Epiphany!

The Pen Sat, 03/26/2016 - 00:02

I just lost my grandfather. It has sent me in many directions where I'm finding out and lost within. What revolutions did he fight in the choices he made? We trust a whole hell of a lot more to men and women who wager crime and deception in our good names. A bird flying in on Bernie Sanders is a sign about as much as Trump is anti-establishment. Birds fly and even off course, as do people in their decisions. We are free to ignore that absolutely nothing is free, to a subatomic level. Relationships bind humanity. Wars circumvent them.

It's a shame Rand Paul suspended his campaign. His words were truer and his message was cleaner. As a parent you realize your power in unconditional sacrifice of any and all in order to nurture and provide for your most intense of reasons for living. We the people are not children to the State, but Lords over it. The roguery of the elected is treason by definition.

And so here is where I've found myself, alone on a wall. In my writings of opposition I am a target to the 'closed mind'. Question everything, for it's all you have. Live loud, even if in alias on a site for liberty. Trump's 'Wall' can never be built when people give their hearts like this:

https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=dan+osman+youtube&view=detail&mid=B...

Peace and Love always.

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pawnstorm12's picture

Can you imagine the world-wide attention and teaching about principles of liberty Rand could be doing right now - instead of that LYING TED CRUZ who is a TRAITOR to the United States and swears allegiance to ISRAEL FIRST???

Rand quit way to early in order to pursue his senate seat. He didn't even hang around for one more week when he would have done well in New Hampshire.

Maybe he was afraid of doing TOO well there so he would have had to stay in longer and possibly risk his senate run.

I am still pissed off about that because I sent his campaign money on several occasions.

And I sent a letter to his campaign expressing my displeasure at his early withdrawal.

And they didn't even have the courtesy to reply.

Believe me - Rand is NOT his father and that acorn actually did fall quite a ways from that tree.

"We have allowed our nation to be over-taxed and over-regulated and overrun by bureaucrats - the founders would be ashamed." -Ron Paul

Ron Johnson's picture

Thinking about the life of a lost loved one is to dwell on the unknown. It brings to the forefront questions of our own mortality as well as our immortality by having watched the passing of a person who was here but is now gone. Can it really be over and done, dust to dust, meaninglessness to meaninglessness?
However, you ask the right question...what revolutions did your grandfather fight? Therein lies the meaning...and the immortality. I obviously do not know your grandfather, but the mere fact of living involved choices and struggle that were filled with meaning, and that resonate today and will be with the world always. The world is as it is because your grandfather was in it.

He decided to not only have children, but to work to provide for them so they could live and have children. Work involves struggle. The motivation to work was love, and love gives meaning. Every act he took was a decision, and every decision was full of meaning. The world will forever swirl from the actions that came from those decisions.

For many years, I did not have a good opinion of my father. He was uneducated, he was a drinker, he ran an unsuccessful business, and could be disagreeable. I left home and rarely talked to him again, preferring to avoid the unpleasantness. I got a career, bought a house, got married, had a child, and dealt with all the million little struggles of everyday living...money, repairs, interpersonal relations, work life, moving, etc., without giving him much thought. Then I found a picture of me and my dad from when I was about 4 years old, and I cried. Why? Because I finally understood his heroics. I understood his meaning.

The photo was from about 1961. It was me, a little tyke, perched high on top of a load of logs on my dad's truck. Fifteen feet below me was my dad, a youngish man, trim, billed hat slightly askew, in a buffalo plaid wool shirt, hands on hips. I saw, in that one snapshot, everything. His work, his commitment, his love, his integrity, his frustrations....his meaning. He did what he could with what he had to build a life that he then left to his four boys and his wife, however meager that life might have been. But it was his. He took what he had to work with, which were his hands and his love, and he did what he could. When he died, he left four grown boys with good careers, a household with no debt, and a legacy of honesty. Not much else.

I cried. His heroism was there in that photo, and I finally saw it. He had faced the same issues of good and bad, honor and dishonor, integrity and dishonesty, solvency and bankruptcy, shelter and homelessness, that I was facing as a young father. He did what he could do. He lived.

I was fortunate because I was able to reconcile with him before died.

Everyday, some aspect of my father's heroism is evident in my decisions and my life. I recognize that choices are made and lived with, and that the mere act of living is a heroic act. Those acts, and that life, never end, in the same way that a butterfly flapping its wings in China causes a hurricane in the Atlantic.

Your grandfather changed the world with every act he took, big and small. He was a revolutionary with every breath. His heroism speaks through you.

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