have lost, or displaced, their value or self worth, considered themselves irrevocably separated, and placed that same negativity on the others they massacred. As the value they have for themselves are not shared by their peers, the indignation is too much to bear. So there is a desire here, for simple recognition, and it arises from the thymos. The thymos phenomenon is a psychological attempt to balance by justice and selflessness, but at the same time is itself selfish in nature, and as Socrates pointed out, it has a potential to be an alley of reason, suppressing wrong or foolhardy desire. This duality can twist us into reacting to the world in anger and violence, and its understanding is paramount to getting control of our emotions. When our perceived values of both ourselves and the world are not recognized by others the thymotic self-assertion kicks in with feelings of frustration, questions of self-worth, and then anger. And also then, if a person become angry, for instance by indignation, he may react without regard for anything else, including his own safety. There are some that suggest that thymos is also the starting point for conflict, and the fundamental source of evil. On the other hand if the thymos is nurtured with positive affirmation, it can flower with untold conviction. As an evaluation of one’s self-worth, it can mean the difference between self-esteem or self-reproach.

I have been told that I care too much for what others may think of me. This is something that was taught perhaps in Mother’s lap. What control we have of these emotions, and the thoughts they induce, is proportional to the understanding we have of them, and the effort we set forth. A modification of the values that we held close as a child surely should be reevaluated to fit our adulthood. I’m not saying it’s easy. There are other avenues of the thymos that expands its understanding too. Megalothymia is the thymos at work in the authoritarian, or tyrannical type of person, and it’s opposite the isothymia. It defines a person’s need to be recognized as an equal. To learn more about values and how much of a role they play in how we think and act, there are several sources to go to, beside the ones I’ve mentioned. Read: “The End of History and the Last Man,” by Francis Fukuyama, “Nietzsche’s view of Socrates,” by Werner J. Dannhauser, and “On History” by Immanuel Kant.

“Hagel…believed that work was the true essence, the true essence of man.”
-Karl Marx

Knights in shining armor, baubles, and the tides of men...

Knights in shining armor, baubles, and the tides of men…

By Ken La Rive

I spent a few days last week offshore. It had been months, as my new sales job keeps me mostly on land. As always, the ways of men presented themselves to me. A young man of about thirty-three and I were having a conversation about marriage when he indicated to me that there was a bit of strain in his. He questioned his motivation and feelings.

“Well, I can tell you right off if you love your wife.” I said.
“Yea? How’s that?” he said with a smile.
Right up, I said: “Would you die for her?”
He hesitated, and came back with: “I wouldn’t die for any woman!”
“Well,” I said, “you have answered your own question.”

Now we know that men don’t always mean what they say, and I’m certain he did not mean this. It is like this with a lot of men, American men, and the men of the world alike. There is something deep inside all men, well guarded, a standard of what is right and wrong, and surrounded by an armor of our own design.

Some men will cry by the sentimentality of a simple movie, and others who would never admit it touched them, even putting on a display that would show them to be crass and insensitive. They would rather be thought of as insensitive then display emotion! To some, showing emotion is a sign of weakness. They haven’t yet understood that it is our emotion which is the finest element of men, and a real man is not only in touch with these feelings, but uses them for the good. Emotion is stronger then anything this world can present.

These emotions are hard won. They span our manhood, our civilization, for many thousands of years. There was a time when there was no written law, and men tried to come up with a way not to hack each other to death. A small group of enlightened souls realized what energy emotions could promote, trying to explain it to the rest of us. There have been times where it was actually woven into the fabric of society, it fell, rose grandly again, and fell again.

In our times, I am ashamed and reluctant to say that for the most part these ideals that took so long to develop, like chivalry, honor, charity, and justice, are for the most part today, lost. Ideals that were once so precious, molding and lighting the hearts of men, are generally forgotten. Before written law, men lived by a code called justice, but today, though we have written law, justice is mostly lost.

Sure, we still remember the Knights of old. Those polished armor men on powerful steeds who learned the code that might for right was better then might is right. Inside of every man there is an element of that Knight.

However, the world we live in does not adhere to these fundamental and treasured rules. People make up standards to suit themselves, or by public opinion, without virtue, or regard for the good of others. Most live fast lives, and work toward goals to fill the voids laid bare, …with the baubles our so called success buys, spurred by its competitions, its rivalries, and yet, frequently leaves us asking why… It is as if our actual reason for being is in question! Surely, as we attempt to slow down, when we see that there is more to being then the drudgery of wringing from our fellow man meaningless possessions… If in just a brief intermission we can stand back and realize that there is a real lack of devotion to the world. If we could see that our passions are myopic and evil, and the love we possess selfish, we will begin to see the grand waste of it all. All of our earthly desires will come to nothing in the end, while we race each other to acquire. The acquisition becomes our god, and our reason.

Sure, position and wealth are great incentives. That will may overcome many obstacles, overturn barriers, and bring material possessions. But what does any of it mean without our most prized, “Home Sweet Home”, our loving social intermingling and alliances, our brotherhood, and personal friends? What good can come from something born of evil intent?

And more, what can we hold inside of us to keep us on the path to justice; What will see us through, when all earthly acquisition may be lost? How can one man face loss by jumping from a Wall Street window, while another would stand tall in a soup line. How can one man be caught stealing, with no evident remorse, while another would take his life by Samurai justice, for lack of honor? How could two men fight to the death by sword, or dueling pistols, just over a hundred years ago, but today, kill another for the tennis shoes they are wearing? We are not naive enough not to realize that horror, and injustice did not exist in yesteryear, but established principles, I propose, were in place where the hearts and souls of men could be illuminated by them.

What we see today are self serving opportunist, and egalitarians who manipulate the law by loop and knowledge of Achilles' heel. Men who find it easy to tear down traditional value, replacing it with their own agenda, and for their own good. Men who care little or nothing but for what they can carve from the derrière’ of justice, with little or no regard for the safety, the good, or the value that is broken on the backs of men.

Perhaps there are a few left, men who will take up the banner of justice once again, with a clear vision to do right, when the world revels in wrongness. Men with strength of purpose who will stand guard as examples of what finer illuminations are possible. Men with strength of purpose, and who could never be bought. Men who have mastered themselves, and the passions and selfishness that corrupts the spirit. Men, who are found in the bright and shining armor of righteousness, indomitable and purposeful, and with no trace fear…

Where did it all begin? Who was the first to document these jewels of moral purpose, past the veils of time? Though there have been men far beyond recorded history, and in every nation, every continent, to see this light of reason. The very first one of European decent, in my homework, to intelligently unify these truths, upon the rock, in a time of disintegrating virtue and primeval superstition, was called Pythagoras.

In the year 570BC, Pythagoras was born on the island of Sicily, off the coast of Italy. Though his life has been passed down to us through legend and fable, distorted by the ages, the core of his philosophy lives on in our hearts even today. All so called Secret Societies of the Western hemisphere, in my opinion, the Knights Templar, The Magi of Zoroaster, the Illuminati, The Skull and Bones, The Jesuits, Freemasonry, and the Knights of Pythias, all had as a base the teaching of Pythagoras as blueprint. As founder of the Italic School of Philosophy, codes of honor, chivalry, friendship, and justice became a guiding light for the goodness of humanity. This Pythagorean fraternity of men still exist today, and though diminished, our founding fathers all knew and belonged to several, with non-sectarian and non-political Pythinism as the core. What our nation is founded on are these high principles, wrought by a man who now dwells in obscurity, in a world run amuck.

I can tell you this, unless we pick up this banner again, we are lost…

Whitter, of the Pythagorean Fraternity wrote in the 1800’s:

“ ‘Live for something, have a purpose,’ ”
And that purpose keep in view,
Drifting like a helmless vessel,
Thou canst ne’er to life be true.
Half the wrecks that strew life’s ocean,
If some star had been their guide,
Might have now been riding safely;
But they drifted on the tide.”

First kiss and a pepperment twist

First Kiss, …and a Peppermint Twist
By: Ken La Rive

I was taught to have respect for women. In my day we tipped our hats when they crossed our path, and said something cordial like “Good evening Ma’am,” or just “Ma’am?”, like it was a proper question. Usually it would get you a coy hint of a smile in return, which was thought to be a priceless gift. We opened all doors for women, with respect bordering on reverence. Never did it cross our minds to ever swear or cuss in front of one, and with a woman on our arm, a man would be right to dot the eye of anyone who spoke out of turn. But then, somewhere in this proverbial tangle of ideas, those that define our human nature and our place in society, I learned that women were indeed beautiful, made to love, admire, and an enigmatic and mysterious art object. I was nervously tongue tied around then, in admiration of their self-control, their practiced poise, their articulation of language, and their demure and soft strength that proved to be stronger then steel, and stronger by far then me.

A mother and child are so beautiful, beyond a poet’s wonder, or understanding. There is a tie that binds them together that was so amazing to me, so awesome, and so spiritual. I realized this before I realized myself: that although our physical bodies are weak, a woman’s will, a mother’s maternal love, is the most incredible strength of all.

I remember those CYO dances, and the first time I ever did the “Peppermint Twist” with a girl. Before air conditioning, the night’s fresh breezes blew from open windows and mixed by revolving ceiling fans of St. Raphael’s recreation hall. My taps rang out as I made the long walk across the polished hardwood floor, to the girl’s side. I had jelly legs, a burning in the pit of my stomach, but I had a mission, to ask one of these angels to dance. I had scoped her out hours before, long before I had the nerve to break away from my buddies. What great fear there was in my heart. Fear that she would say no, but even more fear that she would say yes! Notwithstanding, there is a bridge that must be crossed by all of us, one way or the other, as we realize that both men and women are two halves of the same thing. I got my first inkling of this powerful thought, as in a dream, and clumsily tried to guide her between the other dancers, to that perfect and comfortable place. Those soft and moist cheeks, the smell of spray net on teased hair, and subtle smells, like fresh baked bread, vanilla extract, and something more, like a pheromone magnetism radiating from the heat of dancing. I was hooked.

I played the gambit, the game, by what I knew of love from songs and television. I saw literally what was meant by “Venus in Blue Jeans” and the whispers of Buddy Holly, Chuck Berry, Bill Haley, The Shirelles, and Tommy James dictated the words and feelings that came pouring from my heart. I remember well that fevered first kiss, and I thank you Debbie, wherever you are. A million miles and years ago, it seems, but really, only yesterday. I have carried effortlessly, tuns of girl books, while walking home from school. Those perfectly covered books, without a mark, a scuff, a dent, …and I tried with boyish wonder to understand the hows and whys of these bewildering and perplexing creatures that could touch something so deep inside of me. They were so clean, so fresh, so sparkling…

I have been lucky with women. Though there have been a few to have broken my heart, mostly, it was magic. One along the way took up my spirit as her own, and through the years I can no longer tell where she leaves off and I begin. I guess love is the cement for such a thing, and as time has a way of teaching us what we thought we already knew, the joy and pain blend into what we are and have become, and finally gives a sense of peace.

I have never been much into praying, not for something, anyway. But I constantly give thanks for the grace of Maddy and our daughter Laura, and what they mean to me. What purpose would I find in life without them to share it with? How lonely would it be to look out over the vast night stars, without having them to share it with? They are with me even when I’m half way around the world.

I have gotten jokes by email about the gross and subtle differences between men and women. Most of them I don’t find the least bit funny, but really, they are kind of sad, aren’t they? So condescending in the display, I feel sorry that life has treated some so harshly that they would be so insensitive, so detached. What we are, men and women, are the concave and convex lenses that focus into infinity. We are both the marriage of spirit and body, and this blend is the most beautiful and rewarding experience this life has to offer. How strong is an idea, a dream, when two is of one mind. What divine greatness could have perceived it?

I can’t Peppermint Twist like I could in the old days, but in my heart I still feel the same twinge of magic when I ask Maddy to dance. I guess I’m still in love, and surely, still in awe…

Caribbean Calm

Caribbean Calm
By Ken La Rive 120893

We passed hot days behind pastel curtains and cooling wood fans. Her blond pale beauty glided from room to room in flowing gowns of alabaster and coral. Smiles reflected glowing drapes of beach glare on soft porcelain skin. Damp breath and whispered laughter filled my ears as we lounged on the verandah hammock. Knots of creaking hemp calmed my mind as the afternoon turned to evening in each others arms.

In the twilight cool we would drive out red Stellar under giant breadfruit and palm, darting along Georgetown boulevards of pink stucco and aqua-blue sunblinds. With sweet dusk breezes on our faces, we would search for rare treasures through cavalcades of multicolored boutiques. Women in white summer dresses, and men in colored cotton shirts, moved slowly along the boardwalk, glowing festivity in the late day sun.

Mingling with tourists, we would watch the sun die as glinting gold on the tide, and breathe the chilled night breezes of Caribbean spice, sea salt, poinciana, periwinkle, and rum. From tables of crisp lenin, we hardly noticed our Cayman water floating past, refilling our “sundowner” from a frosty pink pitcher of Pimm’s cup. Shells of lobster and bowls of conch salad are brought, followed by plantain slices and scoops of stuffed land crab. Small green parrots squawked goodnight in the gloom of lofty mahogany trees as the last patches of sun would flicker as a rosy halo around Maddy’s head.

Somewhere along the beach of strung lights and moon was the sound of children’s revelry and steel drums. Wavelets chimed like broken glass beyond the rail. Tiny rainbow fish danced in the shadows of crystal water, drawn by the same light reflected in Maddy’s eyes. I caught her glance at the blue-black horizon band and a pair of white schooner sails bellowing to safe night’s harbor. Holding her hand I could close my eyes... and a hush of calm would fill me...

A fresh Chapter

A Fresh Chapter

By: Ken La Rive 1997

Elements fuse from man-made pain,
In the pursuit of power and gold…
History burns in dogmatic flame,
Under wings of evil they unfold…

Suffering is the common way of man,
Cold-fired by his iron will to bend…
Through his hands like hot desert sand,
Joy falls in a multitude of sin…

But there are wonders left on earth’s carved face,
Where precious dreams of hope can still be found…
As empty hearts transcend both time and space,
The spirit’s path is balanced safe and sound.

The gift of hope stirs deep in every soul,
Beauty of Truth is there for each to find.
A fresh chapter starts, and the story’s told,
Of new-found hope that shines for all mankind.

There’s still time for a glory song to sing,
Where the sweet voice of innocence will see….
That strength of purpose flies on righteous wing,
As basic Truth is freedom, to just be…

Keep your spirit true to your own heart,
Responsible to self with steady hand…
Volition is the path your conscious starts,
To know full well the measure of a man…

Stand your ground with a warrior’s moral path,
Of purpose found in what you’ve found as right…
Your life will give you joy in what you have,
And light your way throughout the darkest night…

Remember that your purpose is to learn,
That nothing in this life belongs to man…
As in your heart free spirit wills to burn,
It’s all on loan to help you understand…

Take whatever hand this life can offer,
Though pain of loss seems more then you can bear…
Find that good and bad have equal measure,
And possibilities will multiply there…

The Old Lady

The Old Lady

By: Ken La Rive 101897Ó

Once, when very young, we sought to finish a student assignment. Searching, we happened upon an almost empty room in an old folks ward. The afternoon sun reflected off the polished wooden floors, filtered by old lace curtains pulled back from the blinds. It was a glittering spectacle, as there in the middle of the room, was the bent and crippled body of a very old woman in a wheelchair. Bent she was, as if weighed down. It was as if the years were tons; like a butterfly being pressed between the pages of a book. Our photo assignment was, “decadence,” and yes, here was a subject… a subject for study.

We stood back, measuring the balance in imbalance, the symmetry in asymmetry of our teachers philosophical art, and clicked our first pictures. She didn’t move. To our novice eyes she seemed somehow, inanimate.

We moved in and around with macro and flash: a study of a blue veined hand clutching the wheelchair grip, another as a wisp of gray hair on parchment colored cheeks, the bend of the neck from a twisted spine, the unmoving and dangling head that almost touched her knees, and the cup of a crisp white collar showing through the dark green of her sweater. It seemed an eternity. Click….Click….Click…we went, moving in slow motion around her.

And there, under the scope of our three lenses, highlighted by the golden glow blend of light and Extachrome, I heard a whispered exclamation that echoed in the room, and in my mind. It bounced on the empty walls, without thought, and motivated only for the rush for a spontaneous picture… “Look, Ken! There’s spit coming out of her mouth!”…and I saw it. That perfect accent, a crystalline syrup of spittle, sparkling in afternoon sun. I debated, for a moment, to put on my star filter, but was afraid to miss the moment. At the instant, I thought I understood. I, we, thought we saw it for what it was. The decadence of a life. The last few moments, alone in an empty room...

We stood back, measuring the balance in imbalance, the symmetry in asymmetry of our teachers philosophical art, and watched. That ancient hand, holding a tiny white handkerchief, slowly but with deliberate movement, wiped her mouth.

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Love is rare

Love is rare… Medium rare.
By: Ken La Rive 1998

Her eyes are the windows of imagination. She is timeless, built to last, and her beauty will remain at ninety-five. She blushes when I touch her, and glows in a radiant warmth. She was created just for me. Coy she is, and undresses behind a screen…but I know the feel of her, and turning her on is only a matter of touching the right button. I play the cat, and she is the mouse. She loves me unselfishly, remembers every touch, every whisper. She never tires of my advances, and her heart is filled with a vibrant electricity.

Her type is rare, medium rare, and in the dark of night I whisper her name, “PRESARIO!”"

The lost art of faith and hope...

The lost art of faith and hope...
By: Ken La Rive

We let a lot in the uninspiring and gloomy particles of life slide past us. Some of these elements make us so uncomfortable that we have actually learned to ignore them, even to accept them as normal. It is a survival technique developed as far back as the metaphorical garden, before the creation of faith and hope.

