"What is Truth?" (a repost)

Originally posted on July 4, 2016, here: "What is Truth?".

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This morning, I read the question, "What is Truth?" The author posing the question then answers the question by quoting something that Jesus allegedly said, that God's Word is truth.

I thought about the question, leaving Jesus aside.
Carol, what is Truth?
Truth is the opposite of a lie. Lies are fables. 
Truth then must be reality, life as it is including events that really happen(ed), and not fables. 

Both fables and reality claim facts and circumstances and motives. The difference is that one story really happened or happens; the other didn't or doesn't. One is true; the other, false.

So, I was left pondering reality as truth.

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The author continues, "Truth is not relative."

I agree. Truth [reality] is not relative. Nothing trumps reality. Reality is. In a sense, it is the ultimate power and judge.

I believe that nature must be the closest example we have of reality [truth]. She plays no favorites. Nature is. We see her raw power on display, though the forces themselves may be invisible to the naked eye.

Human actions do have an effect on nature and her forces, and thus on reality. But ultimately we have to surrender to reality, facing consequences or blessings.

~*~

The author continues, "God expresses His will to us with words so that we can understand Him."

That sentence stopped me in my reading tracks.
Really?! God relegates the vastness and multi-layered aspects of truth [reality] to mere words on a page? That is how I can understand a universal creator? By reading words on a page?

My past Way-brain instantaneously reminded me that's really not what I learned or believed as a Way believer.

God's Word involves more than words on a page; it includes oral words and the Word in the flesh, Jesus. And God first wrote His Word not on a page, but rather in the stars, telling the story of redemption in the zodiac and beyond. Much of the meaning though is contained within the names of those stars which were all passed along orally until God later had to have his certain chosen prophets pen that revelation to have a document, a standard, because as the earth became/becomes more and more filled with people and as the adversary (the devil) worked/works more and more to deceive, humans need a written standard that they can always go back to as a touchstone. 

To make things even more constraining and complicated, the author then states, "It [the Word] can be rightly-divided by studying to show ourselves approved unto God, or used to purport the adversary's ideas. It can be understood and believed because it interprets itself in the verse, its context, or how it has been spoken of previously! Truth does not contradict itself from Genesis 1:1 to Revelation 22:21."

So now in order to understand a universal creator, who is God my Father, I have this written standard that I have to figure out? But I have to be diligent because it can be distorted into whatever way the devil wants in order to purport his lies?

And the whole spiel about the Word interpreting itself in the verse, in the context, and used before sounds like gobblygook. On the other hand, if one thinks about it, that is how written language works, along with definitions and multiple aspects that grammarians and linguists and sociologists and other "ists" have studied.

Should I do the same with my kids? Give them my written standard and tell them to read it in order to know me and understand me, but be sure to interpret it properly because there's a devil who'll twist it? So my kids ask, "How do we know when he's twisting it?" I answer, "My motive is always love. So if it contradicts love, it's wrong. Just keep reading. And remember, it all has to fit with no contradictions."

All this feels like a straitjacket trying to squeeze the life right out of life.

~*~

As I continued to read the rest of the author's epistle on "What is Truth," I got to thinking (yet again) about myth and belief.
I guess from the time humans tried to start answering the question "Why?" they have surmised and calculated and invented "answers" to help cope through the hardships and turmoil and heartbreak and evil that life can pound. These answers form beliefs that, in addition to explaining the evil, give more meaning to the magic of life, the inexplicable happenstances, the beauty, the power of nature and the cosmos.

So it's about survival. Trying to cope with and explain life.
And we cling to that which resonates for us -- our beliefs.
That resonance is different for different people.
Beliefs can be good, as long as those beliefs aren't used to manipulate and harm, which is sadly too often the case.

~*~

I often wonder, What do I really believe?

I believe there are forces, unseen and still undiscovered, that can cause circumstances to appear as if they are supernatural. I do not believe these yet undiscovered forces or their resulting impacts are any more supernatural than the current discoverable forces of nature, which are beyond incredible. Humans have not yet even conceived of measuring tools to illuminate these yet undiscovered currents or forces. And once we invent those tools, there'll probably still be a multitude of yet undiscovered layers.

I wonder if we'll ever stop trying to peer beyond?

I wonder if we'll come up with a belief measuring tool?
That's a scary thought.

