Gerald Maclennon's Blog - Posts Tagged "love"
The Purpose of Life, as far as I can tell
Every night, just about every person on this planet slips away for several hours into that mysterious realm we call sleep. Some do it in the light of day. We don’t think much about it because it’s a pattern of life that began at birth and will just continue on and on until our bodies once again turn to dust. While awake we are occupied with all the concerns of life. In our deepest period of sleep, nothing matters. In that nether world of bliss, we don’t concern ourselves with religion and politics, war and peace, appointments and obligations, relationships and associations, sustenance and economics.
Awake for only about 70-percent of our lives, the rest of that time is lost – wasted, some would say – in a regenerative state.
So, how do we humans define purpose while in our 70-percent… our fully conscious state? What is our raison d’etre – our reason for existence? From a mundane perspective, the purpose of life is to sustain and perpetuate life: to gather and hunt and feed our bodies, to reproduce and raise progeny, to provide a safe and secure nesting area, to acquire territory and possessions, to protect ourselves from enemies. That makes us humans no different than any other animal species. We just do it with greater intellect.
The most recurring theme in the world’s news and entertainment media is death – especially violent death. Why are we so fascinated with death? Because it is the one great mystery that all of us, the living, share. Yet, we’re not so unlike a herd of antelope that silently gather around the body of one of their own dead. They cautiously advance, one by one, and sniff the carcass – bewildered as to why their companion is no longer moving and breathing.
Having said all this, it is obvious to me that there is no purpose to life... unless there is more to life than life as we know it.
Christians find hope in the story of the death and resurrection of Jesus the Christ because, to them, it once and for all time, answers the question: “Is there life after death?”
Muslims and Jews maintain that adherence to the commandments of their respective holy books – the Quran and the Torah – will earn them respected positions in the Afterworld. Devotees of Eastern religions believe that our souls are repeatedly reincarnated until we reach a state of spiritual perfection that will allow us passage into Nirvana. And, of course, some say that there is no meaning to life and that physical death is the absolute end of who we are. Personally, if I carried that philosophy, I would stop marching in formation as if this world made sense and either live a life of crime and debauchery or merely end the cosmic joke by firing a bullet into my head.
Most of us older folks, as we mature, come to grips with the inevitability of death but still the question remains: What is the purpose of it all?
Seers, prophets and messiah kings throughout history have admonished us to minimize possessions – to cleanse ourselves of material non-necessities – so that we may open our eyes to the loftier humanitarian values that provide true meaning to this earthly journey.
Islam, Judaism and Christianity all teach that reverent submission to the One, Self-Existent God brings fulfillment and purpose to life. Christians add that the path to submission must pass through the Son of God, Jesus.
Siddhartha Gautama – the Buddha – gave us eight directives on how to conduct our lives while incarnated on this mortal plane. He taught that through personal application of the Noble Eightfold Path we find meaning and purpose. Confucius and Lao-Tzu also formulated belief systems for finding fulfillment.
No doubt there is truth in all these paths.
Allow me to ask at this juncture: what is the most euphoric event in a man or woman’s life. Most of us would agree it’s the experience of falling in love with that one special person whom we consider our soul mate. Falling in love is the theme of a million songs worldwide. Romantic love lifts up our spirits to the heavens; it permeates with elation every thread in the fabric of our being. It is a uniquely human experience. Animals don’t fall in love; they merely select, mate and breed. And… I might add, some humans do that too, but for them, it’s a deliberate choice.
Those who are most devoted to their particular faith have literally fallen in love (Agapao - Gr.) with God or an earthly manifestation that represents God, be it nature, a holy shrine, a book of sacred writings, and/or a person such as the Christ or the Buddha. Agape is the highest love and when one is enraptured by it, it produces in the individual a secondary level of affection and compassion: philato, the love of family, friends, neighbors and all humanity – even enemies.
Jesus of Nazareth imparted to his followers three directives that when personally applied are said to imbue every devotee of Christianity with a resolute purpose for living: first, know that there is but one God – the Self-Existent One; secondly, love that God with all of your heart, mind and spirit; and third, love your fellow human beings as much as – or even more than – yourself. This is not a uniquely Christian raison d’etre. It can be universally applied to virtually all religions as well as to individual credos.
No one knows when the end of his or her mortal existence will come – maybe a minute from now, tomorrow, months or years but one thing is certain: it will come to all. I believe that human spirit energy – the soul, if you will – continues to exist following departure of our highly-evolved primate bodies.
And, what can we take with us when we fly away to the next realm of consciousness? Not our prized possessions nor our accumulated wealth; not our power nor our prestige. All we’ll be able to pack is Love and the spiritual benefits we earned by conveying and implementing that Love while we occupied the flesh.