Our ancestors lived in a world that was perceived to possess unlimited resources. They ran together with firebrands and chased whole buffalo herds over cliffs. Some thought nothing of cutting down the last tree in the little vale they chose to make home, just for another meager cooking fire. When they altered an environment by slash and burn, or depleted the animals in an area, they found a simple solution. All they had to do was move over to another ecosystem beyond the hill and start over. The hunter-gatherer-nomad was the norm then, and responsibility small.

Times have changed, and never before are we more accountable for what we do. We have found our borders to be finite, and that even small things make a difference.

Modern men perceive the world in desperation, trying to find sanity in an ambiguous and irrational world. We hold accountability a bit out of focus, with a bottle of Scotch, or a football game. Like sheep, most have little understanding or control of themselves, and lost, scratch blindly to the end of their days, without reason.

With little worth dying for, taking a stand, for love, honor, righteousness, or civil justice, is just too dangerous a proposition, the effort to consuming.

We forget that many men have died to incorporate moral value into our social consciousness? What civility we take for granted, the right from wrong we hold in our hearts, began with the faith and hope of a single man of principle.

We can’t go back to the irresponsible days of abundance, where a fresh start was a few miles away. This world is finite, and without sound moral principles that promote hope and faith, we will loose more than the bounty of our precious earth, but our very souls as well.

Fear grips the hearts of those who have lost the strength of faith, for without it there is little reason for being, and no hope for the future. If you can find nothing to die for, you have found very little to live for.

Moonlight

Observations of Moonlight
By: Ken La Rive

There has been a full moon from dusk tonight that lights up everything out here, including my imagination। The many production platforms in South Marsh Island Block 73, as well as several work boats moored, mix the gold of tungsten, the blues of soda lamps, and combine with the silver of moonlight to make a dazzling display on the heaving water. My mind wonders, and I grow quite spellbound.

Last night I went up on the heliport, and laid on the deck awhile, just looking at the heavens। There was a great canopy of high salmon clouds, frosted silver by the moon. The sky was so beautiful, it took my breath away. So high, it vaulted in patterns and swirls of ice crystals, and mist. It brought back some long forgotten night, and some feelings of excitement lost deep in my subconscious memory.

So bright was the moon that I could barely distinguish the surface, and the stars were extinguished with only the very foremost showing. A rainbow ring occurred close to the rim, and the colors appeared almost magical, as a lunatic’s dream. In wonder, the emanated light seemed to be heavy, suspending a fine shimmering powder, that some may have once called, “moon dust”. The night was clear, but there was a quality of a mist, as a haze of angle dust would sparkle and shine. It hung in the air. I could almost taste and smell it as a sugary cold vapor. It would sound, as if by elfin ears, like millions of tiny glass bells, or the tinkling of a great leaded chandelier in a breeze। It is beyond my ken that these preternatural perceptions could dissipate so quickly in the light of day, yet at the time my lunacy seemed quite real.

The rainbow precedents reflected on the clouds seem to be showing what the silver color composition really is, a mixture of reflective short wavelengths that seemingly possess metallic qualities. I have observed these same color mix in the layer of oxidation found on weathered copper, or on old glass, the multipolar carbon-colors produced on surfaces of overheated steel, reflected polish scratches on sheet metal such as tin, and the stress marks produced on plastic, as in the mirrored layered lenses of our platform marker lights। These particular stress marks can be more easily observed through polarized light, but all have the same quality nuance not easily produced without a metal medium। Moonlight gives off that same cast, as when observing reflective scratches on metal, when no matter at which angle seen, a symmetrical arc is radiated outward, refracting light। Likewise, this reflected color on the moons ring and the accompanying “dust”, gives off that same scratched effect। It as if the clouds are silver strands of spun wire, or scratches on the sky. In it’s totality, the full moon’s light gives us an unlimited amount of circumstances, and new perspectives to observe, and redefine, in the constantly changing night. Objects that are otherwise thought common, and understood in the light of day, take on a magic, insubstantial appearance in the moon’s light. There are realities found in this silver light that can only be detected without the blinding light of day. Our limited spectrum perceptions help us understand what we may have otherwise taken for granted with more illumination. Its lunacy is truly wonderful.

Life is a bowl of Paradoxical Cherries

Life is a bowl of Paradoxical Cherries
By: Ken La Rive

I don’t know if it is like this for everybody, but the older I get the more amazed and overwhelmed I become at the ambiguity of life. What I see others do, like taking a stand, or finding an open-minded answer, just seems to be getting harder and harder with abe. Learning an answer to a question is sometimes so elusive, that one question just seems to pose another! It takes a lot of hard work to understand both sides to an argument, and I may have found a shortcut. There may be a better way toward awareness, and a solution to every problem.

Understanding “The Paradox” can help us better cope in a world of countless directions and ideas. Finding the paradox in a situation can help us more understand another’s viewpoint, while giving us an opportunity to glimpse the opposing side.

According to The American Heritage Dictionary, a paradox means: “A seemingly contradictory statement that may none-the-less be true.” For instance, the paradox: standing is more tiring then walking, might at first glance seem wrong. Reality is a judgement call, based not only on life’s experiences, but how we are indoctrinated to perceive ourselves in relation to the world. The thought: you are what you think you are, is also true when we perceive the world. The world is so grand, so vast, that what we choose to focus on becomes our reality. Though these may dictate a bit of what reality is, it may sometimes, in truth, be totally wrong. Not only is there a language barrier to contend with here in Scotland, but there is a certain way a typical American thinks and reacts that may sometimes be misunderstood, and visa versa. One thing conversation has taught me in my months in the North Sea: there may just possibly be several rights, and several wrongs. I know that this statement may seem essentially self-contradictory, but then we have to realize that what we hold as reality may differ from another by just a few degrees. Though some of these degrees may seem slight, they could be so profound as to be a catalyst for war.

While traveling, I come in contact with a very wide variety of philosophies and religions. I find this very exciting, not only for the opportunity to further my understanding, but to help put my own life into perspective. Seems to be an overall reluctance to study the thoughts of other cultures, and even rarer to accept and embrace a new idea, as most people everywhere think they have been taught the one true meaning of life. This is normal, I suppose, as there is certainly strength in a culture that works together. However, the more rigid and intolerant a culture is, the more easily it is dominated and controlled by fanatical religious models, or totalitarian regimes. An individual who accepts without question, is usually coerced to be that way, probably by some type of fear, and will have a harder time realizing some paradoxes. Understanding paradox is a key to understanding how our perceptual minds work, and in the process, help us to be better people, with wider comprehension, more insightfulness, and most of all, tolerance.

Let’s look at it with a story. Say you are a police officer, and have just purchased a brand new and powerful apple red convertible sports car. You are very proud of this toy, and feel like it expresses your true nature. It is polished, fueled, and ready to rock for a Sunday drive.

You are traveling at a safe and moderate speed, down a familiar winding road where you can get the feel of its handling ability. Your focus is on the reflection of the trees off the gleaming hood, the roar of the perfectly tuned engine as you shift through the gears, the feel of the road, and the wind that plays in your hair. It is truly a happy moment.

Suddenly from around the curve comes an old rusty car out of control. The woman spins her wheel in an attempt to regain the blacktop, and nearly sideswipes you while she passes. You see the blur of her face. She is wide eyed in what you perceive to be indignation, and she yells: “Pig!” Not a good word for a policeman. A flash of adrenaline instantly rushes through you, a combination of the fear of collision, but also to her blatant response. Quickly you yell back, “Cow!”

You are glad she missed, but also glad that she heard your comeback. You think this at the same moment you run into a pig.

Just knowing that paradox exists in our minds is a good step. Though there will always be some irreconcilable differences in people and culture, perhaps, with a little understanding, we can be more tolerant of these differences, and the lines that separate us will be more indistinct. Annihilation of a religion or race of people is not an option, understanding is. Our country is strong because we have embraced and absorbed these cultural differences, and though there are some who would argue this, we have made all world cultures part of our collective whole. I know of no other country where tolerance for the difference in others is so accepted. We are lucky to have been born here, but it is the understanding of the paradox that makes it so.

Finally, I would like to give you a paradox that is very well understood here in Scotland, but is a bit over my head… “You have the paradox of a Celt being the smooth Oxonian.” Understanding the difference between a Celt and an Oxonian comes from being a viable part of the culture. Study may help, but the subtle differences between the two may only come from actually being born into it. Just knowing that we don’t see the whole picture is half of understanding it.

London Pictures

Belgium Pictures

France Pictures

Equador pictures

Equtorial Guinea pictures

Madrid Photos

Scotland and North Sea pictures

Tunisia photos

Louisiana Photos

Cayman Photos

Saudi Photos

India Photos

Sweet Crude for America's sweet tooth

Sweet Crude for America’s sweet tooth
By: Ken La Rive

Sure, there are oilfield questions I can’t answer. However, here is one I can. Why can’t we get the price of a barrel of oil down? Here is why: Demand is growing a lot faster than we are able to supply. Simple? Not really.

Anyone who has ever taken an economic course knows from the first week of lectures that cost is proportional to supply and demand. Statistics seemingly vary, depending on the source, but my reading of oil and gas journals all agree that we are using up our natural resources faster than we can find and produce. Justin Pettett’s article entitled “The real value of oil and natural gas?” published in “The Anglo Far-East Bullion Company” newsletter in July 2004, states what others have said long before: “From an investor’s perspective it’s simple economics, supply and demand. Position yourself in a market where the demand outstrips the supply daily, and you can’t loose.”

With this said, lets throw something up in the air. Pettett states that the US oil market produces 8 million barrels of oil per day. We, America proper, consume over 19 million barrels per day, and so must find 11 million per day just to keep up with demand. This is 26 percent of world production! Trying to absorb this is staggering! We are talking about a big world here. How can this be?

I’ll tell you. Anyone who has traveled knows that most people in the world are poor, according to our standards. Most will never be able to own a motorcar, and some may not know any peers who do. A large percent use coal oil to heat and light their homes. A sickle on the end of a human arm is the way to cut grass, and wading in mud for twelve hours a day is the way to plant and harvest rice. Riding a bike is the main way to get from point A to B. In China for instance, who is the fastest growing economy in the world, the populous is slowly making the transition from bicycles to mopeds. Off-Note* It is my understanding that the average farmer in China have recently been brainwashed and hooked by the tobacco industry to spend more on cigarettes than food and clothing combined, with some using 50 percent of their earnings to buy tobacco products…sorry to change the subject, but somehow I find this significant…

To get back on track, investors are telling us more and more that there is no better time to invest in the oilfield. Though we have seen some large price fluctuations in the past, higher prices are here to stay. Recently prices were in flux by the factors of Enron, the hurricanes, and speculation of terrorist attacks after 911, but all have had a marginal, even a minimal effect. The primary one is that there just isn’t enough crude to go around!

Looking at prices for over twenty-five years, I have seen 40 dollars to 10 dollars a barrel for Louisiana Crude, and now recently, over $50. We are led by some to believe that if Saudi just opens its spigots wider it will flood the market, bringing prices down. Wonder why this hasn’t happened? I can tell you emphatically this can’t happen, not any more. For one thing, OPEC controls only about 40% of the world’s production. Saudi is at peak production, and the artesian oil they were so noted for in the seventies are having more saltwater in the ratio than ever before. I know that they are trying to produce more natural gas, to fill in this gap, but I’m sure they would deny this. I was on one of those jobs just last year, and it is my understanding that some major oil producing wells of their illustrious past now have a 50/50 oil water ratio. Also, the threat of terrorist attack is imminent, protection expensive, and this taints financial speculation as well. The bottom line here is that they are at peak production, and there is no large finds of this magnitude to be found since the middle 60s.

L.B. Magoon with USGS wrote in the AFBC newsletter: “Whose fault is it? Who’s holding out? Nobody, just like the buffalo and the fish in the sea, they are just less plentiful. Same with oil, there is a limit to how much oil the world can produce every day. We are not running out of oil, it is just becoming more precious.”

Well, I see his point here, but it isn’t a just comparison. For one thing, fish and buffalo can be replenished, but oil can not, at least not for another 165 million years. Unless we can find an alternative energy source, and I mean soon, before the year 2020, life in America will become very expensive. Investment companies are urging their clients to buy into energy, a tangible asset, like gold, silver and platinum, which will grow off the charts. It is those who sell, not those who buy, who will win. It will be a seller’s market, and you can take that to the bank!

Final note: In the grapevine I have heard that Mexico has had a giant find in their deep water sector. They are reluctant to relinquish control of this find to anyone but PEMEX, wanting to keep revenues within the Mexican Government. In my mind this will be great for North America, as we will have a fresh source, and Mexico’s economy will surely flourish, taking some of the pressure off of our borders. If in fact this can be believed... I have worked with Mexico, and sometimes the truth is wrapped in bureaucratic red tape. I suggest not buying any stock just yet, but keep your eyes open. I know one company who is a sure bet in the world market, but for the life of me I’d rather starve than buy stock in tobacco…

Reefer Madness...

Reefer Madness, Du Pont, and the Marihuana Tax Act of 1939

By: Ken La Rive

(I do not in any way advocate the use of drugs in any shape or form, including marijuana. But we all deserve to know the possible reasons behind the law that has ruined an industry, and put countless people behind bars.)

I was slouching quite comfortably in the LaGuardia Airport several years ago, waiting in a stupor for my next flight, when suddenly a beautiful middle aged woman in loose khaki shirt and bright orange and purple oriental sarong, sat next to me. Now here was a world traveler, a woman of the world!

She briefly glanced and smiled in my direction as she lowered a well-stuffed knit bag from her shoulder to the white polished floor, straddling it protectively with her legs. We sat there in silence for some time, while she rummaged for what looked like something to read.

Suddenly, from around our row of seats, a security man and a small “sniffer” dog started in our direction, looking for the usual suspected contraband: baggies of cocaine, plastic explosives, smuggled organics, or a residual smell of marijuana. Usually when the dog takes an interest in a bag it means a forgotten peanut butter sandwich, cheese from the gift shop, or an apple your mom stuffed in for a snack. All of these are illegal to export, and if you can’t produce any one of these pronto, you may be escorted away for a more proper search.

They passed us without incident, and disappeared within the terminal throng of travelers. Whew!

This is what stimulated our hour long conversation, and though it was several years ago, and a bit of the specifics have now long vaporized, some of the ideas she mentioned to me stuck. One thing, first off, was that she lived on a beach off the coast of England, in a house made from the wood of giant casks, used in the making of whiskey, though that isn’t part of this story.

We talked of the countries she had visited where certain drugs were completely legalized, and that American sensibilities about such matters have been distorted by the new age of synthetics. Synthetics? Yep, that’s what she said. She was originally from Norway, and the entire area is noted for their liberal views. She was well educated, opinionated, and seemingly informed, and without the least bit of hesitation told me I should look up the company called Du Pont, and the history of hemp as well.

I’m 55, and lived in the world of the sixties as a formidable and well conditioned teenager. I remember those days, the music, TV, and the thought processes, far better than even last week! Marijuana was very much against the law in our “hippie” generation, but just a few years before, it was quite legal. What changed?

I found the answers in some very unusual places: Albert Goldman’s, Grass Roots: Marijuana in America Today, 1979, Jack Herer’s, The Emperor Wears No Cloths: hemp and the Marijuana Conspiracy, 1992, and the main source, by Jon Vankin and John Whalen, The 60 Greatest Conspiracies of all time, 1995. In a nutshell…

What if I were to tell you that the lowly hemp plant, also known as buds, grass, pot, bhang, weed, boo, cannabis, or ganja, was once required by law to grow, and our founding fathers, yep, the same ones who signed the Declaration of Independence, like Washington and Jefferson, grew it on their farms.

It was so handy, known to be the strongest of all plant fibers, that it was used for the making of sails, clothing, rope, and a wide variety of health aids and therapy for dozens of ailments. Here is a plant that was thought to be the key to the problems of our new industrial age. It could have virtually replaced the use of fossil fuels in the new combustible engines, feed and clothe the world, and put an end to deforestation so rampant in the last century. That was the sales pitch, anyway.

So Du Pont rings in my ears! In the book above by Herer, he states, “malicious conspiracy to suppress not a ‘killer weed,’ but the world’s premier renewable natural resource, for the benefit of a handful of wealthy and powerful individuals and corporations.” He made reference to hemp’s demise as being the new Dark Ages, and nothing short of, “a conspiracy against mankind.”

Wow! A bit strong, don’t you think? But this is just the tip of the iceberg! There are three players here that I want you to meet. The first is a man we all know, William Randolph Hearst. He led what some consider the first “hysterical” crusade against marijuana. His newspapers were filled with anti-pot writings at the same time many magazines, like Popular Mechanics, were saying that hemp was the savior of mankind, and would be a “new billion dollar crop.” I wonder, what other holdings did William have?

What was behind his initial attempt to destroy this world market? Before the cotton gin, hemp was used to make clothing that kept our men warm at Valley Forge, bedding, tents, and even our “Old Glory” flag! Our bibles were printed on reefer paper, and hemp seed oil could have taken the place of whale oil, that brought on a near extinction of a species. God fearing men from every corner of America used it for a wide variety of medicinal purposes, from patented medicines legally sold in drug stores!

Next, and soon after Hearst, came A.J. Anslinger, and is the one who coined the term “reefer madness.” A so called “morality cop” of the prohibition era, he is quoted as saying, “If the monster Frankenstein would come face to face with the monster marihuana, he would drop dead from fright.” He later admitted to have illegally supplied morphine to Senator Joseph McCarthy, who was then addicted, and helped the OSS, the forerunner of our CIA, with unsuccessful experiments to use hashish concentrate and distillate as a truth serum for captured spies.

