Nathaniel Sewell's Blog, page 5

Alone On Palm Sunday

I gazed outside my square windows, socially distant from reality,

Protective glass dusted with greenish pollen in front of me,

I tried not to sneeze; I blinked my eyelids,

It scared me to sneeze, I sneezed,

But I was alone, no harm, no foul,

My mind whispered it was just common allergies,

It was pointless to worry; I thought rationally,

But my runny nose scared me as I remembered not to touch my face, I wished I had bought another box of facial tissue, but they had been swept from the grocery store shelves,

I wondered what surfaces my fingers had touched, so I washed my hands,

And I wondered what could be dormant inside my cells?

So I turned off the television, listening to my breathing as I again, washed my hands,

The silence broken by a house wren chirping toward me from the outside world, It dangled from a fragile tree limb, curiously inspecting me,

“Why aren’t you outside playing with me?” The dark bird’s eyes expressed,

“Where have all the humans gone? It’s a perfect day here in the St. Petersburg subtropics.”

I shrugged as it flew away, it was ignorant to our global pandemic play,

I gazed outside my windows,

Brown squirrels scratched up gnarled tree trunks, They climbed higher, leaping from bouncy green-limb to green-limb,

They appeared fearless of an invisible specter the televisions talking-heads had informed me were microscopic respiratory droplets lurking out there,

The infectious disease weather reporter informing me that an invisible, deadly blizzard was snowing pestilence across the fragile lands,

I gazed outside my windows,

Left or right I searched the city streets that were a paranoid quiet and bare,

And then, a masked human walked with purpose, alone, carrying back provisions inside reusable cotton bags,

Another masked human avoided the other masked human, creating a wide circumference along their shared concrete path,

I suspected each stricken with an undefinable collective fear,

And as I watched, the dusty streets and the modern buildings witnessed nothing, I sneezed, I touched my runny nose, and again, I washed my hands,

A lone, slender street lamp waited for darkness for its appointed time to return to work,

I listened to the silence inside my mind,

And I wondered if I existed within an induced coma, simply clicking off quarantine time, I assumed it was my role to accept the seconds mortal click-clock, click-clock, click-clock,

I looked outside my windows, searching for a reason,

I starred upward into a pure blue sky painted across with delicate white clouds,

I prayed for my giant snow globes protection, as I virtually shared in a sacrificial ritual,

I accepted my isolated mission, as another Groundhog Day awaited,

And I realized, sometimes a dream is not a dream.

NS

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Published on April 05, 2020 10:03

Foo Dogs

My maternal grandparents inspired my third novel, 5th&Hope. They were part of The Greatest Generation.

In 1926, they met at the corner of 5th Street and Hope Street in downtown Los Angles, California. They married in a small home in Pomona, California, and then graduated from BIOLA – Bible Institute of Los Angeles.

If you are curious, remember the “Jesus Saves” signs from pop culture? Those signs went up above the now gone BIOLA building – AFTER my grandparents had left Los Angeles.

They really drove a 1930 Model A Ford along the original Route 66. It had to have been more than a month’s journey back to Eastern Kentucky where they spent the rest of their lives happily being active missionaries.

My grandmother Hazel was a nurse, and my grandfather Sewell was a preacher. And yes, they followed their faith and calling basing from a quaint white chapel on a flat pie shaped stretch of land near the meandering Troublesome Creek in Clayhole, Kentucky.

One day, I remembered when I was sixteen; I had driven my grandfather home along a narrow two lanes road after my grandmother’s funeral. He talked to me in a way he had never talked to me. He talked about his life and the fact he had lost his best friend. I could not possibly understand the wisdom he was sharing, I had just earned my driver’s license.

Fast forward, I’m now in my mid-forties and I realized I did not understand them.

In part, it had also occurred to me they had both lived through World War I, The Great Depression and World War II. After my research, I had a tiny inkling what The Greatest Generation means literally and figuratively.

Now, I think we are experiencing a Third World War. It’s not a war between nation states over power and resources. It’s a war against an unseen virus that does not take prisoners and does not care about your religion, your heritage or your social status.

Perhaps being a good citizen and accepting the social distancing guidelines, I’ve had time to wonder what my grandparents might think or do?

And yes, I’m keenly aware where the photo I’ve shared comes from and that they symbolize Chinese mythical lion-dogs. One is male and the other female and their purpose was as guardians of the temple.

I think the symbolism makes its own statement.

To answer my question, I think my grandparents would have already had a game plan and would not have panicked. They would have clicked off the television or radio and went about their business.

They would have already stocked their cellar with canned foods.

The wooden shelves with non-perishables.

They would have saved enough money to get by and understood each penny spent for a vital purpose. And then they would have tended to the needs of their community.

And they would have kept positive attitudes.

They prepared for something coming that they could not see or imagine. But they had learned to be prepared and trust God.

In other words, they would have accepted this COVID-19 pandemic as another man-made calamity and trusted in a higher-power to guide their actions.