Some of us, in order to keep food on the table, a roof over our heads and heat in winter have no choice other than to accept a job we know upfront is going to be very boring – certainly not even close to personal fulfillment. Sad to say, not everything we do can be profound – I’ve been there too — but it can be done with love and graciousness. That’s the difference.
At the end of life, many take personal inventory; they look back to review their accomplishments and their failures; to know what other people really think of them. When death is imminent, does it matter that you worked your way up to the top level of management before retiring? Does it matter that you were able to afford a million dollar house and two luxury cars? Does it matter that you were a great scientist, a movie star, a talented artist, a powerful politician, a registered nurse, a four-star general, professional athlete or a damned good plumber?
Well of course it matters! Why would God not want us to have some fun while fulfilling our purpose? A long-faced, grumpy old Zeus is not the God of joy and happiness that I know. The way I see it, it ain’t so much what we do, as it is how we do it? We don’t have to be, nor should we be, Mother Teresa’s and Father Flanagan’s in order to say “I made a difference in this world!”
Is there a purpose for being? Well, yeah, I hope so! As the Apostle said long ago: “What we are seeing though dirty, greasy eyeglasses right now will be sharp and crystal clear once we have passed through that mysterious transition we call death.”
At the end of the road, if we have carried out our particular calling and shed the light of Godly love into the hearts of others through compassionate and selfless giving... if we even halfway lived in that manner, our mission, our purpose was achieved.
So to neatly wrap it all up, I say yes, as far as I can tell… Love is the purpose.
The purpose is Love. God is Love. Messiah came to us in Love, teaching us each to Love the L-RD our God with all our hearts, minds and souls. And, to love and respect our neighbors even as we do ourselves.
Love. It might just be that simple.
Gerald Logan-MacLennon, 67, January 2015 -- from my book, Wrestling with Angels: An anthology of prose & poetry 1962 thru 2016 Revised
Awake for only about 70-percent of our lives, the rest of that time is lost – wasted, some would say – in a regenerative state.
So, how do we humans define purpose while in our 70-percent… our fully conscious state? What is our raison d’etre – our reason for existence? From a mundane perspective, the purpose of life is to sustain and perpetuate life: to gather and hunt and feed our bodies, to reproduce and raise progeny, to provide a safe and secure nesting area, to acquire territory and possessions, to protect ourselves from enemies. That makes us humans no different than any other animal species. We just do it with greater intellect.
The most recurring theme in the world’s news and entertainment media is death – especially violent death. Why are we so fascinated with death? Because it is the one great mystery that all of us, the living, share. Yet, we’re not so unlike a herd of antelope that silently gather around the body of one of their own dead. They cautiously advance, one by one, and sniff the carcass – bewildered as to why their companion is no longer moving and breathing.
Having said all this, it is obvious to me that there is no purpose to life... unless there is more to life than life as we know it.
Christians find hope in the story of the death and resurrection of Jesus the Christ because, to them, it once and for all time, answers the question: “Is there life after death?”
Muslims and Jews maintain that adherence to the commandments of their respective holy books – the Quran and the Torah – will earn them respected positions in the Afterworld. Devotees of Eastern religions believe that our souls are repeatedly reincarnated until we reach a state of spiritual perfection that will allow us passage into Nirvana. And, of course, some say that there is no meaning to life and that physical death is the absolute end of who we are. Personally, if I carried that philosophy, I would stop marching in formation as if this world made sense and either live a life of crime and debauchery or merely end the cosmic joke by firing a bullet into my head.
Most of us older folks, as we mature, come to grips with the inevitability of death but still the question remains: What is the purpose of it all?
Seers, prophets and messiah kings throughout history have admonished us to minimize possessions – to cleanse ourselves of material non-necessities – so that we may open our eyes to the loftier humanitarian values that provide true meaning to this earthly journey.
Islam, Judaism and Christianity all teach that reverent submission to the One, Self-Existent God brings fulfillment and purpose to life. Christians add that the path to submission must pass through the Son of God, Jesus.
Siddhartha Gautama – the Buddha – gave us eight directives on how to conduct our lives while incarnated on this mortal plane. He taught that through personal application of the Noble Eightfold Path we find meaning and purpose. Confucius and Lao-Tzu also formulated belief systems for finding fulfillment.
No doubt there is truth in all these paths.