But then the powerful Du Pont Corporation took up the baton. And why is that would you suppose? Could it be that they wanted the new synthetic fibers like nylon and polyester to take the place of Hemp? And their plastic fibers did come to dominate, and a new super-polluting wood pulp process was born too. In 1939, Lammot Du Pont is quoted in Popular Mechanics as saying: We are…“conserving natural resources by developing synthetic products to supplement or wholly replace natural products.” Well, is this a lie? Was the additive dioxin understood then? Did they know of its cancer causing properties? I think they did…

Ha! Anslinger even went before Congress and said that the “reefer friend” was comprised mostly of the “Negro and Mexican”, and worst of all, “entertainers.” (This sentence has been deleted by CPS so as not to offend.) In my book, Anslinger was not much of a humanitarian. But truth is truth, and we should know our history.

The final kick came with the legislation called “The Marijuana Tax Act of 1937.” It virtually breezed through Congress with the strangled voices of hemp growers and the American Medical Association watching helplessly on the sidelines. Strange to find out now that Anslinger was then in charge of the Treasury Department, who owed his job to his relation Andrew Mellon, owner of the sixth largest bank in our great nation, and just happened to be the Du Pont banker.

Of course there is no real proof of conspiracy; all of it is just pure speculation, of course. But then, Du Pont continues to be the “largest producer of man-made fibers, while no citizen has legally harvested a single acre of textile-grade hemp in over fifty years?” says Herer. Well, thought you should know…

The potential for a higher standard in labor...

The potential for a higher standard in labor…
By Ken La Rive

What makes a good worker is complicated. Objective observations of a modern American worker can not be viewed from their perspective or point of view alone, nor can it be understood entirely by the institution he may find himself. Work ethics and motivation are taught, perhaps as far back as mother’s knee, and the institution may or may not be fertile ground for the “average” modern American worker. For a successful company to nurture a successful employee, a common ground must be attained, and one based on a framework established and built long before. Our basic work ethics is truly an American heritage. There is an actual science in existence, a floor plan made thousands of years before the Industrial revolution, taken and molded into what we now find ourselves.

I refer to “average” in a somewhat negative way here, as it is found that just a small portion of the actual work force, in this year 2006, has sufficient fortitude to make creative and insightful things happen within the framework of a particular institution. We have been damaged by what can only be called “myopic liberalism,” and it has come to the point, unfortunately, where most young workers do not have a full grasp of their job description, or what potential they may attain as well. The great majority is seen by management to have little or no creative savvy, long term goals, and that most will do far less than expected. Leaders overwhelmingly agree that if left unobserved, workers will become progressively unproductive, and that most of those observed will take constant supervision.

What fire we have in our hearts for a productive life was put there long before we knew ourselves as individuals. It was placed there by parents, coaches, and teachers with mostly good intentions, and though the possibility may exist that they are somewhat flawed, nevertheless it defines who we are, how we view life, ourselves, and the directions we so choose. It is the foundation that all else is dependent, and nebulous ideas like love, success, joy, and happiness are doors we may find open or shut. Our attitude, the way we look at life and our place in it, is the foundation where all else is built.

I once listened to the final words of a man who was going to the electric chair. He had killed his girlfriend and her lover in what was determined to be a blind fit of rage and passion. In essence, those last words were “I didn’t know I loved her so much.” To him, killing her and her lover seemed justified, and an act of love… Love was not viewed as an unselfish process of emotion, but a selfish one where the welfare of another takes no precedence in the action.

It seems that this man went to his death with justifications that most would consider twisted ideology, a blinkered sense of purpose, and self awareness that may even be regarded as a type of insaneness. It isn’t for the good, common or otherwise, and he went through life with a harsh reality that was taught to him by the circumstances he found himself. Though this is an extreme example, it can certainly hit home that all of us have bits and pieces of wrong thinking that can pull and push us in directions that we may not even be aware of. It is indeed pitiful not to realize, but the combination of non-caring is horrific. Surely, this man on death row did not want to finally see his life was a farce, that there was in fact a higher, insight-giving purpose that could have propelled him through life on sound legs, and a heart of joy.

There are but a few good men in this world, that is a given. What man would we build a statue to? Could it be a leader who could pull to him and direct the many hands it takes to get a job well done? Or is it instead that individual person who draws together with many others of like will and mind, to achieve a goal? Could it be that both are needed for the long haul, where creativity and insight is born?

Leaders today, and throughout history as well, saw good labor to be fragile at best, and very rare indeed. It well seems to most modern leaders that the work force is overwhelmingly lazy and self-centered, has an inability or abject unwillingness to hold an attention span long enough to get the task completed without periodical and peripheral supervision to keep them on track. And then there are those who attempt to “get up and over” by any and all means of hook or crook, or by the use of bribes as an enticement for others of like mind to assist him in his slipshod endeavors. These individuals weaken the system in the short term, but never survive for very long. Justice is incorporated into the American system, and though the liberal process has undermined it to degree, by loop-hole justice, unaccountability, and frivolous law suits, the system still works. It is expensive however, and inevitable that corruptive processes will attempt to take hold in a free society. One must remain optimistic that justice will endure, and that our youth will overcome these negative devices that has harmed them by due process. Uneven competition where one group is given the edge over another is one thing, school systems pushing the inept through is another, but there are corruptions coming from our legal and government institutions that will right itself. It is inevitable.

A supervisor is in the process of transcending these hooks that hold most to moral servitude, and blind ambition, as the world will get out of the way for a good and trustworthy man who knows where he is going. Some will succeed and some may not on the first attempt, and for a myriad of reasons. Those who lost were perhaps pulled back by what was previously considered his peers, but they can not be entirely the blame, no matter how pitiful or selfishly evil were their jealous intentions. Let it be said that jealousy lurks in the hearts of fools, and those who can not climb by their own devices will use this is a prop to justify their own failings. They would rather see a good man down than to see one winning, or pursuing endeavors considered “out of the box.” However, it must be admitted that a supervisor who fails could probably not overcome what it took to succeed from the inside out. He lost faith, or couldn’t sufficiently develop it. After all, those who follow willingly are mostly pulled by what the supervisor has inside. A supervisor is at the forefront, by example, and followers are just that.

Little is said today of the employer who grows old before his time, for lack of assistance and support in his farsighted endeavors. He sees a place his business should be, expedited in both time and energy, and a game plan for his employees to make it happen. There, under a solitary lamp that remains lit as all others have departed, he plans on wings of hope, and as a new day emerges he once again attempts to motivate, to express his insight to a mundane and ignoble worker who may think little for the corporation, but his own selfish pursuits. What manifested Socialism can there be where weakened individual character for the good of the whole goes unfulfilled; where selfish concerns are primary and is the motivational core of most. “Doing your best and the rest will follow,” is not part of the typical liberal education. These same individuals will vegetate on their couches thinking what winning the lottery will do for their pitiful lives, as one day blends into another without change, without fulfillment, without pride, without a dream or worthy goal.

The true essence of the employer is the taking on of the essence of those under his charge. There is a constant weeding out process, where workers of poor quality are replaced with the hope of a potentially higher standard. It is in the interest of the business that is the primary reason the undeserving and inept find the door. Even those who have found themselves somehow “married” to the company, by governmental quotas, or nepotism, that bubble will someday pop and carry even these un-proficient workers to the street.

I have known true leaders, and my heart goes out to them as they tried to find fulfillment for dreams that sometimes go unnoticed, or unappreciated. I have also known the laborer who gives his heart and soul to his job for the responsibility that lays heavy on his shoulders. There are those who would rather patch his work boots with “duck tape” than to spend the money he considers needed by his family, and in silence. Our Country, our civilization, has been in constant need for both these men, and they are wanted everywhere. Without them no goal would be accomplished, and no dream aspired.

What man can take unto him the will to be honest and sincere, in a world that is mostly the opposite? What man can give frank assessment of a situation, and be open and unafraid enough to admit he doesn’t know, but with the fortitude enough to go forth and find out, or, if he thinks himself right, will not stand down. Who can have what it takes to accept others for their failings, and yet walk their talk to a degree where people will emulate them, inspired by example. There are men who can see the positive aspects of a worker, and by insight, utilize and motivate them to help themselves, without the need for threats or injunctions, but a force motivated for company good. These men are rare, so rare that once found they are rapidly propelled to the higher reaches of management, where responsibility is given, or rarer still, are found capable of formulating their own companies, where under their umbrella of dreams, utilize the system and their hard work for a higher potential.

Note: This is part of a recent letter I wrote to a new friend who had sent me an observation about the differences between GMC and Toyota. It expands what is written above, and shows that though we have our problems here, there is nowhere else on earth better… at least none that I have found.

“Japan was taught world capitalism from us after WW2. We gave that to help them get in step with the 20th century. Don't sell America short. We are at the top of the food chain for a reason, and if we fall it will be for a reason too, in my opinion, by liberal socialism’s anti morals and ethics, and anti accountability.

Japan does not have the same mindset as America. We are a land of individuals, where they pool together socialistically. Though we seem to be going this way by some liberal ideas and standards, something is sacrificed in the process, and it is against the basic premise and mindset that makes us so special and successful. Few people in Japan can attain a semblance of success unless born into it, or hand picked at an early age. A late bloomer, like me for instance, who didn't do well until collage, would have had little chance at success in Japan, and I would work a labor job to the end of my days.

I choose America, where a man can come from humble beginnings to seeing his company in the Fortune 500 by the time he is 30. An American can find that the cheese has moved, even later in life, and redirect his endeavors for a new plan, finding doors opened by hard work and hard won insight. In the long run socialism will fail, as it is not in man's nature to be handed anything, but to work, for his family, though now rare because of its systematic destruction by liberal ideals, a semblance of security and the longing hunger of unfulfilled dreams. Hunger is a great motivational factor for working, for food as the base, but also for the finer things in life that I have only seen America supply.”

Only by traveling can one get a true perspective of America. There is no place on earth like it, and we should safeguard it for our children’s children.”

One dead alligator and two catfish
By: Ken La Rive

We have carved another path in the marsh about an hour and a half south of Morgan City. Our inland barge rig, tug boats, and supply barges are now sitting in the middle of this fresh water lake called Turtle bayou. I have tested the water and it has only 1,200-ppm chlorides. I’ll be using that to build our spud mud, and it is fresher than even Crowley’s tap water.

It seems evident to me that there is a ruckus going on in this desolate place, and the animal life have all gone into hiding, wondering what this giant monster is up to.

Must have been very quite before we showed up. Insects could actually hear each other talk, the moon guided moths, and lightening bugs flashed without confusion from our lights.

Today a dead alligator and several catfish floated by the rig, not smart or quick enough to get out of the way, they were caught under one of the tugs or barges that we push and pull through the shallows.

Before we arrived this little inlet was dredged and a fresh layer of mud made new land, an embankment on both sides one mile long. It changed the dynamics of this environment, creating new ones. It may be home to some future bird nests, an alligator, snake, and turtle sun deck, or possibly dry-land critters and plants. Who knows, possibly not everything we do has a negative consequence, or impact. One thing is evident; however, we sure can cause some broad environmental changes, and fast!

There are enough protective laws now that we are required to have zero discharge. That means we aren’t allowed to throw anything over the side. All cuttings, even our meal scraps are sent back to the landing for disposal or processing. It’s expensive, but helps to minimize the impact we are having here. For me, it seems more an insult to our intelligence. Our protective laws say we can’t dump heavy metals like lead from barite, chrome from lignosulfonate, oil, and stuff like uric acid, but what about vibration, noise, and clouds of noxious gas from our diesel engines? What about the simple blending of environments by digging, where fresh water mixes with brackage, or salt intrusion? Well, we do have to drill for oil, and in the process we will make tracks. It is a trade-off, I suppose.

Last night a savvy snake swam by, sticking his tong out for a recalcitrant look, but just a small movement from me and he sank under the muddy water. That’s why he’s still alive! The wildlife is coming back slow, and this morning a mother and two ducklings made their way bravely past our shale barge, to the safety of the grass. I can see from the helo-port that the water beyond our churning activity is crystal clear, though choked by floating purple Macllhenny plants, just starting to bloom. They are indeed beautiful when in full blossom, but few know that less than a hundred years ago this plant was virtually unknown in Louisiana. We have been changing things for a long time, and some of what we take for granted our ancestors knew nothing about. Clogged up bayous for one...

I’m thinking that in some far future these swamps turned bogs may be used for fuel, or packaged like sphagnum moss at Lowe’s. Nothing wrong with a little optimism, am I right? Perhaps we could import a family of sea-cows to eat this stuff. Nothing indigenous to this area will. If we could just keep the manatees a bit warm during the winter, and protect them from barges, speedboats and such, they could eat us a passageway through, where only airboats can now go.

From the sky it is far more evident. We have sliced and served our abundance of seacoast and swamps in search of oil. These scratches don’t look like much from 10,000 feet, but when standing on the catwalk looking out, it resembles an open wound. A bit graphic, I suppose, but accurate.

We have mixed fresh and salt water, changing habitats that took from the last ice age to form, destroying in a few years what eons created. We are so close to it we think it is normal, and I suppose it is now normal to dredge a new canal in one day, build levees that block the free flow of water, dam up rivers that seek to change coarse, and then we are so amazed when we hear our state is actually sinking into the sea. It is normal if we have the ability to do it? Does that make it right?

I have a theory, though most think it is wrong. I know what is causing the great dead zone in the gulf every year. You know that area where no fish can live because there’s no oxygen in the water? Well, anyone who has been on a rig at the base of any Louisiana river can see the mass of fresh water vegetation pouring into the gulf. What happens to fresh water plants when they hit the 22,000 ppm chlorides of open water? They die! Then what? They float around in large stinking masses that look like flat brown drops, and then sink. Where else can it go but down? The micro-organisms that digest vegetation breathe oxygen just like you and me, so in the process all oxygen is depleted, and worse than that, the actual organisms die too, oxygen starved! What a mess? Is this normal? Well, at the base of the Amazon River in South America where these plants originally came from, it is, but the South Atlantic is such a large place the effect is minimal. Here in our finite Gulf of Mexico, there isn’t any place for it to go but down. Down to the mucky-muck where it is slowly covered by sediment…

Some day these deposits may give us a future oil reserve, laced with methane and hydrogen sulfide. Until that time the fishing will be lousy.

But who really cares? Not the little girl at the traffic light driving her father’s SUV, or just about any body on I-10 going from point A to point B. Not the teacher who gets information from outdated books, or any industry personnel who want to stay employed. I don’t think most care because they view life from 10,000 feet up. From up there it looks like just a few criss-crossed scars, a few open wounds, but to me, sitting in the middle of it, a dead alligator and two catfish tells volumes.

Well, the sun is setting giving up quite a show. No two are ever alike you know, so you can enjoy it every day! Some things are out of control to change, I suppose, and under the stars this scar is hardly noticeable. Though in my mind what we are doing is just as bad as the Scots having to burn their Scotch pines for charcoal, some day we will look back and see the loss for what it is. Our ancestors will shake their heads, as our environmental destruction is just as bad as the slash and burn of rainforests, the clear-cut of old growth, and the wholesale sweep of our oceans by pogie boats in search of nitrogen. But what the hay, eat drink and be merry!

Note: I wrote the above five days ago and the chlorides are now up to 3000. Low, but double what they were when we showed. Marsh hens have taken up residence on the mud levees we have created, and large alligator tracks are visible. They come to watch the show at night.

Neeeeew Orleans, Do-do, do-do…
By: Ken La Rive

For me, New Orleans is mostly destroyed. Nearly everything I remember with fondness or bitterness has been smashed by Katrina’s winds, or flooded from the Seventeenth Street canal... My travels back since then shows only fragile skeletal remains in my old neighborhood, and the people who were the heart and soul of that city can’t or won’t return.

Raised there, New Orleans brings back a wide mixture of memories, and though the realist in me knows 50 year old recollections may be a bit distorted, I am convinced that what I remember of the people and places from Gentilly Woods lakefront to Canal Street and the French Quarter, is as vivid to me today as it was when it was actually happening.

Running through the center of my world was Elysian Fields Avenue, and it was truly the perfect name. Laced on every side by massive live oaks, I drove my 66’ Mustang with the love of my life as co-pilot, and she still is. Her face lit by the moment, laughter and singing the tunes of WTIX and WNOE, are memories deeply buried, and my most cherished possessions.

There was a lot to do back then, and I wish now I had taken less time watching television and more time exploring. Ponchartrain Beach was kicking full swing in the 60’s, and as I lived just 10 blocks away, I knew every crack in the cement. Twice a night, at 19:00 and 22:00 there was a live show from the roof of the beach concession stand, and there was everything from diving donkeys, popular singers, Magicians, to dancers in colorful costume, a true variety show. Men would climb long polls and direct high powered lights on the stage, and it now seems just too amazing to behold.


I suppose it wasn’t so amazing back then, as we were so close to it, and I think we might have taken it somewhat for granted. Today we all realize that there was nothing like it before, nor will there ever be again. Jan and Dean, Wayne Newton, Dick and DeeDee, Lesley Gore, Steve Alaimo, and most every traveling artist, made their way to Ponchartrane Beach. My friends remember the year 66’ where Sonny and Cher, Herman’s Hermits, Wayne Fontana and the Mindbenders, and a group called Cannibal and The Head Hunters, were hosted by WNOE’s “The All Star Show,” live, and though we could have been there for less than a dollar, we listened to it while driving. Why? Because so many things happened every night it was an overload! We enjoyed it, sure, but we lived so very close to it that we couldn’t see the total picture. It is only now, in reminiscing, that we realize how very special it really was.