I suspect the older generations reading this post smiled and nodded, remembering their parents, or about themselves having lived through their own tough times. I know I smiled, remembering my grandparents as I wrote this modest screed.

I have another question. In your daily life, can you see the COVID-19 virus?

I’m not a parent for a variety of reasons, but I think this exact moment there are children learning valuable life lessons that will last them their lifetimes. Lessons they will remember and hand down to their children’s children some day recounting a great world war against an unseen evil virus.

From my core, I’ll share a singular thought.

I think and I feel there are powerful things we cannot see, but I trust they are nearby. Those things are good and evil all at the same time. (And I hope you don’t think me looney or unsettled.)

My grandparents spirits are always with me. They influence my thinking.

Sometimes I fail them and sometimes I please them.

But I have to make my own decisions and accept the result.

A C S Lewis reference, I wonder if Screwtape and Wormwood have decided I’m a worthy Patient to influence. After all, I have free-will, as the saying, it’s not about falling down, it is will you get back up?

As I’ve learned from my grandparents and my life experiences.

I’ll get back up.

And we’ll all get back up, dust ourselves off and celebrate life.

NS

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Published on March 28, 2020 10:12

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Books

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Published on March 26, 2020 05:23

Fishing for what?

We are living in strange times when President Trump compliments New York Governor Cuomo and California Governor Newsom.

I guess it takes a world-wide pandemic that brings us all together.

Fishing for Light was really my first novel, not Bobby’s Socks. Written eons ago, I let my imagination run wild and I wondered if someone or a group wanted to take over humanity without firing a single bullet – how would that predicate happen? I had the book published for giggles and never thought the planet would experience a real pandemic. I chose coffee as my invading source… Starry Eyed Coffee Huts and Ms. Prosperina. (She’s a chimera – google chimeric genetics)

So, genetically alter the food we eat, the water we drink and the air we breathe.

Easy enough to understand by watching or reading today’s news. Right?

The story, cloaked by genetic mutations and Greek mythology, was about a young man, Edward Wilcox. He was trying to figure out his life after his father died suddenly from a heart attack.

But Eddie had no way of knowing that he was a chosen child, he was special and Professor Quan had made a magic genetic dust sprinkled over his lips by Captain Lovins early one morning when he was an infant. It was a genetic booster shot. But then the trauma the death of his father’s death had altered Eddie’s gene expression and sent him into mediocrity. What happened to Eddie’s destiny?

Ask yourself a simple but complex philosophical question. What is the most powerful human emotion?

Love.

IF we love one another, we are harnessing mankind’s most powerful emotion.

I think and I feel there is a power beyond us all that we cannot possible understand.

Ask yourself another question, what is the light of the world?

In part, I think our individual journey’s are to go fishing for that light.

RCH (Nathaniel Sewell is my pen name. And I write for fun.)

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Published on March 22, 2020 06:39

Hate

Almost every day I ride my bicycle out and about downtown St. Petersburg, Florida.

I am lucky to live in a subtropical town with plentiful palm trees, ancient brick streets, many museums and nicknack boutiques. I am within an easy strolling distance to the Tampa Bay waters and from there I can see out into the distance the deep channel barge traffic heading to navigate underneath the Skyway Bridge and cruise on out into the Gulf of Mexico.

I enjoy my walks to the grocery store as I have a smorgasbord of the weird, the wacky and the unfortunate. The downtown environment is littered with tall condo structures, historic hotels, and modern office buildings. It breeds nooks and crannies for the homeless a temporary hide-out or bivouac on a park bench until the local police nudge them toward a shelter. Mostly, the homeless leave me alone and rarely ask for my spare change. I don’t look down at them with annoyance and in particular; I don’t hate them.

I also observe people who consider themselves fancy and above the masses. They amuse me because I know for a fact a nice house is just a house, and a nice car ends up just a car.

My view of the downtrodden or the financially well-to-do are exactly the same. If they are nice to me, I’ll be nice to them. It becomes quite simple how to treat any man or beast as you learn what the word – humble – feels like.

Which gets me to my observation from getting tractor-beamed into watching the news. I’ll let you pick the station – your preferred flavor might be more left, or right, or a swirl – but the pitch is always the same. Get eyeballs on our station and help our advertisers.

I think the answer is a desire to create conflict. I think the result foments mindless hate.

In my mind, politicians are Satan’s incubus and succubus. It’s not about love, peace, and tolerance. It’s all about stirring up the group hate and getting rich.

My last novel, AMANITA, was an allegory. The underlying theme was that Satan hated the main character Artemis Lamb. I’ll not explain why Satan hated Artemis, but I’ll share with you what Satan tells Artemis toward the story end. I’ll let you come to your own conclusions.

“That’s all I wanted,” Satan said. It looked up into the fading blue sky and back over at the harbor waters. “You’re in conflict. And I am pleased with your hate.”

NS

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Published on February 27, 2020 07:42