Allow me to ask at this juncture: what is the most euphoric event in a man or woman’s life. Most of us would agree it’s the experience of falling in love with that one special person whom we consider our soul mate. Falling in love is the theme of a million songs worldwide. Romantic love lifts up our spirits to the heavens; it permeates with elation every thread in the fabric of our being. It is a uniquely human experience. Animals don’t fall in love; they merely select, mate and breed. And… I might add, some humans do that too, but for them, it’s a deliberate choice.
Those who are most devoted to their particular faith have literally fallen in love (Agapao - Gr.) with God or an earthly manifestation that represents God, be it nature, a holy shrine, a book of sacred writings, and/or a person such as the Christ or the Buddha. Agape is the highest love and when one is enraptured by it, it produces in the individual a secondary level of affection and compassion: philato, the love of family, friends, neighbors and all humanity – even enemies.
Jesus of Nazareth imparted to his followers three directives that when personally applied are said to imbue every devotee of Christianity with a resolute purpose for living: first, know that there is but one God – the Self-Existent One; secondly, love that God with all of your heart, mind and spirit; and third, love your fellow human beings as much as – or even more than – yourself. This is not a uniquely Christian raison d’etre. It can be universally applied to virtually all religions as well as to individual credos.
No one knows when the end of his or her mortal existence will come – maybe a minute from now, tomorrow, months or years but one thing is certain: it will come to all. I believe that human spirit energy – the soul, if you will – continues to exist following departure of our highly-evolved primate bodies.
And, what can we take with us when we fly away to the next realm of consciousness? Not our prized possessions nor our accumulated wealth; not our power nor our prestige. All we’ll be able to pack is Love and the spiritual benefits we earned by conveying and implementing that Love while we occupied the flesh.
Some of us, in order to keep food on the table, a roof over our heads and heat in winter have no choice other than to accept a job we know upfront is going to be very boring – certainly not even close to personal fulfillment. Sad to say, not everything we do can be profound – I’ve been there too — but it can be done with love and graciousness. That’s the difference.
At the end of life, many take personal inventory; they look back to review their accomplishments and their failures; to know what other people really think of them. When death is imminent, does it matter that you worked your way up to the top level of management before retiring? Does it matter that you were able to afford a million dollar house and two luxury cars? Does it matter that you were a great scientist, a movie star, a talented artist, a powerful politician, a registered nurse, a four-star general, professional athlete or a damned good plumber?
Well of course it matters! Why would God not want us to have some fun while fulfilling our purpose? A long-faced, grumpy old Zeus is not the God of joy and happiness that I know. The way I see it, it ain’t so much what we do, as it is how we do it? We don’t have to be, nor should we be, Mother Teresa’s and Father Flanagan’s in order to say “I made a difference in this world!”
Is there a purpose for being? Well, yeah, I hope so! As the Apostle said long ago: “What we are seeing though dirty, greasy eyeglasses right now will be sharp and crystal clear once we have passed through that mysterious transition we call death.”
At the end of the road, if we have carried out our particular calling and shed the light of Godly love into the hearts of others through compassionate and selfless giving... if we even halfway lived in that manner, our mission, our purpose was achieved.
So to neatly wrap it all up, I say yes, as far as I can tell… Love is the purpose.
The purpose is Love. God is Love. Messiah came to us in Love, teaching us each to Love the L-RD our God with all our hearts, minds and souls. And, to love and respect our neighbors even as we do ourselves.
Love. It might just be that simple.
Gerald Logan-MacLennon, 67, January 2015 -- from my book, Wrestling with Angels: An anthology of prose & poetry 1962 thru 2016 Revised
We always knew about Mama's love
Mama wasn't perfect, but who is? She always had room in her heart for one more; and things would always be better with one more rice crispy bar. From homemade bread to cornbread and beans when times were tough our family was always clothed and well fed.
As for her children, us, she didn't always agree with our decisions and Lord knows we gave this lovely woman her share of grief. Even so, we always knew we were loved. This goes for the grandchildren, too. (and the greats, and great greats). From our hearts to our mother’s heart... you accomplished it all, Mama!
That was from Sister Jeris. This is from me.
About 5 years ago, when Mom and husband, Cady, were moving from a townhouse to an apartment, they were forced, one more time, to downsize their possessions. Mom took me into her small office and handed me a heavy satchel, saying, “These are some of my writings, Ger. The ones that I’m most pleased with. I don’t know if you can do anything with them, but I’ve done about all I can.”
With Mom’s death occurring last Wednesday at the Manor, I knew I was obliged to say something about this lovely woman at her funeral, her last performance… so I searched through my closet for that heavy satchel. I opened it and looked through her typed and handwritten stories, poems and messages. I was reading them for about 8 hours. And, it occurred to me, my Mother had the same obsession for writing that I do. And like me, much of it went into folders, files and notebooks that didn’t see the light of day ever again.