There was an Olympic sized swimming pool, and what was called the “Hell Diver” where the brave could jump or dive into a seventeen foot deep pool. We boys would sit by the stairs and watch the bikini tops pop off for an eyeful. As I got older my friend Kenny Kuntz and I became “beach bums” running and throwing our skim-boards for a sometime slide of 40 feet or more. We put lemon juice in our hair to bleach it and used iodine in baby oil to make us tan. I worked at Bali Hi my junior and senior year at JFK High School, and learned a lot about waiting tables, and serving wine. We had a drink called the “TIKI Bowl” for two, and a “Typhoon” where only one was allowed. One night an older lady made a big deal about the limit and another was brought. I heard a dull thud and saw that her head had hit the top of the table. She had passed out! Her husband was up quickly, trying to stabilize her not to fall on the floor. She had to be carried out, and there was a bit of smirks and laughter as they made their exit.

Within walking distance from my house was The Pitt Theatre, Jo-Jo’s Chicken, and Teddy’s for the best roast beef sandwich in the world; sitting on Mr. Messina’s Sweetshop porch on a hot summer day drinking a little coke and eating a Zero candy bar seems like something out of an Ive’s painting, and I remember every peace of rust on the panted metal sign on the swinging metal door, The Lone Ranger rides for Marita Bread.

As we got older and traveled farther afield on our bikes, we found Saint Rock and Pressburge where Mr. Jerry would make the best cherry and coke floats this side of People’s avenue canal. Of course for a nickel fare and a transfer the whole city could be experienced by a public service bus, but having my own wheels is what really opened up this world of dreams. There were back seat memories in the Lenfant’s parking lot where”Singapore Slings” stained our new Madras shirts, and never once were we IDed; Submarine racing at the lakefront and walking around the light show at Pop’s fountain; bowling at Sugar Bowl Lanes on Saturday sponsored by the CYO, and the CYO dances at St. Raphael where all the boys were on one side and the girls on the other, just pops in my head with a barrage of recall. I remember that long walk with taps pounding on hard wooden floors echoing through the hall to ask for a dance, and I remember with pain being turned down. Ha!

There were King Cake Parties where I learned valuable social skills with the opposite sex, and an occasional kiss too, and I learned how to dance from my Boy Scout buddy Walter Williams. Of course these skills were mostly obsolete in the 70’s as liberal feminist’s movements tried to destroy the hard won differences of boys and girls in a few short years.

With my stock 289 Aztec Bronze Mustang, I discovered the Skyvue and Do Drive-Inns, with mosquito pucks, chocolate toddies, and fogged-up windshields. On our drive home we listened to the Beatles, Elvis, Fats, Little Richard, and Chuck Berry, all on loud. Loud was in then, and our parents didn’t like our music or the volume. Today my daughter still turns down my oldies at a barbeque, so I guess it skips a generation.

The Beatles gave a concert in City Park once and it was the only stop on their world tour where they lost money. They played with the Davy Clark 5, Jerry and the Pacemakers, and the Kinks, but in 1964 New Orleans wasn’t ready for this radical new music, preferring good ol’ R&B. Me and my group seemed more than ready.

My dad managed the Roosevelt Hotel Barber Shop in the fifties and sixties. There were 26 chairs in that basement shop, with infinity mirrors behind each one, white polished marble floors, gigantic brass spittoons, 20 barbers, 7 shoeshine boys, 12 manicurists, and one porter who worked with my father 50+ years. The Fairmont bought it out and closed it down, building a small shop on the mezzanine. They made my father fire half of his friends for that transition, and three months later fired him for a young man from the “corporate office,” so I remember. It worked out fine as my father soon went on to own his own shop in the Royal Orleans Hotel for the next thirty yeas, and then in Orleans Place at the base of Canal. What great memories of barber shops that gave shaves, facial massages, shoe-shines, manicures, and even cut the hair out of your ears! The Blue Room and the Christmas decorations in the hall with tons of lights behind angel hair were remarkably beautiful. I remember seeing a pile of first edition Spider Man magazines sold at the book counter at the rear entrance, and for about ten bucks worth I could have retired years ago.

Some called it TIKI Beach, but my group called it Old Beach. It was located right next to the Bayou St. John Bridge, on the UNO side of Lakeshore Drive. In those days the Lake was salty and clear, before it was found that shells made good roads. I had my first taste of Miller Ponies, Dixie, and the popular “Ring Day.” I knew a guy from J.F. Kennedy who dove head first from that bridge on to a piling. He was lucky with only a few stitches and a lot of scratches. My sister sent me a six-pack of Dixie through the mail all the way to the Tonkin Gulf, Vietnam. I drank them with my sailor buddies from an iced bathroom sink in Honk Kong, 1969, but that is another story.

Everyone in New Orleans, young and old, knew Uncle Henry Dupre... He started a wake-up show on WWL 870 from high atop the Roosevelt Hotel in the late 40’s and early 50’s. That was a little before my time, but we knew him as “Uncle Henry” on “Popeye and Pals” on WWL-TV for many years, along with his Toys for Tots.” I can still see his smiling face dressed in his sailor uniform and cap. He was well loved.

Being that my father knew everyone at the Roosevelt, we heard a lot of stories when he would get home. I remember him trying to get to an upper floor to cut Elvis’s hair, but never could, and how Earl Long got caught on live TV urinating on the carpet. He was running around with Blaze Starr back then, and made quite a show as they strolled arm and arm into the Blue Room.

Want to go to the show? There was no more beautiful and unusual places than the RKO Orpheum, the Joy, and the Saenger Theatres. The Saenger had the illusion of sitting in an Italian Courtyard with lights on a ceiling that gave the impression of a sunset with stars coming out, slowly, just before the cartoon came on. It was before advertisements and such, and a Disney cartoon broke the ice.

For two years I took dancing lessons, and I suppose I was considered a Hazel Romano Dancer. I and my partner Sheila Demarco would go on Saturday Hop with John Pela, and do the four-step on Saturdays. There was another group there called the Tony Bevenetto Dancers, and though it was all in fun, I remember a bit of competition trying to get in front of the camera.

I remember the smell of fresh baked bread going over the Gentilly Industrial Canal overpass, and the smell of Luzianne Coffee on the other. It is the kind of memory, though small, that will leave goose-bumps, as what you were doing at that moment, what life you had there, was enhanced by that situation, where strong memories are made. You see, a lot of our lives are forgotten, except for photographs, so what we have in our minds are cemented vividly by the strength of the moment. When you are young, there seems to be many more of these.

Another famous New Orleanean was Hap Glaudi. He was the sports editor for the Item and also reported the sports for WWL. He was noted for being a straight shooter, and called it as he saw it. But then all will remember Morgas the Magnificent! His introduction and ongoing skit during mostly B horror movies every Saturday night was very popular. He and his buddy Chopsly and Eric the Skull would make the movie more enjoyable, and I have never seen anything like it again. Ha! One of a kind...

My wife Maddy and I have been dating since she was fourteen. I used to pick up her and her friends from Holy Angels and bring them home in Gentilly. It was before air-conditioning there, and I remember the smell of these girls as we drove down St. Claude to Franklin avenue, to turn on Prentiss. Curious, the smell of perfume and girl could never be duplicated. What a great memory.

Needed a car? There were plenty of jingles to go around, and they stick in your mind forever. “Buy your Chevrolet from Persia, Mike Persia Chevrolet!” and “Jacobson Young, where the lights are strung!” or the one and only “Trader Joe Paretti! …the dealer who is ready!” But there were others that come to mind, like: “Rosenburgs! Rosenburgs! 1825 Tulane!” and Dixie Beer: “The beer that makes you feel alive!” or “Jingle Jangle Jingle, here comes Mr. Bingle, with another message from Kris Kringle!” for DH Holmes.

Left over from WW2, before LSUNO was thought about, was Camp Leroy Johnson. There in the middle of a cluster of Quonset huts was a little known movie theatre used mostly by the local AF boys attached there. A young man who lived next door to me would take me and his new wife to see movies like “The Day the Earth Stood Still” and “The Incredible Shrinking Man.” But the most amazing part of our night was walking right up to the “Blue Angels” and actually looking into the cockpit. I remember them breaking the sound barrier over my house every Saturday morning, and there was a commercial that my sister Cindy and I would sing: “You take the blue from the sky and a pretty girl’s eyes and a touch of ol’ glory too, and give it to the men who proudly wear the US Air force blue. …and you can wear it to… The US Air force blue!”

When we moved to Marigny Street we had a next door neighbor who worked for the Batts. They owned Ponchartrain Beach. Every New Year’s night there was a fireworks display that would rival nearly everything I have ever seen publicly. After Katrina I drove back to the site where so many had such a good time, and the only thing remaining was the Lighthouse, now considered a national monument, made during the civil war. On the brackish breeze that blew over the seawall and levees there seemed to be sounds of children’s laughter. I can still hear the tic-tic-tic of the Zephyr going up its wooden frame, turnstiles clinking coins, and the glass encased fortune teller who moved and spoke magically for a nickel. I can still feel the shock on the lever in the penny arcade that determined if you were man enough, and the air spray on the floor of the haunted house that blew up summer dresses, all in fun. There are, at least, a million smaller things, and all of it is still alive in our collective dimension of memory. On the now barren cement, lovers still stroll arm and arm, and in my minds eye I can still see my sister Cindy running with a great fluff of pink cotton candy almost as large as she was.

I’m not alone in my memories, and though we are all displaced by both time and tragedy, those moments still live on in our minds. There is an eco blowing in the few palm trees to have survived there, at the base of Elysian Fields, and our world. “At the beach, at the beach, at Ponchartain Beach, you’ll have fun; you’ll have, fun every day of the week.” You see, the old days are alive in another dimension, and it fades in and out of our reality and our lives no matter where we find ourselves, and will till the day we die.

Trusting the system but loosing the dream...

Illiteracy and Corruption equals Louisiana 2007
By: Ken La Rive


Several Months ago I was invited to a barbeque at an old friend’s house. An older gentleman singled me out saying that some of my writings had been forwarded to him by a mutual friend. He told me he liked my style, and that if I was up for it he had a scoop that I may be interested in for an article. He told me nothing of any substance while we watched the meat burn, but mentioned to me a lot of well known politicians that he told me were corrupt. I was dumbfounded. After thinking about it for several weeks I called him and said I wasn’t interested. The reason was that I just didn’t know much about the subject, and that my previous writings focused mostly on morals and ethics. Truthfully, I thought it was way over my head. One thing rings in my ear though, he said it was just as well, as taking a stand was a dangerous thing to do.

This is the way of a lot of social functions. Men retire to the library, or the veranda, and inevitably the conversation will gravitate to politics. Most of the dialogue is very general, where debate and discussion usually ends in frustration for what is out of control. This was the first time I can ever remember where a person said something will be done. I was very curious to know what he had, and if it wasn’t the beer talking, I look forward to a bit of justice in Louisiana, as time goes by. This is what motivated the article below, and a bit of research. What I found was amazing…

While traveling I find that nearly everyone around the country looks at Louisiana as a joke when it comes to political assessment. They laugh when they talk of us electing a known self admitted criminal, and that we would do so again if he wasn’t in prison. We are thought not only to be the most corrupt, but the most illiterate state in the union. Is that actually true?

In 2002 Chicago’s Better Government Association, (BGA), released what it called “the first independent, comprehensive report on integrity in 50 states.” Integrity here refers to the administration’s ability to promote honesty in the operation of state government and affairs, and the actual strength of the legal system to bring justice and accountability to government officials.

At the time of this publication a fellow by the name of Terrance A. Norton was the Executive Director of BGA. He is quoted in a report released by the Corporate Crime Reporter (CCR), January 16, 2004, National Press Club, Washington, D.C. as saying: “In light of the recent scandals that have engulfed many institutions in the United States, one lesson has been drawn clearly, loose standards, secretiveness and lack of accountability are a recipe for disaster. We wanted to determine which states are best prepared to fight corruption and which are vulnerable.”

In the process of determining just what may be lacking in a State where corruption is ramped, five factors were reveled. One, freedom of information laws; Two, whistleblower protective laws; Three, campaign finance laws such as gifts and promotions from special interest groups; Forth, Monitoring of travel and “honoraria” laws; and Fifth, conflict of interest laws.

Interesting here, as it would seem that Louisiana surely must have these laws in place, and the ability to pursue these laws as well. Here is where it gets confusing. It is stated by CCR that having set standards in place does not insure a State’s officials to be honest and ethical. There seems to be little correlation between enforceable laws and integrity. If in fact a public official has volition to do criminal acts, laws will not thwart him, and getting away with it a matter of willingness by the Federal Government to pursue it.

According to the CCR, Louisiana is considered by the rest of the nation to be one of four most corrupt states in the nation, along with Illinois, Rhode Island, and New Jersey. Is this a bad rap? Is this slander, and if so, where is it coming from?

To help us understand this doldrum let us look at what the Justice Department has to say. It is well known that the Justice Department is very closed lipped when it comes to forwarding information, and their department of Public Affairs gives few meaningful interviews. However, the Justice Department’s Public Integrity section publishes an annual report that gives the number of actual prosecutions as well as convictions by Federal investigative means: (Report to Congress on Activities and Operations of Public Integrity Section for 2002).

In Table III, Public Corruption Convictions by District over the Past Decade, CCP took the total amount of actual convictions by each state, and calculated what they termed a “corruption rate” for every state defined to be the total number of corruption convictions from the year 1993 to 2002 as per 100,000 residents. Let me note here an important finding: The vast majority, as high as 80 percent, have been brought by Federal Authorities. Also, the Justice department reports only federal prosecution, so there is more on the table than meets the eye. A final caveat is that a federal prosecutor may not have the courage to bring to light certain convictions, and that there may also be limited resources to do so. Some public corruption will not be reflected in the Report to Congress, a public record, if it is locally enforced. Why would a Federal Prosecutor be afraid to prosecute?

Still in all, as corruption as the base line, Louisiana comes in third with a CCR rating as 7.05. Mississippi comes in first with a 7.48, and North Dakota second with a 7.09. Along with this there is noted the least corrupt states in the Nation, i.e., Nebraska with .05 wins first place, Oregon .059 being second, and New Hampshire .86 is third.

One state is exempt from this survey, The District of Columbia. They have almost 11 times more corruption then Mississippi, with a rate of 79.33. The District of Columbia is the seat of our federal Government. There were 453 public corruption convictions in the last ten year period. CCP says this is the first ever corruption ranking ever done in the United States, and its results are mind boggling. It is apparent we have a very active and corruptive federal government as well.

It seems that corruption is thwarted most often by citizenry groups, avid and unafraid reporters and unbiased newspapers, not on the take. There seems to only be a handful of these in our state. Strong judges, and moral and civic leaders do more than anything else to promote federal investigations for accountability in government institutions. How ambiguous… where laws are in place but uninforced. Whether the clean up will come from within or without just seems uncertain at this time, however…

I have heard more than once in casual conversation that the Federal Government is looking at Louisiana very closely after Katrina, because of the power struggle over those Federal troops that Governor Blanco had to formally request. In the ensuing argument over control that went on for days, people were suffering and dying without food or water. The Federal Government will not be the fall guy for what inabilities and internal corruption we have in local government, and it is my understanding that as time goes by these inabilities and corruptions that are now under investigation will be fully disclosed to the American people. However, it may be the pot that calls the kettle black. When a light is turned on, even a spot light, the person holding the light is illuminated too.

It seems that Katrina did more harm than any natural disaster ever recorded, but it promises in the long run to be the catalyst to wash out Louisiana corruption for good, or at least for a time. I paid attention while searching for my parents and the slow response was attributed to this: Naquin, a Democrat, backed Jindle, a Republican, in the Governor’s race. Blanco, a Democrat, won, and never forgot what Naquin did. Blanco did not have a channel of communications opened with Bush because of the partisan war between Liberals and Conservatives, which has polarized this country. Blanco had to request Federal Aid, but said she had to do her homework first, to see who would be in control of Federal troops. The Federal Government is in control of Federal Troops, that is the whole idea, and yet for about 4 days the war raged, while hundreds of people perished in the heat. Can’t our leaders set down their own petty differences for the common good? Do they care more for personal gain, welfare, and ego, than for the lives of their fellow Americans?

There is a well known organization based in Berlin who combats international crime and corruption around the world. They are called Transparency International. They too put out a yearly index on perceived corruption, taking an active monitor of 133 countries, giving scores from 0 to 10. Ten is the best. Finland wins hands down with a 9.7, Iceland 9.6, Denmark 9.5, New Zealand 9.5, and Singapore 9.4. Bangladesh is the most corrupt at 1.3, Nigeria 1.4, Paraguay 1.6, and Burma takes the four slot at 1.6.

How did we do? We tied Ireland at 7.5. CCR stated: “Because the Justice Department’s statistics on corruption in the United States have rarely been publicized, the world might not understand the true extent of decay here in the United States.”

They urge that the Justice Department could help curb corruption in the US by increasing its budget for prosecution, and stop withholding information about corruption. “Unshackle the attorneys at the Public Integrity Section and let them speak with reporters and the public about the scourge of public corruption in the United States.”

Should we be ashamed of ourselves here in Louisiana? You bet. It’s not so much that we are the laughing stock of the nation, but that we actually harbor criminals in our system of government. You may be different, but collectively, Louisiana voters are in the Twilight Zone. Louisiana voters know politicians are corrupt and vote for them anyway. Is it possible they vote for them because they are corrupt too, and actually identify with them? Perhaps they are too busy to do the homework necessary to understand what a politician stands for. Perhaps their vote is as shallow as the color of a man’s face, or just vote the party line they knew when their fathers were paying attention fifty years ago. Perhaps they hope that those promises are true, and that their crooked politicians will throw a few crumbs their way, simply because they are from the same city. Louisiana is a joke, mostly, because the majority of our voters are.