Do I believe there is a benevolent creator behind those discovered-and-undiscovered forces?
I want to, but I still can't say for sure.
But I want to believe there is "something" and that I'll be delightfully surprised in the hereafter. 

Perhaps, nature is my "god" now.
I certainly hold her in great awe.
And I've taken up praying to trees.
I swear they hear me.

God's Acre, Bethabara

Hiram, we love you... (Part 1)

I sit at one of my favorite picnic spots in the Blue Ridge at Doughton Park along the Blue Ridge Parkway. 

Again, I am solo. The only human in sight or sound. 

No human voices or machines. Only my breath and the crunching of my salad.

The quiet, despite my crunching, is so very sacred.

In my element, one that brings me peace and comfort and connection.  

I feel so at home in this place, in these beloved mountains with her rocks and trees, caves and mile-plus high peaks, rattlesnakes and bears, hawks and vultures, creeks and rivers, forests and high meadows...

Now, what was I gonna write about? 

Oh yeah...

~*~

I sit at the concrete picnic table, eating my salad and food I'd brought along, overlooking an ocean of never-ending mountains. Like I said...in my element.

About halfway through my meal a motorcycle drives up, parks, and off gets its driver. The man was maybe eight years my junior. We talk of our love for this place. He shares memories, pointing to a spot in our view where he used to visit regularly -- his dad's former homeplace. 

As we share stories, I learn he works in construction and home repair. I ask if he services the area where Hubby and I live; we are in need of some major home repairs. (We'd been working with a company for over a decade trying to diagnose and resolve some issues. We were now questioning some of those diagnoses and proposed fixes, some of which we'd already done.) He doesn't service our area, but his friend does. He calls his friend to make sure he has his friend's correct business phone number and lets his friend know that I might be calling soon. Within a week I call his friend, Jody, and set an appointment for the end of September. 

~*~

Hurricane Helene hit western North Carolina on September 26th and 27th. I cry all day on the 27th and into the following weeks. A part of me hears Earth stating, "These are my mountains, not yours." "Yours" referring to us humans and our propensity to "develop" lands. Anymore, I think I mostly agree with John Denver's description: "...Why they try to tear the mountains down to bring in a couple more; More people, more scars upon the land..."

We learn, thankfully, that our friends and family are safe, most with no damage at all. They were out of the "blast zone" as Hubby puts it, an apt description. 

~*~

Jody arrives at our home the end of September. The diagnosis? "You can save the house or save the tree, but we can't save both." 

My heart breaks and I wonder which is the thing to do, Save the house or save Hiram? Seriously, that is what I thought and felt. But obviously, the choice would be the house. 

It was hard blow... 

But at least we have a home, I thought knowing that so many had lost theirs to Helene. 

The tree is our beloved Hiram, a huge scarlet oak. He is beautifully handsome. His crown spreads out royally providing shade, bird and squirrel homes, nuts for food, beauty and comfort, nourishment and sustenance. He has come to my aid often in times of distress, turmoil, loss, grief. And he has accompanied me during times of joy, bliss, gratitude. 

That week I drew a picture of Hiram in my journal and asked if he could stop growing the roots that are affecting the foundation of our house. I wondered if there was a way to put something like a steel plate to stop the roots' growth on that side of the tree. In my journal, I drew a solid plate across one side of Hiram's roots figuring it was probably just wishful thinking and wondering, even if we could do such, would it harm Hiram. I let Hiram know I do not want to hurt him, but that we do need to save the house. 

~*~

After Hubby and I are settled on our decision to proceed with the proposed work I call our arborist, Drew, to schedule the huge task of felling Hiram. After Hiram is cut down, we'd need to hire someone else to have our beloved porch and deck demolished; both are in a state of disrepair, plus they need to be removed in order to get to the foundation. Then Jody would do his waterproofing, but he can go ahead with a new gutter system anytime. After the waterproofing we'd have to hire someone else to rebuild the deck and porch.

I call Drew and relay to him what all we are looking at...

"Well, I feel certain we can save Hiram," he responds. He knows Hiram well having saved him one time already some ten years ago. 

"Oh my god. Really?!?" I am in disbelief. 

He explains how it can be done. I learn that his crew also does demolition and waterproofing. And one of his crew's dads builds decks and porches. 

He and his business partner, Will, are at our house within a couple weeks...

Yes, they are both confident that both Hiram and the house can be saved...