You may recall, that before old age took its toll on her body, Mom had beautiful, Palmer-method, longhand, cursive handwriting. She received a lot of compliments. She considered it an artform and taught it to me. But then, on her final stretch of life, physical deterioration just stole it away from her.
I probably don’t have to tell any of you here about how much it hurts to see someone you have loved for years, decades – someone who was once young, bouncy, vivacious and totally exuding life in all its forms… to see all that love of life she possessed gradually taken away, bit by bit, insult by insult, downsize by downsize until at 93 years of age, she had nothing in this world but a ten-by-twenty foot room, a few photos, a single twin bed, a chair and chest of drawers and that’s it… about the size of a prison cell. But she had a lot of medical needs that required constant attention… and we just couldn’t do it well.
Last week, I knew Mom couldn’t bear it any longer. It was horrible for her to know that the Manor, the nursing home was good as it gets… there would never be an improvement… not in this life… not in this world. Ultimately, she would have to take a permanent leave…but bless her heart, Mom had a lifetime of preparation for going to that next realm. Her faith, her belief in God, and his Holy Spirit was tremendously strong. That faith got her through circumstances that would kill a person who had no hope. That’s because (standby for the lyrics) her hope was built on nothing less than Jesus and His righteousness… those are words in one of the many hymns Norma and Daddy Neal Logan sang in Red Oak, Iowa at the Salvation Army Church when they were young. And, that they sang together in the '55 Oldsmobile as we toodled down the road to our destinations, Shenandoah, Omaha, Des Moines, or vacations in Colorado, South Dakota and Minnesota. Those two, that duo sang hymns and pop songs of the 1940s and 50s… and Jeris and I, and later Jeff, were privileged to be Mom and Dad’s audience. We thought all parents did that. We didn’t know any better.
Yup, Side by Side. “O’ we ain’t got a barrel of money. Maybe we’re ragged and funny. But we’re travelin’ along, singing a song, side by side.” That magical place long ago, in the past, was where Mom and I would travel in our minds when we wanted to escape the Manor for a couple hours. We built beautiful images in our heads. You younger ones may wonder why the old people reminisce so much… why they talk about the ‘Good Old Days’. Y’know I swore I would never do that… but now I catch myself doing that… and doing things I said I’d never do like eagerly looking forward every night to “Wheel of Fortune with Pat & Vanna.” What am I becoming? And Lord, we used to torment poor Grandma Florence for doing the same thing with “Lawrence Welk & His Orchestra.” And-a one, and-a two.
In those writings in the satchel that Sandy and I looked through yesterday… we found one message that sounded very Norma-esque… which is to say deep emotions and a propensity to tell her kids and grandkids how much she loved them. The world should be so afflicted. Here it is:
************************
I give thanks to God for my three children, for giving me the privilege of Motherhood. And to my four (now six) grandchildren for giving me the gift of ‘Grandmotherhood’. Without these privileges there would have been so many lessons that were never taught to me; so many joys I would have missed. And, yes, there were many tears and sorrows that came into my life… but I also thanked God for this beautiful privilege. I am amazed at how I’ve have grown so much in so many ways through the experiences I’ve shared with my children and my grandchildren.
Mom concludes by saying, “I want to tell my children, by putting it in writing, that I truly love each and every one of them.” She goes on, “But words on paper, of course, have no meaning if not backed up by the actions of my life.”
************************
She didn’t have to worry about that. Like my little sister said, “Lord knows we gave this lovely woman her share of grief. (That includes you Jeff.) But, even so, we always knew we were loved.”
Mom’s written words brought tears to my eyes when I first read them. They amplified that feeling of loss, but I realized Sunday that Mom still lives in her writings… she still talks to us, to me, my siblings, to Sandy, to her husband Cady… Mom’s unconditional love radiates out to ALL her family and friends.. I mean, she was not Wonder Women. Her only secret Action Figure power was the Power of God living inside of her… and that gave her the power to go on when life was throwing her nothing but grief and garbage… and that gave her the power to love. And… She gave us that love because He first loved her.
Gerald Edward Logan aka Gerald MacLennon
As for her children, us, she didn't always agree with our decisions and Lord knows we gave this lovely woman her share of grief. Even so, we always knew we were loved. This goes for the grandchildren, too. (and the greats, and great greats). From our hearts to our mother’s heart... you accomplished it all, Mama!
That was from Sister Jeris. This is from me.
About 5 years ago, when Mom and husband, Cady, were moving from a townhouse to an apartment, they were forced, one more time, to downsize their possessions. Mom took me into her small office and handed me a heavy satchel, saying, “These are some of my writings, Ger. The ones that I’m most pleased with. I don’t know if you can do anything with them, but I’ve done about all I can.”