The billions given for Katrina relief are not accountable to the Feds. It is in the hands of those whose past is questionable, by deeds, by family ties, and by association. The promised portion of the monies for gambling was originally earmarked for the improvement of our school systems, also ranked second to last in the nation. What happened, and what has changed? Even our TOPS program, one of the few places our kids could compete on a level playing field without race, or economic standing getting in the way, is in jeopardy. Only Mississippi beats us as having the most illiterates, with the least progressive school system found in all the US. Perhaps if a greater part of Louisiana voters knew how to read, they would know better how to vote! Perhaps if a voter’s guide was the ten commandments they would be more selective! Is it possible there is a correlation between literacy and who we have in office? Makes ya’ darn proud, doesn’t it? Golly, we sure do shine!

Connecting dots on the Liberal web in 2005

Connecting dots on the Liberal web in 2005

By: Ken La Rive © 2005

I was told to take this column back for a rewrite because it sounded like I was ranting. I suppose I am. It is a delicate thing to discuss, and we all know that it is amazingly difficult to change a person’s mind. I’m going to try.

When I first started voting in 1966, I was considered a Democrat. I seems that the average Joe back then, the taxpayer, family man, hard working guy, voted Democrat. I’m going to tell you this: The Democratic Party back then hardly resembles the Democratic Party of today. With that said, what is the difference?

I’ll try and explain, but I know I’ll step on a few toes, but this is the truth as I see it.

I’m told by some that there is no such thing as a liberal press. I find this to be almost laughable, if it wasn’t so absurd. Who could not recognize an overwhelming liberal press, especially after this election. Connecting the dots, Democrats equal Liberals, and Republicans equal Conservatism. I have never seen it more polarized in my lifetime! So what is the big deal? It is so important that I actually tremble to tell you!

There are some things you won’t hear in the overwhelming liberal press, the liberal media like CBS, NBC, or ABC, the liberal pay-per-views of Showtime, CineMax, HBO, or Starz, the overwhelming liberal talk radio, ideas projected by music, and Hollywood movies. Ever ask why most all lawyers are at odds with the Bush administration? And then, who and or what is this so called “banking system,” and why is the Euro kicking our butt? Why are Jewish ultra-liberals, typically taking the side of Israel and its expansion into Palestine, so opposed to the war in Iraq, when Moslems are their sworn enemies? Why are blacks now being coerced to take a stand against the war?

I’ll sum it up in one word, money. Okay, I was directed here to make this better understood…

Sure, there are Gentiles and others represented in all of these various medias, but they don’t own them. That is the point. So what slant there is coming from this overwhelming idea farm, comes from the Liberal Jew. Sorry, but it is true. Are they bad people? Not really, just out of date. You see, we no longer need the laws necessary to advance human rights. They are in place. Special interest groups, big business lobbyist, frivolous law suits, and minority whims controlling the masses is no longer suitable, or needed. Fact is, more and more Americans are realizing that they have been voting for the wrong ticket for twenty years! Here is why.

We Christian, Moslems, black and white, have been so brainwashed in this country that we can’t even say the word Jew without feeling shame and guilt. One can be branded anti-Semitic for just saying the word out loud! It fills us with fear, as we go about our everyday lives, wondering why this or that happens. It is against the system to ask questions such as these, and the reasoning behind that religion. Of course there are many other varieties of ultra-liberals, but none more powerful. One can say Christian, or Moslem without much of a gut response, so why does the word “Jew” bring butterflies to our stomachs?

What does the music industry care if what they create has a negative influence on our youth, when they can’t sell enough! What does a banking system care who wins a war, when they are inadvertently financing both sides! Ooh! Did I say that?

Is there an agenda against our Christian values in this country? You bet! So where does it come from?

Some letters and papers from our greatest Founding Fathers are no longer taught in school. Edited, as it is not in vogue to tread on past realities, and seemingly negative ideals... These leaders and revolutionaries saw the danger when one religion or culture grew to dominate another. Why have Christians been persecuted, Moslems slaughtered and run out of Europe, and the Jews been gassed? Because one of these three grew more powerful than the other! We have been at odds with each other for thousands of years. Do you think it has stopped? It has not! But there are plenty of ways to win a war, even a war of ideals. America is no longer the country we first started on Christian principles. It is being systematically wrenched from our hands, and without firing a shot! Pretty smart huh?

Civil Rights in and of itself is a wonderful thing. Laws were implemented to insure that there would be a level playing field. What undermined and perverted this worthy movement was an underlying liberal agenda, and a lot of money was made in the process. The welfare system was originally designed to be a helping hand, not only for black Americans, but for whoever had the need. It was originally a good idea, designed to be temporary. What happened? Three generations became so dependent on those measly peanuts they nearly completely lost their identity! But you see, it is well known that one can capitalize on adversity, so liberals created a playing field giving some an advantage over the other in the form of tax dollar finance for school tuition, open housing, paying for the manufacture of children even out of wedlock, welfare, ADD, and on and on. Along with this came the disintegration of family, pride for a job well done, and drugs, Aids, crime, grew like a cancer from the inner city out, all across America. Pride was displaced, bought and paid by a green government check. Did you know that 80% of the children born today for blacks are out of wedlock? And whites are coming up fast! Do you think this would have been acceptable behavior 50 years ago?

Why? Because the myopic Liberal agenda stimulates dependency... Though they think they are truly moral and justified, accepting this responsibility for their failing is not of their nature. Their ideas are causing spiritual havoc!

Strangely, the thought process that goes into the making of gangster-rap and other variations on that theme, including insensitive violence and sex in television and movies, is not the actual fire that consumes our human spirit. No, that was created by the myopic Ultra-liberal agenda first, and long ago. With the destruction of spirit, something was created to fill the void. You see, when something is broken down, and you have the influential means of building a new structure, you will make it dependant on you! Just as Wal-Mart contributes to our ever growing throw away society, ultra-liberals contribute to our ever growing throw away values, our throw away children, and our throw away souls!

Where once the family attended church together, worked, pooled their resources for the common good from generation to generation, now they are doing crack together... Mothers are buying crack from their own babies! Girls aren’t even sure who the fathers of their many children are, while alcoholism, drugs, and social disease weakens and numbs our American culture more. It is so bad that if a person tries to actually lift themselves up from this debacle of the spirit, to take control and responsibility for their own lives, their neighbors will actually sabotage their success!

So, is it a conspiracy? No, it is the simple mindset that one should and can go after money without consequence, and where the power, the strength, comes from controlling the masses. If attempts to pull the plug on some of these programs prove successful, more pop up to take its place. Now it seems that most everybody’s children have ADD! It is just another ultra-liberal socialistic ploy to keep us subservient! If in fact some children do have ADD, what is the root cause? Could it be that the mother fried the child’s brain along with her own doing smack when pregnant? Why was she pregnant? Why was she doing smack? And why do taxpayers have to pay for this? Who is responsible? Who is making money here? Could it be one more government agency where doctors, lawyers, and legal drug dealers see another avenue of making money? Drugs are so promoted they are now actively advertised on liberal TV! People are so coerced they actually go to the doctor making demands for drugs!

I blame the myopic Ultra-liberal agenda for every social woe in this country for fifty years! It started when we relinquished our personal responsibility, our spiritual reason for being, our pride, as one anti-Christian group entrenched itself into the fabric this nation aspired to have, and so tried to keep. Now, unless we stand together as Christians, we will be forced to accept the ultra-liberal agenda as our own, as if it were an original thought. We will forget that we once aspired to ten simple commandments, which held us all together, and accountable.

Am I ranting?

I watched on TV when Mr. King marched in Selma. He wore a black suit. He stood tall, spoke his mind with conviction and pride. He was promoting equal rights. Today, under our ultra-liberal agenda, a singer will take off her top in front of our children while watching football, gays will march, linked in insalubrious outfits designed to promote their sexuality. They are not marching for equal rights, but for the promotion of a lifestyle that is opposed to our Christian ethics! What should we care what goes on behind closed doors? Judge not! Gays have been around forever! No, it isn’t that they can’t practice sex any way they want, but that we now have to watch them do it! We have to accept it, like it was our idea in the first place! We have to say it is okay, and while we are fighting about it, a lot of money is being made. In the process, my dish did not show Jesus Christ once during Christmas, while gay sexuality like Angels in America, justifiable violence creating heroes out of Mafia Bosses, and immorality like Sex in the City strives to become the new norm. Our children think this is the norm, lesbianism, sex without love, and situational justification for any act. I remember the first time I saw a woman die in a movie, shot through a pillow in the face. I still remember it. Today we watch women killing each other with Samurai swords, bullets, and Kung Fu! Are we so desensitized that we have actually learned to enjoy watching people die!

You will see something constantly played about the horrors of the Holocaust. Sure it was horrible, but neither I nor my family ever owned a slave, nor did we participate in the wholesale killing of Jews. Fact is, every culture on this earth has been victimized. Here is a kicker: a lot of Christians died to free Europe from the yoke of tyrannical oppression. We opened our hearts, our borders, out of Christian ethics. Is this the thanks we get; attempting to take the goodness of the Lord our God from us?

Why are Lawyers so opposed to Conservative values? Ask yourself. Who stands more to gain then when the world is at odds? What self serving arbitrator-solicitor worth his salt wouldn’t see the opportunity of making loop holes in a judicial system he himself designed? Money, the root of all evil, is the guiding hand where the have and the have-nots struggle in a wind made by the powers who own the banks, makes the laws, publishes the media: Hollywood, TV, music, and the written word …our morals, and our minds…

If we don’t check the liberal agenda, our country will go the way of Europe. Religion will shrivel up and die. Churches will be sold off to make expensive condominiums, and we will become a Socialistic State. Even if we can turn it around today, we will continue to pay for these liberal mistakes for several generations.

I’ll tell you this. You’ll know that Liberalism is being thwarted when there is no longer a United Negro College Fund, a Miss Black America, Black Starz, Jet Magazine, and all of the other racist paraphernalia promoted by liberals. You’ll know when frivolous law suits are seen for what they are. You’ll know when a person is judged by who they are inside, and not the color of their skin, and education is a gift for performance, on a level playing field. You will know when some form of work is required to live.

There, it’s said.

America's Beacon of Light...

America’s Beacon of Light…
By: Ken La Rive

I remember my father in law, God rest his soul, as being a highly political activist. I think that one of his biggest disappointments in me was the fact that I cared little for it then. I wanted nothing but to look at life through Kodacolor film, and I thought it was far too difficult and ambiguous to be worthwhile. As I got older and saw the severity of the world, the realization that the only way to change something was to get involved became very apparent. And then, I see that what we are as a nation, that is, how we think, and the way we perceive the world, is filtered through a belief system that is sometimes tainted by our own bias and prejudice, and then I never understood the saying ‘America, right or wrong.’ If we are to engage with an enemy, we must think of ourselves as being right, and I know that even the minor skirmishes of high school is a testament to this. I never won a fight where I knew I was wrong. So too, if we engage our forces for the good of America only, without regard to who is hurt, those innocents who suffer is the blood on our hands.

I love America, and the idea of America and its Constitution that materialized from our founding father’s dream. It is indeed the closest to true democracy any nation has ever come to in this world. Those here in Scotland tell me that Americans are known to be a warm and generous people, confident in the knowledge that they are free citizens in the greatest nation on earth, and that America is founded on the principles of democracy and freedom of the individual. Our borders are open, our security lax, because we trust that we are perceived to be a precious jewel, and a beacon of light for the rest of the world. As I was caught on the outside looking in when this horror hit America, I saw it from a different perspective. I would like to share it with you…

Imagine a situation where terrorist action kills a large number of people, and that these terrorists are sponsored and financed by a foreign state. Most would agree that the country that has lost its citizens would be justified in treating the terrorist action as an act of war by the foreign state, and in taking reprisal action against that foreign state.

Now change the situation just slightly. Suppose that it was not a state that financed the terrorists, but individuals who, running contrary to their country’s attitude to the terrorist group, gave financial aid to that terrorist organization, who then used this money to purchase the material necessary to commit the terrorist act. What should the offended-against country do in this situation? It is debatable whether they should treat the atrocity as an act of war by the financiers’ country. Would they be justified in sending in delta force style troops to assassinate the financiers? (Brace yourself!)

Would the British government be justified in sending assassins to the US, taking out American citizens who actively raised money for the Irish Republican Army, under the various guises that this organization uses in America? Now I have heard that some Irish Americans were duped into donating money, not understanding that the funding was for the overthrow of the British Government there. But I am assured here that most there knew full well what they were doing, and then, ignorance is no excuse, even if the lie was bold-faced.

The US government could attack Afghanistan, in order to ‘get’ Osama Bin Laden, and punish the Afghan people for allowing him to spew out his hatred of America, (which amendment to the US constitution was it that protected free speech again?). But is it right for Americans to exercise their right to free speech by openly supporting a terrorist organization in the UK, with an amendment to the Constitution protecting their right to do so, but wrong for Afghans to exercise their right to free speech by listening to, and even agreeing with, Osama Bin Laden??

It could be argued that the USA’s blind support for the actions of the Israeli government has stimulated and created that government’s complete disregard for the rule of law when it comes to Palestinians individual rights and freedoms, and has allowed the moderate voices of most Muslims to be drowned out by the shout of militant terrorists. It cannot be right that Israel replies to acts of terrorism with illegal incursions into Palestine. No arraignment of suspects, no trial, no guilty verdict, just an eye for an eye, and somebody, anybody, in Palestine dies at the hand of the Israeli army acting under the orders of a legally constituted government. Every time a Palestinian farmer is peremptorily pushed off his land by the Israeli military to make room for yet another Israeli settlement (against United Nations Resolutions), another possible suicide bomber is recruited by Hamas!

No matter how we see it, the people who flew those airplanes into the World Trade Center felt completely justified in their own minds to do it. I believe that these acts were barbarous and directly against the teachings of the faith that these people profess, however, we need to understand the reasoning and the justification that drives these people. It is evident to me that we should first attempt to know the mind of our enemies, as indeed they are, before a correct reaction is formulated. At this point we should use our heads instead of our bombs, as it should be evident to all by now while looking at the actions of Israel, where each act of terrorism is followed by government sponsored reprisal, only leads to more Israelis dying from yet another suicide bomber.

America should certainly use its vast intelligence organizations to gather evidence against the organizers of these terrible acts and to bring them to justice. What would be unacceptable to the rest of the world would be for the US to use its awesome weaponry to bomb a foreign country in the hope that they ‘get’ the perpetrators, with zero risk to American personnel, and hideous risk to the innocent populous of that country. The temptation to use overwhelming force is almost irresistible, but we should beware of the consequences for the people of America. The mujahadeen of Afghanistan resisted the full might of the Russian army for many years with fanatical dedication, and would go to any length to exact revenge for an attack on their country. If America is not to become a fortress, with much greater security and limitations on personal freedom than now exist, there can be no guarantees against a recurrence of a tragedy similar to that of recent times.

There are no easy solutions to this problem of world terrorism, but lack of military action does not equate with weakness. Lack of proper investigation and police work to determine who the organizers are, and the absence of ensuing prosecution of the perpetrators, would certainly show weakness. Consideration should also be given to the idea that any guilty parties should be tried for crimes against humanity in The Hague, with the war crimes tribunal acting as the court. This would give the fanatics no cause to blame America for any convictions and would show them that the whole world condemned their actions and that it wasn’t just America acting like the school playground bully, as is thought in parts of the world. For this to happen, America would have to subscribe fully to the idea of world justice, and allow its own citizens to be tried, if guilty of crimes against humanity, in this same court. Americans have got to learn to have trust in this system of world justice, which, at the moment, can apply to all citizens of the world apart from a few rogue states – and America, who do not recognize the court. The world is now a global village, and we depend on one another. If this world is not to descend into total war and barbarism (which would suit these terrorists), we need someone to take a lead, and to act in a way that is rational and just. Jesus said, “Forgive those who offend against you”. This does not preclude the use of justice, but does preclude revenge.

The relatives of the dead are grieving. Their hurt is almost unbearable. Just like Palestinian and Israeli mothers grieving over their dead children and husbands, they must inevitably be angry, and wish for revenge. But, as we ask the Palestinian and Israeli mothers to put aside their grief, in order to try and break the dreary cycle of violence, we must also ask the grieving American relatives to take pause before embarking on a course of action, which will, as sure as the sun rises with the morning, lead to greater and greater hurt. Ask the people of Northern Ireland, whether they prefer the compromise that now exists in that country between the warring factions, to the dreadful bomb-filled days of yesteryear.

Katrina, and the axe with red ribbon

Katrina, and the axe with red ribbon
By: Ken La Rive

My parents, LeRoy and “Billy” LaRive, were tenacious and strong willed Cajuns. They survived many hurricanes in Old Gentilly New Orleans, pounded by both wind and flood. At 85 they thought this would just be another one.

Nothing could get them to leave, the many phone calls from family and friends, or police going directly to their front door. They didn’t see the possibility of how bad it could get, and told every person who called a different game plan, whatever they wanted to hear. In the past Saint Raphael Church on Elysian Fields Avenue had been considered high ground, and parking cars on the neutral ground across the street had always been sufficient. This time it was not.

At first it looked as if the storm’s effects had passed with the eye, and several phone calls reveled that they had weathered it fine. A few hours later the levee broke, inundating the area with over ten feet of water. No one ever heard from them again.

