But with righteousness shall he judge the poor

But with righteousness shall he judge the poor, and reprove with equity for the meek of the earth: and he shall smite the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips shall he slay the wicked.
Isaiah 11:4

Judge not the poor or view the meek

as burdens with a prospect bleak.

In humbleness a child was born

without a home and doomed to scorn,

who rose redeeming in the air

and soon will smite the earth with care

so that the greedy and purse proud

are slain, but others stay unbowed.

May I, O Lord, be of that throng

who shelter 'neath thy wing span strong! 

Cas Mudde is a no good stinker. (Prose Poem)

But experts in the brain injury field said the delayed response and confusion were primarily caused by a problem both the military and civilian world have struggled with for more than a decade: There is no reliable way to determine who has a brain injury and who does not.

Dave Philipps & Thomas Gibbons-Neff.  NYT.

Does anybody really know anything?

I mean, they can't tell if your brain is damaged or not

until you keel over in a coma.

There could be nematodes in my brain right now, and I

wouldn't have a clue right up to the moment they erupted from my ear drums like steel wool.

That's why I carry shiny pebbles with me.

Always.

Not just any ordinary shiny pebbles, but the kind

you pick up off the beach. Which are really sea glass.

Pieces of broken glass bottles that have rolled around

the ocean floor for centuries until they become smooth

shiny pebbles, which are then cast up on the seashore.

Like ambergris.

These shiny pebbles have had long years to absorb the

mysteries of the ocean -- its healing powers and 

deep wisdom.

So some of that inevitably must rub off on me if I carry 

around enough of them.

It stands to reason.

But I don't stop there. Not by any means.

I mail bits of sea glass to politicians, philosophers, and celebrities, asking them to rub the sea glass in the palm of their hands for a few seconds and then mail them back to me. 

I figure it can't hurt, 

and maybe it'll do me some good.

But one time I sent a particularly translucent piece of green sea glass to Cas Mudde, a big shot professor in Holland.

And he never sent it back.

I waited and I waited and I waited.

One whole year I waited. Then I wrote him asking for my

shinny pebble back. 

There was no reply.

So I flew to Holland, at my own expense, to look him up

and ask for my sea glass back.

I found him eating raw herring on a shale beach, with a storm coming in.  

The turbulent waves made the idea of civilization laughable.

He spoke excellent English.

He remembered my bit of sea glass.

He refused to give it back to me.

It was bringing him much luck in his academic pursuits.

 He had also never felt healthier in his life.

And he was a heavy smoker and beer drinker.

Since the age of sixteen.

So no -- I couldn't have it back.

Possession is nine tenths of the law, and all that.

Goaded by the lusty smell of bruised kelp, 

I yelled "You're nothin' but a big fat stinker!"

And I lunged at him.

For a heavy smoker, he ran pretty fast.

I chased him down the beach for ten minutes.

Then he stumbled and fell, rolling over and over

until a large breaker snatched him up and pulled

him out to sea.

I read later that a Japanese trawler had picked him up but refused to take him back to Holland. He had to go all the way to Yokohama with them. 

Serves him right.

That plane ticket to Holland was expensive. 

When I got home all my succulents were dead.

They had been overwatered by my sister during my absence.

Plus she had thrown away my collection of sea glass -- the stuff I wasn't carrying with me in Holland, which was only about two pounds worth.

"It attracts corvids" she told me. "You don't want a crow poking your eye out some morning, do you?"

She refused to sell her car to reimburse me.

Does anybody really care about anything?

Be comforted.

And it came to pass that the Lord did visit them with his Spirit, and said unto them: Be comforted. And they were comforted.
Alma 17:10

When I'm riled or full of stress

I know the Lord will kindly bless

me with His spirit, if I ask --

and yet it seems a heavy task

to bow my head before the Lord

and seek for some assured accord.

O foolish man, why do you balk

and at His side refuse to walk?

Just drop your pride, let meekness bloom,

and for the Lord make lots of room!

The Gamelan.

Mount Hemenhaw. Poughkepsie Range. The Krindle Republic.