With Mom’s death occurring last Wednesday at the Manor, I knew I was obliged to say something about this lovely woman at her funeral, her last performance… so I searched through my closet for that heavy satchel. I opened it and looked through her typed and handwritten stories, poems and messages. I was reading them for about 8 hours. And, it occurred to me, my Mother had the same obsession for writing that I do. And like me, much of it went into folders, files and notebooks that didn’t see the light of day ever again.
You may recall, that before old age took its toll on her body, Mom had beautiful, Palmer-method, longhand, cursive handwriting. She received a lot of compliments. She considered it an artform and taught it to me. But then, on her final stretch of life, physical deterioration just stole it away from her.
I probably don’t have to tell any of you here about how much it hurts to see someone you have loved for years, decades – someone who was once young, bouncy, vivacious and totally exuding life in all its forms… to see all that love of life she possessed gradually taken away, bit by bit, insult by insult, downsize by downsize until at 93 years of age, she had nothing in this world but a ten-by-twenty foot room, a few photos, a single twin bed, a chair and chest of drawers and that’s it… about the size of a prison cell. But she had a lot of medical needs that required constant attention… and we just couldn’t do it well.
Last week, I knew Mom couldn’t bear it any longer. It was horrible for her to know that the Manor, the nursing home was good as it gets… there would never be an improvement… not in this life… not in this world. Ultimately, she would have to take a permanent leave…but bless her heart, Mom had a lifetime of preparation for going to that next realm. Her faith, her belief in God, and his Holy Spirit was tremendously strong. That faith got her through circumstances that would kill a person who had no hope. That’s because (standby for the lyrics) her hope was built on nothing less than Jesus and His righteousness… those are words in one of the many hymns Norma and Daddy Neal Logan sang in Red Oak, Iowa at the Salvation Army Church when they were young. And, that they sang together in the '55 Oldsmobile as we toodled down the road to our destinations, Shenandoah, Omaha, Des Moines, or vacations in Colorado, South Dakota and Minnesota. Those two, that duo sang hymns and pop songs of the 1940s and 50s… and Jeris and I, and later Jeff, were privileged to be Mom and Dad’s audience. We thought all parents did that. We didn’t know any better.
Yup, Side by Side. “O’ we ain’t got a barrel of money. Maybe we’re ragged and funny. But we’re travelin’ along, singing a song, side by side.” That magical place long ago, in the past, was where Mom and I would travel in our minds when we wanted to escape the Manor for a couple hours. We built beautiful images in our heads. You younger ones may wonder why the old people reminisce so much… why they talk about the ‘Good Old Days’. Y’know I swore I would never do that… but now I catch myself doing that… and doing things I said I’d never do like eagerly looking forward every night to “Wheel of Fortune with Pat & Vanna.” What am I becoming? And Lord, we used to torment poor Grandma Florence for doing the same thing with “Lawrence Welk & His Orchestra.” And-a one, and-a two.
In those writings in the satchel that Sandy and I looked through yesterday… we found one message that sounded very Norma-esque… which is to say deep emotions and a propensity to tell her kids and grandkids how much she loved them. The world should be so afflicted. Here it is:
************************
I give thanks to God for my three children, for giving me the privilege of Motherhood. And to my four (now six) grandchildren for giving me the gift of ‘Grandmotherhood’. Without these privileges there would have been so many lessons that were never taught to me; so many joys I would have missed. And, yes, there were many tears and sorrows that came into my life… but I also thanked God for this beautiful privilege. I am amazed at how I’ve have grown so much in so many ways through the experiences I’ve shared with my children and my grandchildren.
Mom concludes by saying, “I want to tell my children, by putting it in writing, that I truly love each and every one of them.” She goes on, “But words on paper, of course, have no meaning if not backed up by the actions of my life.”
************************
She didn’t have to worry about that. Like my little sister said, “Lord knows we gave this lovely woman her share of grief. (That includes you Jeff.) But, even so, we always knew we were loved.”
Mom’s written words brought tears to my eyes when I first read them. They amplified that feeling of loss, but I realized Sunday that Mom still lives in her writings… she still talks to us, to me, my siblings, to Sandy, to her husband Cady… Mom’s unconditional love radiates out to ALL her family and friends.. I mean, she was not Wonder Women. Her only secret Action Figure power was the Power of God living inside of her… and that gave her the power to go on when life was throwing her nothing but grief and garbage… and that gave her the power to love. And… She gave us that love because He first loved her.
Gerald Edward Logan aka Gerald MacLennon