A few days later a picture was found in the Lafayette paper of a boatload of people who had supposedly been taken from rooftops. My entire family agreed it was them in that picture, but the trail grew cold as they were picked up on Robert E. Lee Boulevard and brought to I-10/610. Friends and family searched the internet for listings of names, but we had no word from them, nor were their names, to this very day, compiled on any list.

At the time of this writing, October 7, 2005, their bodies have not yet been properly identified. A few days ago we got a call from “Family Finders” saying that they thought they had found my father by an ID he had on his person. It is also possible that my mother is there, as a Chaplin said there was also a “Jane Doe” with no identification. They requested my DNA, and this alone will take two weeks. We are not allowed to view the bodies, or see the Coroner’s report until a funeral home picks them up for embalming. So far, there is no one who can tell us if there will be an autopsy, though on the news last night it was said that all elderly bodies will be, and a time of death will be difficult to attain. It is our hope that we can trace just what happened, but all indications are that they were transported without documentation, lost in the mad shuffle. I try not to think about what their last moments together was like, how they ended up together, and speculation can drive you insane.

Since all of my dad’s personal information was destroyed by water, our memories are the only tools we first had. We knew little or nothing about what insurance he had, a burial plan, or anything of his assets.

At the time of this writing Gentilly is still inaccessible. A few days ago I woke up again at 2:00 thinking about all possibilities, haunted by faces. I packed a sledge hammer from my garage, my hard hat and safety boots, and headed to New Orleans on September 26, 2005. I was determined. I stopped for a BLT sandwich, a cup of coffee, and got on I-10. Traffic was moving at around 80mph and I kept up. Past Baton Rouge the pace increased to a bit over 90 mph, bumper to bumper, with weaving tail-gators. My mind swam with the last three weeks, and the three households living with us from St. Bernard who had lost everything, and suddenly I started feeling sick. Large mouth-fulls of bile came up and I spit them out of the window. The white sports car riding my bumper pulled back. After about ten of these I started feeling a bit better.

Suddenly, I was in Metairie. Lights were on, and in the half-light of 05:00 it didn’t look that damaged. Traffic went well until Bonneville, and then abruptly stopped. For an hour we crept forward, and finally saw large blinding directional spotlights over the interstate. I surmised that to be the check point. I spoke to several other men in trucks next to me and they were all trying to get to St. Bernard. WWL radio was saying there was a mix-up between NO officials and State Police, and that the corridor to St. Bernard was closed. What’s new! Every one of these men was very angry and frustrated. When I finally got to the lights a huge New Orleans cop with folded arms answered my request to enter Gentilly, with, “No, not today.” Those who were turned down for St. Bernard filled the side of the road and all parking lots, waiting for a decision…

I exited and entered Metairie, thinking I may find a back way into Gentilly. Both Veterans and I-10 was backed up, so I drove all the way to the Lakefront without a problem. Several police cars blocked the bridge over a levee, so I parked and walked over to them. I singled out one with a kind face and told him my story of trying to get into my father’s house for the paperwork we will need to bury them. Though standoffish in the beginning he warmed up, telling me that getting in was pending, and a week away. I tried with ten cops to escort me but no one would. I asked him if he was in the city during the storm, and he got very emotional. Tears flowed down his cheeks as he told me about the bodies, the looting, and the damage to the city he loved. He explained to me that the two officers who committed suicide had other problems in their lives, and this was just too much for them to handle. He got choked up talking about that too, and I realized this man was very drawn and tired. A truck driver came up and gave each of us a bag of beignets and powdered sugar, and we ate them wafting the smells of rotten garbage and seawater, while swishing away huge black flies. I remember when one would land on their skin; they would jump like being electrocuted. I thanked him for his time, knowing I would never be allowed entrance here, and traveled as far as I could to Downtown, blocked by cement and sand bags, then made a huge circle back to Veterans. I was not let through. There I met a man waiting in a parking lot who was trying to organize his crew to meet up in Gentilly. We talked about his company from another state coming down to help in the cleanup, and I thanked him for helping out. Suddenly he looked at me hard and said “I have an idea!” He went to his front seat and pulled out an extra pass given to his company, and had me sign my name along with his. “Here, betcha’ this will do it.” I thanked him several times, not believing this stroke of luck, and as I got into my car he yelled out: “Sorry about your folks.”

Leaving that parking lot I immediately found an open gas station and filled up, then proceeded to I-10 for a brazen third attempt to get in. I-610 was now open and traffic flowed through, finally, a corridor to Chalmette. A line was formed at the Elysian Fields exit and I waited about a half hour as we crept along. Suddenly it moved faster, and a young black woman police officer barely looked at the paper and waved me through. I descended the ramp into hell.

How many thousands of times have I exited here? But what I came upon was like a nuclear holocaust, and unrecognizable. Except for a few linemen trucks and police cars the place was entirely deserted, lifeless, dead. Everyone ignored me.

I looked at the houses and saw that the water had risen to four feet here, but as I kept getting closer to the lake it got deeper. The devastation was oppressive. Every plant was dead, and the once beautiful old trees on the neutral ground were uprooted in piles, or crashed through heavy terracotta roofs, the hallmark of design in this community. It seemed like every window and door was a dark cave, and the houses empty shells. The smell of death, putrid and rotten gagged me, and flies came into my open window. One was jet black with a light red head, almost human. I saw sprayed florescent marking on every house, an X indicating the day it was checked and if any bodies were inside. That was the only color I remember, as everything had a cast of gray, even in full sun. There was no sound, no hum of life but for the crackle of a radio way off in the distance. I heard a kind of sobbing, and realized it was coming from me.

By the time I reached St. Raphael the water level on the side of the buildings topped 10 feet. I made my turn down Prentice and a left on Marigny, where I had quietly walked home from school so many years ago, and parked in front of my parent’s home. I stood in the street putting on my boots, and studied the area. It was too much to take in, as everything was glazed in gray mud, and piled upon each other. I can describe it no other way. A squirrel was sitting on a telephone line with its head up against the post, it didn’t move from the time I arrived or left. I think it was dead. A bright orange cat scurried across the street close to the ground and disappeared. Suddenly I got sick again and got rid of the beignet in fit after fit of nausea.

Through the threshold, where so many memories had entered and left, was now mounds of soggy, rotting cushions and furniture piled against the walls. I saw footprints and realized it must have been the rescue workers trying to determine if they were still in the attic. The florescent markings on the front stucco said “0” then 9/9, so no bodies were found on that date.

I started exploring from one room to another but started gagging again. I went back to the car with the idea of using some aftershave I keep on the dash to splash on my beard and hair. It worked.

Slowly the gravity of this moment hit home, and as I searched for the strong box that had my father’s important papers, I understood my parents for the first time, from a horrific perspective. The same encyclopedias and the yearbooks that ended in 1967 were swollen with water, still in the same original place so long ago. The water had risen several inches into the attic, and the melted sheetrock had fallen on top of everything, with dirty pink insulation hanging like flayed skin. In the hall I found a small hand axe with a red ribbon around it, and a claw hammer with its handle wrapped in electrical tape, leaning against the wall. It hit me that my father had told my brother in the last phone call that he had a way through a vent on the roof in case of a flooding. The ribbon was just like my father, his country heritage. He wanted to find it in the dark, or with a flash light. Very practical.

His chest of drawers were swollen tight, and I felt emotions I can’t describe as I battered them open with my sledge. I took everything from his top drawer and realized that this was his most cherished possessions. Children’s teeth, old knives belonging to his father and grandfather, clay marbles from his youth, disintegrating holy pictures commemorating the death of a loved one, service medals, old watches, rosaries, coins, nitroglycerin pills, belt buckles, straight razors from his barbering, trinkets and little colored rocks from memories lost forever. There on my mother’s dresser were boxes of baby pictures turned to black mush, and a plastic oriental statue that had taken the same position for forty years, now lay on the floor.

I had to move the bed and a pile of chair cushions to get to their closets. I broke a window with my sledge to get some air, and realized with a shock that I hadn’t even tried to open it. I saw the bars they had put up so long ago because of the growing crime in that area, and my reason for moving to Acadiana. New Orleans was their home and they would never leave it, never again. The closet was drenched but untouched, and his collection of western boots sat in rows. I took a bayonet he had placed for easy accessibility, and wondered at what kind of world would make it necessary to place a weapon for easy reach, even behind the safety of barred windows. A lot of thoughts rushed through my head, and I was a bit overwhelmed by them. My father had taught me long ago that men do not cry, men say “ouch!” and I stood in the middle of their bedroom choking them back, every one. He would have been proud.

I found some papers in the attic that has proved valuable in determining where they are to be buried, insurance, and so forth, and piled that in the back of my car. Along with that I took an old bowl my grandmother had given us, their marriage silverware, a few other memorabilia worth nothing but a memory, and that rusty hammer and the axe with the red ribbon on it.

Sounds so simple now, but at the time I could see that what lay in this muck was the tangible things they had acquired during their life, and most was unrecoverable. What I carried to my car amounted to about twenty pounds. Twenty tangible pounds with memories attached. Not their memories mind you, but my own, and though I have washed them, and will keep them through my life, I realize that all that was worthwhile in their lives is now found in the House of God.

Anti-Zionism and a cup of sweet coffee

Anti-Zionism and a cup of sweet coffee
By: Ken LaRive
In my travels to Europe and the Middle East, including France, Spain, England, Tunisia, and Saudi Arabia, no religion or culture of people seem so hated as Israel’s Zionist Jews. I think of myself as a free entity while traveling. My thirst for knowledge, understanding, and yes, acceptance, has led me to go where few Christian Americans have.

Not really an opinion here, just something I found interesting and noteworthy.

I’ve been called names in my Navy uniform in Hong Kong, and “American Imperialist Pig.” still rings in my ears... I don’t think America is Imperialistic, unless you consider big international business.

It wasn’t until the town of Hofuf, in Saudi, right over the border of Qatar, where I felt the most dissension. On a nearly deserted street, in broad daylight, someone yelled from a cafe door across the street, “American Zionist!” I glanced through my Ray Bans, not turning my head, a travel survival trick I’ve learned, and saw a man in traditional white Arabian clothing leaning against the door.

On a spur-of-the-moment decision I turned and walked toward him, while looking into his face. I saw three things: a bit of uncertainty, a feign of humor, and the most evident, abject hate. It glared from his eyes and mouth like an evil ray. I know the latter well, being raised in the racially torn New Orleans’ sixties. So I felt no fear of this man.

I took my glasses off and gave him a wide smile, seeing more uncertainty. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” I said.

I don’t have the space to tell you all that I learned in the 40 or so minutes we sat drinking super sweet coffee in sticky cups.

In essence, he believed that Israel was the catalyst for war in the Middle East, along with America’s need for oil. He told me of several movements not known by most Americans, and I copied these names in my pipe tally book.

The first one he mentioned was: The Palestine Solidarity Movement (PSM): It is an organization that brings together primarily university-affiliated anti-Israel groups, and they are located all around the US.

Another was called: The Justice in Palestine Coalition. He mentioned San Francisco, and something called the American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee, where words like “Israeli Socialism” and “Anti-Zionism” kept repeating.

There is little more I can remember but that he was passionate to tears, thought himself righteous, and bought the coffee.

Hitler's salesmanship, and potty training

Hitler’s salesmanship, and potty training
By: Ken La Rive

We learned to be salesmen early on. It all started when we needed and looked for our first meal, and then a little later on when our diaper needed changing. It wasn’t something we consciously thought about, at least not back then, because we have in all of us God given talents that helps us get what we want and need, and as time goes by we have used each and every one. A cute little pout, a piercing cry, a red faced grunt, a smile, or later when we learned the universal mantra of: “mama, mama, mama, maaaama!” It got us all a bit of the attention we wanted, and in our own minds, what we deserved.

It was of course a grand process of trial and error, as some of attention came back to us in the form of a correction, or a counter pitch. But never mind, because we soon learned well from these experiences, and with it, how to deal with life, and survive. As time went on, our sales ability became refined, more complicated, and subtle. So subtle in fact, that our salesmanship is sometimes purely unconscious.

We all know that life is constantly in a state of change. Sure, life marches on, and change promotes growth, and adventure too. As we grow older, how we deal with life surely has to change too. And yet, the basic sales ability and technique we learned that very first day still remains with us, and still applies.

Basically, you must admit, selling was first motivated by selfishness. We wanted something, and because we had a limited amount of bargaining power, our asking took an imbalanced form. We were actually trying to get something for nothing, something undeniably intangible. What is a cute coy smile, an aggravating or relentless verbal assertion, the smell of potty, worth? Well, it was surely somewhat balanced by a parent’s love, but in the process we tried every trick, and learned what worked and what didn’t.

Later, however, as we matured into adulthood, some began to realize that the most rewarding kind of selling was one where there was a balanced exchange. The easiest way to get want you want was to give the other person what they wanted. Barter! Unfortunately, some still don’t get it, and our prisons are full of them.

But then, again by trial and error, we learned that if we want to continue, one transaction after another, we must give quality consistently. In that way the other person will come back time and time again. Repeat business, so you will. With this a business is born and grown. Suddenly, it was found, that if you concentrated more on what the other person wanted and needed, and not your own, your needs would inadvertently also be met. It was found that a true winning salesman concentrated on the giving. That was where the true gratification came. What a concept!

Don’t believe me? Look around at all of the really successful people in the world. They did nothing without the help and stimulation of others. Great musical artists, software programmers, manufacturers and builders, all give something that people will stand in line to get. It might be something intangible too, like an evangelist on TV telling you to put your hand on the screen to be heeled, and to send a check ASAP. It could come in tangible forms like a new blood test for cancer, snake-oil tonic to stimulate hair growth, or a new black market chip so you can catch all the TV stations, including pay per view, for free.

There are no bounds to the capacity of salesmanship. Whole countries can go to war by the salesmanship of their leader. Men will go to their deaths, some even gladly, because of what they learned in a sales seminar, also called a war briefing. Some will even give up their immortal souls.

A so-called terrorist is a prime example of salesmanship run amuck, and the pitch started so early that they now think it is an original thought: to blow up innocents, and themselves, for the cause. The primary problem here, as I see it, is that there will be no repeat business, and talk about selfishness? What they are getting in return are virgins in the kingdom of heaven? Come now. It takes one hell of a sales job to talk men into dying for something so nebulous. What faith has to be promoted? …blind faith! So…

So the point here is that salesmanship comes with a moral responsibility attached. If the thought of the client isn’t the primary purpose for the exchange, it is wrong. An example of this I still think about today, even after more than thirty years. I needed a simple thermostat for my mustang while driving through the desert of west Texas. Two station boys told me that I needed new shocks, that mine would make the drive to California unsafe, and that we might loose control. I knew they were lying, and told them to take my car down from the lift. I paid for that thermostat, and on my way out saw them laughing their heads off. They were lucky I had my new bride of one day in the car. Surely, dotting their eyes would have put a damper on our day, but I still wish I had. Making my wife feel even the remote possibility of fear, for the sale of two shocks?

Finally, remember that your salesmanship has consequences. What you give, what you sow, is what you will receive. A selfish salesman will win a few, but it will always come back on him. It is kind of a law of nature, I suppose. Yep, men knew it back in the halls of Babylon, the jungle of Vietnam, and from Hitler’s podium. We are a product of it every time we turn on the TV set, have a business meeting, or choose a restaurant for supper. Somehow, everything we do or say has been influenced by the sale, one way or the other. Becoming aware of it can be the difference between freedom and brainwashing slavery of the will.

Question why we do things, and the sales pitch will raise its head. It has to, because believe it or not, it makes us who we are.

New Orleans: Loving memories of a place distroyed

New Orleans: loving memories of a place destroyed

By: Ken LaRive

My travels back to New Orleans since Katrina shows only fragile skeletal remains in my old Gentilly neighborhood, and the people who were the heart and soul of that city are gone.

Running through the center of our world was Elysian Fields Avenue, and it was truly the perfect name. Laced on every side by massive live oaks, I drove my 66’ Mustang with the love of my life as co-pilot, and she still is. Her face was lit by the moment as we laughed and sang the tunes of WTIX and WNOE. They are memories deeply buried, and my most cherished possessions.

Ponchartrain Beach was kicking full swing in the 60’s, and as I lived just 10 blocks away, I knew every midway crack. Twice a night, at 19:00 and 22:00 there was a live show from the roof of the beach concession stand. Everything from diving donkeys, popular singers, Magicians, and dancers in colorful costume, created a true variety show. Men would direct high powered lights from long polls on the stage, amazing a thousand spellbound kids.

On the brackish breeze that blew over the seawall and beach were the sounds of children’s laughter. The tic-tic-tic of the Zephyr going up its wooden frame, turnstiles clinking coins, and the glass encased fortune teller who moved and spoke magically for a nickel, still lingers in my memory. The electric shock on the penny arcade’s hand-lever determined if we were man enough, and the air spray from the floor of the haunted house blew up summer dresses all in fun. There are, at least, a million smaller recollections, and all are still alive in our collective dimension of memory. On the now barren tarmac, lovers still stroll arm and arm, and in my minds eye I can still see my sister Cindy running with a great fluff of pink cotton candy, almost as large as she was.

I’m not alone in my memories, and though we are all displaced by both time and tragedy, those moments still live on in our minds. There is an eco blowing in the few palm trees to have survived there, at the base of Elysian Fields: “At the beach, at the beach, at Ponchartrain Beach, you’ll have fun; you’ll have fun; every day of the week!” You see, the old days are still alive, and they fad in and out of our daily lives no matter where we find ourselves. New Orleans is gone but not forgotten.