As brick-and-mortar stores scramble to justify their continued existence, they’re trying to be all things to all customers, to blend instant gratification and infinite selection. And it falls upon the workers on the front lines to make it all happen.

Andy Newman. NYT.

It was early spring, a feeling of untrammeled longing in the air, and the swifts wheeled overhead in their immemorial mating ritual -- swooping down and circling the tall buildings until they smashed into one another and fell to the sidewalk, where hungry panhandlers made quick work of them. It's a grisly and disturbing annual spectacle, which I avoided that day by hurrying into the nearest store. 

A woman in a very stylish red dress immediately pounced on me from behind a counter, nearly groveling as she welcomed me to the store and asked how she could help me.

"I dunno" I mumbled, slightly embarrassed. "What sort of stuff do you sell in here?"

"Oh sir!" her eyes lit up like flambeaux on a winter night. "We can get you anything you want -- anything at all."

I decided to be facetious. 

"Can you get me a bottle of powdered helium?" I asked lightly. "Organic, of course."

"Let me check -- I'll be right back!" she said to me as she straddled a moped and raced off into the dim bowels of the store.

While she was gone a trio of children sidled up to me to sing the Whiffenpoof Song a cappella. They then offered to reblock my necktie. I politely declined. Watered silk is not a material you let strangers handle, no matter how well-intentioned and innocent they might be.

The woman in the elegant red dress reappeared on her moped. She dismissed the children with the wave of a palm frond. She looked very downcast. She also looked increasingly desirable in that silky red dress.

"I'm so sorry, sir" she said quietly. "But powdered helium is a product that will have many industrial uses but hasn't been invented yet. I consulted with our overseas agent at the Encyclopedia Britannica for confirmation -- here's his report, if you'd like to look it over."

"Uh, no, thank you" I replied. "That won't be necessary." I craned my neck to look out the window, hoping the panhandlers were done with their gory feasting. But now they were chasing plastic bags blowing around the streets, laughing maniacally, so I decided to stay put. 

"I can always use another pair of socks" I told the woman in red, in order to comfort her. She really did look ravaged. I thought she might start crying. She had no name tag, but wore a large, gaudy, plastic sunflower on her blouse. It started to make me nervous. "Does that thing squirt water?" I asked her.

"Do you want it to, sir?" she asked earnestly.

"No, not really" I said. 

"Then it doesn't" she said quickly. "What kind of socks are you looking for?"

Suddenly a sharp bitterness welled up in me. I wore socks every day, everywhere -- even to bed. They symbolized conformity and oppression. Right then and there I decided to discard my old way of life, like a thoroughly read newspaper, and start all over again.

"On second thought" I told the lady in the red dress, "forget the socks -- I need flip flops and a backpack. And will you go with me to explore the Gomantong Caves in Kalimantan?"

There was a heavy silence. I could hear apps clicking on and off from her smartphone.

"That's in Borneo, right?" she finally asked.

"Yes" I said simply.

"Will we drink wine under the stalactites?" she asked moodily.

"Anything you want, my dear" I cooed. I could tell her resistance was weakening. This was good, because I had just decided that I couldn't live without her in my life, and would go chase plastic bags myself if she turned down my wild offer.

Then she was in my arms.

Then she was in my wallet.

"Doesn't look like you have a lot of money" she said as she rifled through my credit cards and cash. 

"Trust fund" was my only response.

We flew to Samarinda the next day. I never asked her name. She never asked for mine. We were two untamed lovers, reveling amid an overripe tropical splendor. When she was eaten by a clouded leopard I went back to my old life at the gypsum board factory in Waukegan, and never played the gamelan again. 

Going Backward.

But they hearkened not, nor inclined their ear, but walked in the counsels and in the imagination of their evil heart, and went backward, and not forward.
Jeremiah 7:24. 

When that still small special voice

tells you not to make a choice,

and you make it anyway --

it is bound to ruin your day.

Going backwards, you can't win

with your actions steeped in sin.

Like Macbeth's imagination,

it may start as mere flirtation;

but when ears are disinclined

to accept God's words refined

there is only grief and pain

(though the world some fools might gain.)

Help me, Lord, go forward to

all that's glorified and true!