We would know more after the demolition and a detailed foundation inspection...

But again, they feel sure they can build something to save Hiram and the foundation...

They'd done this same work on other homes...

Hubby and I think about it for a few weeks, weighing any pros and cons.

But there really weren't any cons to weigh.

We let Jody know we had decided to go with Drew but that we still wanted his company to install the new gutter system, which they did within a couple weeks. His company did not know how to build what Drew and Will had proposed which could possibly save both our home and Hiram.

Little did we know at the time what Drew and crew would find once they dug out around this 60-year-old home...

~*~

John Denver with Rocky Mountain High...
I've only been to the Rockies once(?)...

I've been to the Blue Ridge at least 10,000 times...

The same sentiments apply...

Substance ~ Frankl on growing old... (a repost)

This afternoon as I was composing an email, the quote below from Frankl came to mind which prompted me to look up the quote on my blog, having recalled that I had written about it in the past. The same quote had also popped into my brain yesterday, prompted by Ben Rector's song, The Richest Man in the World. 

Below is a repost of the blog piece I looked up this afternoon...

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Substance - Frankl on growing old...

3/14/18

"I should say having been is the surest kind of being." ~Victor Frankl

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In a previous blog post I quoted a paragraph on "transitoriness" from Victor Frankl's book, Man's Search for Meaning.
Not until a day or so after I blogged that paragraph did I read beyond it in the book.

As I read...
My heart grew wings.
My being was lifted.
My cares were lighter.
I felt at peace with the past and the present and the future.
A line from John Denver's song Rocky Mountain High rolled through my head, "you might say [s]he was born again."

Frankl's main theme on life is finding one's purpose and meaning, even in suffering.
The question is not, what is the meaning of life?
But rather, what is an individual's purpose or meaning?

In the Life's Transitoriness section, Frankl shares an analogy of a person figuratively tearing off calendar pages day after day and writing a few notes about one's life on the back of each torn-off page, and then filing the page neatly away with its predecessors.

When I read his analogy I thought, "I've done that, literally...with journaling."
In that moment, my journals meant something.
They have substance.
They aren't meaningless and nothingness.
It's okay that they sit on my book shelves.
It's okay that I don't commit them to ashes, as some well-meaning people (and I mean that sincerely) have suggested.

Frankl's words give my past a substance I don't think I'd previously felt.
In a sense it's like one can live in the past, present, and future simultaneously.
All three happen almost simultaneously.

Below I've transcribed the section entitled Life's Transitoriness from Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning.

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Life's Transitoriness

Those things which seem to take meaning away from human life include not only suffering but dying as well. I never tire of saying that the only really transitory aspects of life are the potentialities; but as soon as they are actualized, they are rendered realities at that very moment; they are saved and delivered into the past, wherein they are rescued and preserved from tansitoriness. For, in the past, nothing is irretrievably lost but everything irrevocably stored.

Thus, the transitoriness of our existence in no way makes it meaningless. But it does constitute our responsibleness; for everything hinges upon our realizing the essentially transitory possibilities. Man constantly makes his choice concerning the mass of present potentialities; which of these will be condemned to nonbeing and which will be actualized? Which choice will be made an actuality once and forever, an immortal "footprint in the sands of time"? At any moment, man must decide, for better or for worse, what will be the monument of his existence.

Usually, to be sure, man considers only the stubble field of transitoriness and overlooks the full granaries of the past, wherein he had salvaged once and for all his deeds, his joys and also his sufferings. Nothing can be undone, and nothing can be done away with. I should say having been is the surest kind of being.

Logotherapy, keeping in mind the essential transitoriness of human existence, is not pessimistic but rather activistic. To express this point figuratively we might say: The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on all the life he has already lived to the fullest. What will it matter to him if he notices that he is growing old? Has he any reason to envy the young people whom he sees, or wax nostalgic over his own lost youth? What reason has he to envy a young person? For the possibilities that a young person has, the future which is in store for him? "No, thank you," he will think.

"Instead of possibilities, I have realities in my past, not only the reality of work done and of love loved, but of sufferings bravely suffered. These sufferings are even the things of which I am most proud, though these are things which cannot inspire envy."

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[Victor Frankl developed "logotherapy" which is "a form of psychotherapy that is based on helping clients to find a sense of meaning and purpose in their lives."]

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