Recycling, water, and the Chinese tiger

Recycling, water, and the Chinese tiger

By: Ken LaRive

While Maddy and I were sitting in a stupor in the Atlanta airport last week, an obscure reporter talked about recycling and the safety of Atlanta’s drinking water on one of the TV monitors. Several things he said got my attention.

Government testing shows drinking water all around the US to be the same water quality as anything sold in a bottle. Taste was one primary reason people are hooked to drink bottled water, along with secondary health concerns. Mostly, it is an acquired taste of a specific blend of minerals, and without it water tastes bland.

The second surprise was the amount of plastic bottles being discarded in this amazing water-guzzling phenomenon. It is still a growing industry, as soft drinks beat water sales three to one in the beverage industry.

Can Americans be made to reduce plastic consumption, to reuse containers when feasible, or to recycle? Mostly, for the individual American, it seems doubtful.

We are known the world over as energy gluts, and a self-proclaimed throw away society.

Linda Sivertsen introduced Mr. Kreigh Hampel in the July 2007 issue of Sky Magazine. He runs one of California’s most successful recycling centers right outside of Burbank.

His primary achievements come out of a real paradoxical box. Being on the west coast, he watches the constant stream of full containers coming in from China, and leaving empty. It costs just 600USD to ship to China from the US, and about 4000USD to ship from China to the US. They accept about 80 percent of what the Burbank center produces, filling otherwise empty containers with aluminum, steel, and plastic cubes that would go back empty. Smart fortune cookies?

China is so hungry for raw materials that recycling is a viable market. They run it like any profit driven business, thinking out of the proverbial box. Lafayette Consolidated Government (LCG) Environmental Quality Division might want to consider Mr. Hampel’s proven success.

In China, developing mechanical separation on a grand scale is slow because labor is cheep. They get their hands dirty. Here in America we have developed imaginative and expensive separating machines, run by highly paid “technicians” with clean hands. Unable to compete, our salvage and recycling bottom line is as red as a Chinese tiger laughing in its sleep. China grows strong stealing our creative ideas, feeds on our refuse, and uses people as an expendable commodity, and with our inhibitive Western humanitarian sensibilities as guide, competition is no contest. They are winning. Oh, you don’t think it is a contest?

Finding strength in the face of death

Finding strength in the face of death

By Ken LaRive

Funerals are inspiring to me. Nothing brings home the true meaning of life more. When someone stands up in eulogy, there is a charge of electricity in the air. Those moments of silence while attempting composure, the shaking hands, the tears from already swollen eyes, brings on an empathy from deep inside, but it is much more than that...

It is more than the loss, or even the realization of how much just one moment of life is worth. It is more then the indomitable changes that are hard to understand, or justify, or resolve. It isn’t the questions that hang above us all as we sit there looking at the shell that held such a precious soul.

“Why?” ...we ask in a whispered sigh. Lingering hugs, a held hand, eye contact, and well though out words seem to always fall short... So overwhelmingly powerful is the loss of a loved one that nothing anyone can say or do has much effect at the time.

But a funeral seems mostly a focal point, a pivot between shock and the grieving process. It is to a degree an attempt to say goodbye, but a funeral has no conclusion. For those who greave, it is just a glimmer of what lay ahead. The true gravity of the loss hits home later. It is subtle and personal, a blend of past memory, the pain of loss, an uncertain future, and reconciliation where even the foundations of faith are questioned.

What pains there must be to find their fingerprints on the refrigerator, or the scent of them on a pillow? What could grip a heart more but to hear their voice on an answering machine, or a glimpse of their picture on the mantle? But then, what bitter strength it must take to actually wipe away those fingerprints? How can one delete a voice, or give away clothes?

It seems that those who find the most solace, who are able to smile even in the face of death, are those who find two things, and they well up from great loss and overpowering tragedy alike... Having little regret for a life well lived calms the spirit..., but true strength comes to those who simply place it all in the hands of God. No matter how broken is a heart, it will mend quickly when God resides there. Faith is stronger than anything, even death.

Funerals bring people together to remind us how fleeting life is, and those who shared the experience your best connection to it.

Acadian heritage runs strong in our veins

Acadian heritage runs strong in our veins

By Ken LaRive

I am an Acadian, and my heritage runs deep in my veins. I am proud of my people, and though I speak in a slightly different New Orleans accent, I am a Cajun.

Records say that some of my ancestors did not come from Nova Scotia, but directly from France, and so I feel a tie there too. Of all the places I have lived in this world, Lafayette I call home.

Lafayette is the ‘paradise’ of this state, and for many reasons. Along with our brother Texas, we fuel the lion’s share of energy, and our French Heritage is the building blocks, the cornerstone, the backbone of what makes Lafayette.

I fled the crime of New Orleans because I wanted to raise my family in a place where my values were important to others...

The first day I moved to these parts I got a flat on Ridge Road. I wasn’t out of my car for a moment when a truckload of boys pulled over and jumped out. They were tall athletic types, and moved deliberately to where I stood on the side of the road.

I thought they were going to take my wallet, maybe my life, and I cussed myself for leaving my gun on the front seat. This is what New Orleans had made of me. To survive, one had to be on constant guard, fearful, and forever vigilant.

One guy walked past me and put out a reflective sign for safety, and another one said: “No need to get your suit dirty sir.” I remember the flood of emotion that swept over me as I watched these fine young Cajun boys change my tire. It was done in a practiced moment, and they waved good-by, not accepting the twenty dollars I held out. They seemed almost offended by the offer.

Lafayette: I see the same crime, the same corruption, the same negligence that strangled New Orleans attempting to take hold here, and though deep in my heart I am fearful that it could happen again, when I think of those young Cajun boys I feel better. This area is just too strong to take. Not to worry, the Acadian culture was born from hard times and struggle, and will long endure. No way will it ever be given away or compromised!

The savvy strength of our Acadian ancestors was legendary in this country, ask the Spanish, and our Napoleonic Law is a testament to their tenacity. Our kids are cut from the same cloth.

A New Year dawns befor the fire 2008

A New Year dawns before the fire

By Ken LaRive

The New Year signals a time of reflection. Amid family gatherings, children show us the world with new eyes and wonder. Cold and wet outside, we sit before the fireplace and ponder both last year’s accomplishment and future possibilities. With giggles and colored blurs all around me, I look into the flames and dream...

A French trip reveled to me that Europeans, with little or no standing army, is being overrun by Islam. The Christian Faith is being dissected by Socialist-neo-seculars, with churches sold as high-end condominiums, and artifacts up for the highest bidder.

In New York I found few Americans, with residents receiving Katrina hurricane relief, promoted by Hillary Clinton. Emigrants pour into New York, and anti-American multi-culturalists encourage emigrants and their families to retain their native cultures, destroying our “melting pot”, and Balkanizing our nation.

In India I saw poor living conditions, but a culture rich in diversity and a strong working Democracy. Next door in Pakistan 75% of the women incarcerated were there because they were raped. The misinterpreted law of Mohammed makes the case hard to prove, so it seems, and the fear that Israel will attack Iran, and the al-Qaida assassination of Bhutto fills their world...

In Belgium I watched President Bush on local TV get a rock star ovation by our American troops in Iraq, but nothing was said of it in The States. That concerns me.

I laughed at high oil prices here in Lafayette, as for the first time in 15 years we are over the 1000 rig-mark, with exploration up 35%.

Little arms circle my neck for a kiss, breaking my contemplation, and I concentrate on the little toddler trying to crawl up on my lap. I smile and hold them tight, but there is a sinking feeling I can’t shake.

I think that there is an entity that finances both sides to war, and cares not who wins. Not a conspiracy, but a mindset. I watched the old movie, “On the Beach” the other night, and got emotional several times. It’s about the end of the world. It shows the beauty of a sunset, a mother and child, the simple life of ordinary people, and how easily it would be to end. We must find a leader to bring us into the 21 century.

There seems a lot at stake with the possibility of liberal Socialism and secularism knocking on our door. What’s at stake? I’d say just about everything we know.

Akin to road rage is a parallel realm...

Akin to road rage is a parallel realm, a zone of civil responsibility

By Ken LaRive

Sidelines show people still question why Camellia Boulevard is 35 mph. Some say they feel “road rage” when driving on it. Well, I have a parallel feeling akin to that, and what separates us is just a simple point of view.

Here we are ...a beautiful sun-shiny morning. The sky is blue and crisp, crystal-clear with a hint of chill. Know that kind of day?

Even on one of the most safely designed roads, paid for by our tax dollars, the blood and sweat of Louisiana and our father’s dreams, we find ourselves driving on Camellia with several thoughtless people. In spite of Camellia’s positive intent, officers risk their lives every day to enforce the law.

Our laws didn’t just spontaneously spring up; they were hard won. They were forged by righteous crusades, stimulated by the memories of horrific and tragic traffic accidents. These laws are designed for our safety and security, but something much more: the strength of hope, and peace of mind.

What comfort is there, and what little thanks some give? Where else are there laws in place to bring us from the pit of chaos to the mountain of reason? America is so special, so amazingly beautiful, and yet those lawbreakers who endanger the rest are tolerated to the point of absurdity.

Ever think about the complicated processes, and the thousands of years of formulation to get us to this place in 2008? I’m not talking just about a soldier’s blood for liberty; but loving ideals that took us out of the proverbial darkness of our minds.

Law defines us, and the more serious one takes law, the greater love and respect he has for the good in men and our very civilization as well.

Laughing children with pets, grandparents... tricycles, training wheels, and little orange flags on red bikes with baskets in front and infant seats in back, defines Camellia Boulevard, and all of that is just five feet from the curb!

I watch the speeders, tailgaters, telephone users, and drunks ...all oblivious to it... insensitive to compassion or empathy. Inconsiderately, they preen and prep, weave and speed to the next red light.

Yes, the stage parallel to rage, where there is no need for adrenalin and testosterone, lays a fragile realm, a zone called civil responsibility. For those few, that zone is seemingly not understood or appreciated. We might laugh, or even feel sorry for them, if they weren’t so dangerous.

Where is the movement big Al told us about?

Where is the movement big Al told us about?

By Ken LaRive

Remember the panic when we turned 2000? Some thought the clocks in computers would shut the entire civilized world down. A few people moved to the mountains for that night, listening to the possibilities of a vivid imagination, and a dubious press. Software companies made a fortune, and had a good laugh too, because nothing happened.

There are many people around the world who think global warming is not only real, but listening to Al Gore, we Americans are primarily at fault. Looking at statistical trends only in place a hundred years there are predictions for the rising waters of a polar meltdown, to the trigger of another Ice Age. In the background there are scientists who speak of sun spots, and changing iron-nickel magma cores that reverse north south polarities, but they get little press.

Instead, with a Nobel Peace Prize under his belt, Mr. Gore demands Government intervention to curb this projected cataclysmic event, from recycling, smaller cars, even trying to stymie the industrial revolutions in India and China, both moving from a bike to a moped society...

There is one way to prove your assertions Mr. Gore, practice what you preach. You and your followers should give up your fine homes, jet airplanes, SUVs, and all modern conveniences, and form a commune where this thought process can become reality. Don’t use fertilizer, or insecticides, or plastic bottles, or the combustion engine. You have to also quit eating meat, because gas from cows is a problem too, so you say.

Do what is right Al, and lead by example.

You are a great leader Mr. Gore, and so insightful too! Use your charismatic and profound qualities to walk your talk. I’m sure there will be millions who will follow suit, and we would find out once and for all if what you have been saying has any relevance.

It shouldn’t take very long, and once the figures prove your point there would be a whole movement where even your UN Scientists will get involved. You’ll find them on the lecture circuit, and I’m sure they would donate that money for the cause. What could they buy with money anyway, a mud house with no electricity? Perhaps it could be used to drill the community well, oh, but that will have to be done by hand. Mexicans could help, as your open border policies will deliver plenty of hard workers who would do what you wouldn’t, or couldn’t.

It’s about survival, Al... Please, show us the way!

Socialistic Economists on a razor's edge

Socialistic Economists on a razor’s edge

By Ken LaRive

My wife and I have been in the import business for almost ten years. In that time we have watched the US dollar shrink 77 percent against the Euro. Concerned? You Bet. Even with limited and biased facts, it seems evident that when the Euro is strong it is a seller’s market. That means exports from the US should be cost-effective. European imports are stymied!

I have talked with other importers far larger and savvy about this problem and they all push it aside with the same optimism: that the Euro is artificially bolstered by bogus numbers, and there will be a correction soon. It hasn’t happened, so I continue to delve into the question why.

With 27 years in the oil-patch, ten of it internationally, I see high oil prices the result of this dramatic drop in the dollar. Now that doesn’t mean Europeans are paying less at the pump. Their Communistic/Socialistic tax systems, the same kind Democrats are proposing this election makes their pump prices three to four times as much as ours.

One myth is almost an urban legend: that inflation is under control and being fought by the Federal Reserve. Fact is, when interests rates are low, inflation grows, and has been out of control now for about as long as the declining dollar. Is there a correlation?

Policy-makers want inflation because it shrinks the national debt, 1 trillion under Reagan to a staggering +8.2 trillion today!

Inflation is good for those in debt, but terrible for the creditor and retired folk on fixed incomes, and how do you think world investors view a shrinking dollar? Frightened and disillusioned might be an understatement.

Debt and inflation: razor-edged concepts of Washington’s economists.

Want to finish us off? Vote for Socialized medicine. Nuevo-Socialists, like you and me, will flip the bill with higher taxes, easily paid with our individual ‘Real ID’, and perfectly at home in our utopian New World Order.

Perhaps you are not a liberal after all

Perhaps you are not a liberal after all
By Ken LaRive

It was liberals who spit on us returning from Vietnam. Some set fire to our flag, and some deserted. A Conservative wouldn’t do that, so what are our differences?

I watched my NO neighborhood turn into a cinder of drugs and violence, and we fled along with nearly half of mostly white NO families in the middle 70’s. I could do nothing in the race war, the result of failed liberal programs of forced integration, and color determined giveaway programs.

I worked nights to put myself through school, washing dishes at the Royal Orleans Hotel where my Acadian father had his barber shop. Others went to school for free because they were a specific color. Without proper motivation or work skills, eighty percent flunked out of Loyola. It was my responsibility and hard work that gave me pride and the value of the dollar, the hallmark of a conservative.

I watched the Katrina fiasco in horror. From the very beginning my president offered his troops to restore order, and save lives. For four days Blanco vied for Federal power and stymied the New Orleans liberal chocolate mayor that was her mortal enemy. In that hateful process my 88 year old parents died in the heat of the 610/I10 junction. It was her officers who stopped private rescue, and they suffered a horrible death in each other’s arms while she was crying on TV. With time I have forgiven her, but she was responsible for that inaction, voted in by people mostly wanting a free lunch.

The Iron curtain fell and the cold war was won by the best president in my lifetime, Ronald Reagan. I lost everything during his administration because he used the oilfield and miscommunication as a weapon. He did what he had to do, and I recognized him as a patriot, where sacrifice is sometimes necessary for the good of America, something a liberal knows little about.

I’ve watched liberal lasciviousness, where sex was promoted as equal rights, open birth abortions justified, while the liberal media belittled marriage, family, and self worth.

Taking responsibility for his own life defines a conservative. He is part of this country that gives thanks to God for its bounty, but remembers the payment in human blood to make it so.

Liberty and safety was bought by Conservative blood, where most liberals selfishly reap the benefits. Even now men die for America, for even those who would spit on them, because those who find nothing to die for have little to live for.

The political world of puppet control and power

The political world of puppet control and power
By Ken LaRive

Ambiguity is an amazing political tool. Vagueness is used with success on both sides of the fence, like promoting change without a game plan, or using racial issues already tackled and subdued for fifty years. A broken record, it’s the same old issues that divide us...

It’s hard to make a decision based on truth when information is bogus. It takes an effort to uncover a fact, and politicians bet you won’t have what it takes to find it. In the razzle-dazzle there is an amazing opportunity to control a situation, promote an agenda, gain power, and make lots of money.

It was learned early on in civilization that once you command control, usually by force, to remain in authority one of two things had to take place. One is that you completely eradicate every semblance of opposition, like what happened in several African countries the last few decades, including Equatorial Guinea. But in America’s visible due process of law and litigation another political agenda is being played, and right under our noses.

It is the stimulation of both sides of a coin. The ensuing fight is the primary strategy of the political art, and a sure-fire formula for success. Do you actually think the right and left are so evenly separated by chance?

Remember when Bill Clinton first got into office? Sorry Bill, but your first six months as president is surely a case in point. The concept of gays in the military tore the US apart with bogus-ambiguity. Bless their hearts but some even came out of the closet with the hope of finally not living a lie, while Bill and his pal’s cleaned house and became entrenched. It worked and helped get him elected for a second term while incredulous wide-eyed gays were left sitting on the proverbial fence.

What we learned was don’t kiss and tell, but what really went on under the White House covers was mostly lost to the masses.

Mr. Clinton is not alone in these tactics. Our Government uses many psychological wherewithals’s to keep us confused and at each others throats. They are so good at it that we sometimes actually think we are having an original thought! The media, sworn to be unbiased in their news reporting, couldn’t be further in left field if they climbed the cogent fence and sat on our laps. After all, it isn’t who we are as a nation that seems to matter most to politicians, but the puppets they want us to be.

Honesty in a phosphor glow

Honesty in a phosphor glow... an answered prayer in Rajasthan

By Ken LaRive

I looked down from my 8th floor window from the best hotel Rajasthan had to offer, while throngs of people prepared for the heat of day.

