A Reflection Of Our Soul

Uncle Bubba got a new Wal-Mart store in his small town and he wondered about the conscience of that Sam Walton fella. He wondered if ol' Sam died happy with the way that his stores have blighted our American panorama much like Dutch elm disease slowly traveled the world's landscape and ravaged the majestic trees. You see, Bubbie's small town all ready had a Wal-Mart store. Admittedly, it was a small storefront by Wal-Mart standards, located in a plaza with a handful of other businesses; a grocery store, three restaurants, and a barber shop. But somehow the Walton industry decided that they needed a new store in a new location. So five miles down the road, on the southern edge of town, they began cutting down trees and clearing the landscape of underbrush. They tore up the ground only to level it and cover it in concrete and asphalt. They built their new building to house the store, which by the way, is not much bigger than the old store, if at all. Then they cleared out the old store of all that they couldn't sell and moved south for the grand opening. Uncle Bubba was working out of town during most of this event. As you know, he has been traveling a lot for work. But this last trip home brought him down Main St. past the old Wal-Mart location. His heart sank as he laid eyes on the empty parking lot with the un-mown grass and the vacant, disheveled storefront. The ugliness was exacerbated by an outline of letters spelling Wal-Mart on a begrimed blue banner above the dark, impassive doors. Several vehicles dotted the parking lot long the edge of the plaza where the other businesses were obviously contending to carry on.

It was then that Uncle Bubba was reminded of something a sage cowboy had once told him; that his horse is a reflection of his soul. It was there, staring at the scar that was left on his hometown that he was reminded that our world, the earth is a reflection of our soul. In Bubbie's view, if we prioritize it's commercialization then our reflected value is only in the landscape's short term monetary value. There is less of, or virtually no value in Nature or sustenance for the future. The condition of which the Walton's left the old Wal-Mart store is a metaphor for the condition of our collective souls. Our silent acceptance of their substandard tenancy is a reflection on us. We are no better than the corporate devils that scourge the land and march off in the name of good business.

Rocking To The Rhythm

Uncle Bubba has once again returned home from a long five weeks on the road. He's been home for a little over a week and I haven't been anxious to bother him, but I ran into Sweet Pea at the Piggly Wiggly and she said that Bubbie was doing well and feeling rested; she insisted that I stop by for a visit. So the following day I made the trek along the wooded country roads to Uncle Bubba's. I could see him thru my windshield as I approached down the lane. He was working in the yard; one of his favorite domestic endeavors. I was glad to see the familiar smile and wave as I drove up the drive and parked my truck. After the initial greetings we walked to the porch and sat in a couple of wooden rocking chairs and wiled away a couple hours. After catching up on what we have both been up to lately, Uncle Bubba shifted gears and pointed out how when we first began rocking in those wooden rocking chairs, that we are rocking at different rates until we relaxed and fell into the conversation. At that time we had slowed our rocking and rocked more in unison. As he brought it to my attention I did notice that the deeper our conversation delved, the less and less we rocked and then as our repartee lightened we would rock a little more carefree. In Bubbie's view, there is a rhythm to life. Each of us lives at our own rhythm and we can only be in tune with one another when we are rocking at the same rhythm. Bubbie says that you either get it or you don't. There's no in between. A person has to be perceptive to the rhythm of the others around them and adjust to a rhythm to accomplish the most. Occasionally we'll meet people that we are naturally in sync with so talking and working with them is easy. Others we may be on opposite sides of the spectrum and it takes monumental effort to get your rhythms to meet in the middle. One's natural rhythm may be fast and the other slow. Or one may have an erratic rhythm. Uncle Bubba has noticed that troubled folks have erratic rhythms. People think that in an ideal life there shouldn't be waves, there are. They think that life should just float along smoothly, whatever their rhythm, but that's just not the way that it is. We are all rocking to different rates and bumping into each other; how can there not be waves? The key is to see it and stay as steady as you can until you can get back into a peaceful rhythm as soon as possible.

Uncle Bubba and I sat there on the porch as the sky turned from blue to a pale orange. It was good to have my friend back home where he can truly enjoy his life, at his rhythm. As I left for my own home I looked back over my left shoulder as I drove away and saw Bubbie and Sweet Pea sitting on the porch, smiling and rocking in rhythm.

6/20/2012 Update: Shortly after posting Bubbie's view about the rhythm of life, I coincidentally came across some information about neuroscientist Richard Davidson and his work on conditions like ADHD and autism. He focuses not on fixing what is wrong, but on rewiring our minds with life-enriching behaviors. Dr. Davidson indicates that discoveries within the neuroscience community have found that there is a brain rhythm that is called gamma oscillations. Gamma oscillations are recorded through the electrical activity of the brain. When you observe gamma oscillations in a normal conventional person who has not gone training of the mind, you see the oscillations for very short periods of time, typically one second or less. What scientists observe in the long-term practitioners during certain kinds of meditation, particularly meditation on compassion, is that these gamma oscillations persist for a much longer period of time; they persisted for minutes continuously at very high amplitude. You can imagine my astonishment in discovering this information right after my poignant conversation with Bubbie. I don't reckon that I'd have to tell Uncle Bubba that there is scientific evidence that our brains have rhythmic impulses for him to know that he's right. Uncle Bubba knows what he knows and that's why we have Bubbie's view.