I felt a dread however, and thought I don’t usually pray for anything but to give thanks, this day I felt to pray for guidance.

Two hours later I was on my way up a narrow gorge in an auto-rickshaw with my friend and guide Kishor, to explore and photograph a well known Jaipour palace.
Between the trees I composed a rare photo in my mind and asked them to pull over. Kishor thought I was going to take it from the street, but I jumped a low wall and then another for the proper angle, with a ruined temple for the foreground.

It was later in the day I discovered that I had lost my billfold, so strategically tucked in my camera bag, and thought the worse... someone had lifted it. Not only was most of my money in that billfold, but the most precious to a traveler, my Passport.

For the next twenty-four hours, hotel security contacted the American Embassy, and police reports too, all to document what was necessary to secure an exit visa in Mumbai, five days of red tape.

Next morning I woke up with a thought, and before dawn and the human mass assembled on the streets, we made our way back to the only place I could remember I may have dropped it, without Kishor’s watchful eye.

Still dark, I had the rickshaw direct his lights over the wall, and went into the brush. With the light phosphor glow of morning I searched my previous steps and jumping the second wall, and there from the shadows came a young man brushing his teeth. “What is your name?” he said. I looked at him, “Ken,” I said as I looked into his glowing eyes, “You found something?”

“Yes, do not worry, I have your purse, and it is safe.” He pointed to a small adobe hut where the smiling faces of his two sisters and parents greeted me. They lived in a three-room dirt floor house with two goats, poor, but they possessed something rare indeed, unconditional honesty. The father resisted when I handed him a $US500 reward, a years salary. He showed me his true heart in his eyes, and it haunts me still.

I got my wallet with the Passport, and my US$3700 was untouched... but something much more, a restored faith in my fellow man, and the answer to my prayer.

The left and right middle ground is called Libertarian
By Ken LaRive

Have you noticed the small signs around Lafayette that say: “Who is Ron Paul?” It was a curious reminder of the famous book “Atlas Shrugged” by Ann Rand and her Libertarian character’s similar sign that read; “Who is John Galt?” When I Goggled Ron Paul I saw why, as there is a definite and very relevant correlation...

The political determination tests that are becoming popular on the Internet this year showed that most Americans found themselves in the middle ground of good sense, not in the ‘ultra”. Also, they saw that the root cause of world terror, the consequences of socialism, and the securing of our borders seem mute points to the candidates, and not reflecting the will of America proper.

As I studied Ron Paul, I was amazed about what he proposed, and though he won’t stand a chance this election, it seems he is causing something of a revolution in thought. His Libertarian points of view go back to our Founding Father Thomas Jefferson, and the philosopher John Loche, who inspired him.

When interviewed by NEWSMAX Magazine, he was asked “What should government do?” Paul gave a very Libertine answer: “Protect our freedoms. Have a strong national defense. Look at and take care of our borders. Have a sound currency. That’s the responsibility of the federal government- not to run our lives and run everything in the economy.”

Ron Paul takes from the left, anti NAFTA, anti-War/anti Patriot Act. From the middle right he takes Pro Life and Anti Immigration. From the Libertarian and Conservative right he proposes Anti Big Government and Intervention, anti tax, and pro privatization.

Some contemporaries, other than Ann Rand, who have somewhat of an affinity with Mr. Paul, are notables like Milton Friedman, Roy Innus, Charles and David Koch, and Bob Barr, who are Libertarian advocates. There are star proponents too, like Dave Barry, Drew Cary, Penn Jillette, Ted Nugent, Clint Eastwood, and Kirk Russell.

The Libertarian Movement, though now considered grass root, is a growing phenomenon popular with both young Republicans and Democrats alike, as it promises to finally bridge the gap between the two. Those who see the dangers of Constitutional dismantlement, basic human rights, ultra-government intervention/control, and sound international policies, may create a new face for America, where again “We the people of the United States of America” might take back liberty and justice for all. In effect, it may finally bridge the ultra-idealistic gaps that so weaken us.

Too bad it’s too late for ’08. Or is it?

Castro died a long time ago

Castro died a long time ago

By: Ken LaRive

Information pours out of Cuba like a sieve. The attempt to keep Fidel’s sickness and eventual death a state secret borders on the ludicrous, but that is the nature of this dying regime. It has been the topic on Capital Hill and the surrounding pubs for months now as to whether the Cuban government will survive. What a joke. What is left of the low ideas set forth by dictatorial blood baths perished long ago, and all that remains is a burned out remnant. Castro died a long time ago.

It is written on Cuban bathroom walls that brother Raul will take over leadership of the Cuban Communist Party, attempting to balance the military and intelligence system, appease the quagmire of nepotistic minister officials tied in bows of red tape, and move forward with a hidden agenda all his own. Castro is dead, and so is his regime, that is a given. What remains will be transformed by the whim of a new want-to-be dictator, and the prevailing winds that sweep the world.

The premise that Castro had in those early days, cemented by his supporters, was that a Cuban light of his design would revolutionize the rest of Latin America and third world South America, becoming a beacon for a final confrontation with U.S. so called Imperialism. Revolution was his reason for being, and economics was not his forte.

Those who will fill the vacuum that Castro left are a rag-tag group who has been waiting in the sidelines for their chance. They have had the same primary goal for decades: to keep the machine going no matter what the cost, and Cubans have paid dearly. Fidel’s aspiration to use the regime to restructure the world for his particular philosophical thought fell short long ago. Cuba has been in a vacuum for decades, where minions twiddle their cigar smelling thumbs, and grow fat by the oppression of their own kind.

The new functionaries can not claim the dreams of Fidel as their own, no matter how ambitious, or the political correctness they may use as smoke. No more similar is Josef Stalin to Leonid Brezhnev. Stalin was a visionary, though it is evident his ideology went against human nature, and as the thought disintegrated in a world where Totalitarian rule was eaten by free world radio and television, Brezhnev became a functionary to survive. Under the Brezhnev umbrella the dreams of Stalin was served up cold, and so Brezhnev could do nothing more than serve up the regime in like kind. This Communist Cuba is a dieing ember, and will go the same way. The walls that kept the masses from leaving will fall.

Sure, our President Ragan played a part of the last days of the Soviet Union. The old songs and slogans were played to lifeless crowds, where the ideals of Lenin and Stalin once reverberated goose bumps. In the end no one, not even Brezhnev, believed a word. The regime disintegrated from the inside out, as the true weakness unfolded one layer after another, like an onion. People can not be subjugated.

Likewise, the dreams of Fidel fell with the slow-sinking Soviet, as Fidel seemed never to give up hope that his original vision could still ignite, and his once strong words fell on deaf ears like a broken record.

To the very end Castro promoted the idea that it was the American embargo and the strangled relations of an imperialist American Economics that burned the life out of Cuba. He was very persuasive early on, but little to no one believes that today. Anyone could trade with Cuba, Latin America, Europe, Canada, whomever, and Cuba wasn’t even completely locked out of North America, as third parties collected their commissions. No, it was Fidel’s dreams that subdued Cuba, and his heavy hand that could not rationalize economics and free trade. Hitler and Saddam had their believers too, and the earth shook with their terrible dreams, but who will listen to Raul and his nuevo-league of bean-counters and functionaries? It has come to pass that men can no longer be held in check by instruments of power, not for long, as is the story of other Communist Regimes that have collapsed. Even their own hot air could not keep them aloft.

Forty years ago Cuba was thought to be a central stratagem of the Cold War, and there was the real possibility of a thermonuclear exchange. It was a close one, to be sure, where even the “Bay of Pigs” would have been obliterated. Times have changed, and a missile has far longer range, submarines lay in wait, and there is no safe harbor.

Cuba was once a Spanish Colony until the Spanish-American war. From then on it was dominated and occupied by U.S. economic interests until Castro’s rise to power. Its history is a simple one.

It was once thought that Cuba was a geographical threat, where the Mississippi River’s transportation to the Atlantic could be blocked. If these two channels were defended, between the Straits of Florida and the Yucatan Peninsula, our European exports would be stopped. It was known that Cuba could not do this alone, and had to have the help of a super power. From the fall of the Soviets, Castro has tried to make Cuba available to others, even approaching the Chinese, but to no avail. The world has changed, and so the dreams of Fidel turned to a quagmire of outdated nightmares.

Some have thrown future linking possibilities into the air for Cuba, like Russia, North Korea, and Iran, but non have the will or the fortitude to go the distance. It is certain that being just 90 miles from our pristine Florida beaches would not be tolerated by the US, on any level. It is my understanding that the Chinese is now drilling in the international waters off the coast, free trade at work. Fact is, Cuba’s main focus these days has been the leftist movements of Venezuela and Bolivia, extending themselves on the front lines, an inspiration to other Latin American Leftists to do the same. It is a wonder, will Hugo Chavez of Venezuela or Evo Morales of Bolivia turn to Raul for further motivation? More likely Raul and his bean counters will be looking for cheep oil, a true American motivation, with probably a bit of drug money thrown in for good measure. We will almost certainly find these drugs on our streets before long, packaged in Venezuela.

Closer to home it is known that Louisiana Governor Kathleen Blanco has gone there a year or so ago, hoping to do business. This shows there are no boundaries to the low negativity of Louisiana political stupidity or ethics. They would do business with a country still sworn to take down our American institution. Blanco thinks they are so smart, even boasting success upon their return, but they miss the point entirely. Those who pay attention know their primary motivation is to promote themselves, without regard for the sanctions set forth by our Federal Government. In another time they would have been detained upon their return, to stand trial for treason, but they now ride Congressional loop-holes. They slap America in the face, and I hope Louisiana voters remember her and her entourage on Election Day.

Surely, Raul will be given the reins and the instruments to bring Cuba into the 21st century, as Communism without Castro is seemingly just a pipe dream. Raul Castro is reaching under the covers to the United States to lift sanctions or embargo, but only shows the narrow-minded process about to take power. The so called embargo, so long the justification to the Cuban Political small minds, is nothing more than a gesture, politically to be sure, but also a hand gesture toward the dreams of a man who could not face the reality of his own ego… A super-ego that decimated a once abundant land, mashing the common people under his yoke, powered by a booming voice and the promises of a dark dream, leaves this world worse for it.

Posted on 03/10/2005 9:58:28 AM PST by Crackingham
Louisiana Governor Kathleen Blanco accomplished what she set out to do during a three-day visit to Cuba this week: bolster business ties with a burgeoning market just hours away from the Gulf state. The Louisiana state delegation signed four key agreements with Alimport, the Cuban government’s chief food importer, worth $15 million — some $5 million more than Alimport’s initial proposal to the Democratic governor. The agreement included a $2 million pledge to buy 10 thousand tons of milled rice from Louisiana Rice Mill and 160 tons of powdered milk from the AnPro Trading company. Cuba also agreed to increase shipments through the Port of New Orleans.
Blanco’s trip was only the fourth by a U.S. governor to Cuba since the 1959 revolution. It came under heavy fire from some in her state’s Cuban-American community, who said it was a propaganda boost to Fidel Castro’s communist government. Upon her arrival in Havana, Blanco tackled the detractors head-on. “We think Louisiana needs to be ... in the markets of the entire world. We believe Cuba brings value and we should not ignore any value."
Prior to the accord, the Port of New Orleans already handled more cargo destined for the island than any other U.S. port, according to Gary LeGrange, President of the American Association of Port Authorities and chief of the New Orleans facility.
Pedro Alvarez, Alimport CEO, shipped his first purchase of American farm products back in 2001 through the New Orleans facility. “It’s a very important port for Cuba.”
The Louisiana trade deal falls under a Congressional exemption to the U.S. trade embargo that allows food and medicine sales to Castro’s government. Recently, Alvarez announced that Cuba now ranks 25th among food export markets for American products.Read more at msnbc.msn.com ...

Picture of Castro’s ugly mug.

The potential for a Mexican-American war

A potential for a Mexican-American war

By Ken LaRive

I don’t like Mexican culture, I love it. In Mexico’s interior I found mostly gentile spirits, family oriented, ethical, joyful, and with music that stirs the soul.

Government sucks the life out of them, and some come here to feed their families.
So who is actually at fault? If a law in not being enforced who is to blame?

I could never get into this county without a passport, no matter the accent, or how good looking. It is illegal. So why are we letting millions walk across?

Could it be that our almost 50/50 Democratic/Republican polarization hope Mexicans will bolster their side? Is it possible that the Democrats see more potential votes because they speculate Mexicans on the public dole, and the Republicans see hard working responsible potential North Americans?

What else could it be?

Though I see overwhelmingly that Mexicans are good and honest people caught up in the times, wouldn’t they too be drawn to a Country who would give them Socialized Medicine, a liberal welfare system, a free pass for not paying taxes to the point of becoming part of Social Security?

Our economy is cyclical. When the north is booming, the south shutters, and the oilfield sputters. Suddenly, metaphorical valves are wide open and the demand is greater than supply! Money is made by the savvy investor who buys when stocks sink and sell high. Right?

There is talk of recession. Man made? Before an election... you bet. Time to buy, that is a given. But what of the Mexican when there is little work to be found; go on the public dole? No, I don’t think so. American’s would have to finally stand up and say, “Hey, that’s enough!” Yes, we would.

If we slide into bad recession there will be a war between the USA and Mexico. North Americans will be forced to make a clean sweep of all illegal aliens, and barricade our borders securely. Unfortunately, they will not want to leave.

Unless we monitor who is here now, before a down-turn, it will be a recipe for disaster. Do you think the historical Muslim purge of Spain, and the modern Islamic takeover of France can’t happen here? Our next president had better have intestinal fortitude and do what is right for America. Texans are already loading their guns. The ensuing violence will be our government’s fault, with 80% of Americans saying, “I told you so.”

Nothing is set in stone, and it is not too late, but somebody had better pick up the ball.

The war between mind and heart

The war between mind and heart
By: Ken LaRive

It is politics as usual, with no holds bared. A war, it is waged in the hearts and minds of the populous like religious fanaticism.

Our standards are taught at mother’s knee, and with experience we attempt life with confident bearing. But as we look upon the world, we find joy and foreboding on one hand, happiness and quiet desperation on the other, and ask why.

We grapple with what is perceive to be good and bad and right and wrong, with decisions based on what is speculated to be the greatest good. Torn by the facets of politics, ethics, and the meaning of life, our strength is our constant need to balance.

In our daily process of living, we judge others who are not like us. We justify reasons for being based on the assumptions of the facts we are fed, true or false. Confused and fearful, we give control of our lives to others, where duel-concepts are composed for the man behind the curtain to point the way.

Everyone, even presidential hopefuls will find flaws in the opus of life, and eventually held accountable.

We have watched women and children burn after a month of standoff, using words like “compound”, and “cult,” and ultimately found our understanding was based on lies. With acuity of what is universal, eternal, and justifiable Truth, we watched people jump from the fires of twin towers, and in the midst of horror we search for explanations. Ancient texts are manipulated by man-made agendas, separating and isolating us into a one truth at the exclusion of all others, and in that process domination is born, with another collection of slaves.

As we grow older we find ourselves obtuse, stubborn and uncompromising, adamant and fixated, with defensible labels for all others who are different, be they liberal or conservative, religious or secular.

Mental manipulation is now a science, and the war that wages between our minds and hearts are used for the schema of those who understand that power, as they have found even original thoughts can be despoiled. Dominated and maneuvered by prejudiced idealism, blind faith, and myopic fundamentalism, it seems at first glance that as collective human beings we are herded like sheep to the slaughter ...but this is not our true nature.

Men resist the shackles of mind and body, and when we see the light of raison d'être, we are drawn to it as one. Truth and Love lends hope as a beacon of reason, where we may someday stand on our own two feet, united ...and knowing is half the battle won.

Finding Truth in our 2008 election insanity

Finding Truth in our 2008 election insanity

By Ken LaRive

This election is special and important. Never before has there been such polarization between liberals and conservatives, so much ‘Bipartisan’ mud slinging, outright lies, bogus information, and left handed complements. It’s also been fifty years since an American election hasn’t had a President or Vice President Incumbent in the race, an important consideration.

We all have ideas about where we should be heading, and what possibilities the world has to offer in these tumulus times. Looking at candidates objectively is a time consuming process, with truth difficult to acquire. Listening to the opposition seems to a thinking man, rather insane at times, and there is fear and apprehension in the quest for truth.

Ronald Reagan said something very profound at the February 15, 1975 Conservative Action Conference that has been printed many times: “A political party cannot be all things to all people. It must represent certain fundamental beliefs which must not be compromised to political expediency or simply to swell its numbers.” If it isn’t found at the heart of our 2008 electoral process; it’s up to you, the voter, to find who will best represent your fundamental core beliefs?

Here are three links sent to me by a friend, and they have been scrutinized by both parties to be unbiased and accurate. They will determine your candidate based on the candidate’s voting record, speeches, and web sites. Very inspiring, and surprisingly most people I have talked to who have taken these tests come away changed, I mean, some have actually changed party affiliations! Amazing, but true...

With just ten or so questions you will be able to see first hand if your ideas are in sink with the candidates, precisely how they differ, and further explore by a simple link, article, candidate web site, and other relevant publications, thus taking the insanity out of the equation.

http://abcnews.go.com/Politics/Vote2008/page?id=3623346
http://www.usatoday.com/news/politics/election2008/candidate-match-game.htm

http://www.wqad.com/Global/link.asp?L=259460

I felt a great elation taking these tests, and though I didn’t find a candidate to match me 100 percent, at least I know how they stand on the great many very important issues that face us both domestically and on the international front.

I have spent my whole life trying to find that illusive, nebulous metaphor some expound as Truth, and it brings to mind the words of a great man, Marcus Aurelius, who said: "The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane."