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Deep Thinkers, Deep Thoughts

A photo of The Thinker by Rodin located at the Musée Rodin in Paris. Public domain Wiki

I’ve always thought of music lovers as thoughtful.

I’m not saying I’m a deep thinker, but I have thought about thinking. As I start this blog post I’m thinking about writing about thought.

Stream of consciousness, I think.

Aretha Franklin soulfully finger-wagged at her man:

You better think (think) 
Think about what you’re trying to do to me
Think (think, think)
Let your mind go, let yourself be free …freedom

And John Lennon, putting his thinking cap on, sang:

Imagine all the people
Living for today

Imagine. Living for today, because what if there is no tomorrow.

Does that mean death ends the thinking? The thoughts?

In just a few days it will be the anniversary of Lennon’s death. He was shot dead by Mark David Chapman on the doorsteps of John and Yoko’s New York City home on Dec. 8, 1980.

Are his thoughts gone? Certainly, Lennon is thought about by many people. What he once thought is known by millions through interviews, movies, and songs. On Friday’s anniversary, Lennon will be thought about more. But are Lennon’s thoughts gone? Or do they exist? Or is Lennon, perhaps, continuing his thinking in some other realm as a sentient being?

What is thought?

A building block of ideas?

A brain’s computer-like transaction  responding to feedback?

A mind’s synthesis of the five senses and memory?

Thought comes from consciousness – but what’s consciousness?

Here’s the cosmic dirty little secret: No one knows.

No one: Scientists, biologists, psychiatrists, philosophers, neurologists, Albert Einstein, not even Russell Brand.

None of them can explain consciousness.

They can describe it. They can look at brain wave patterns and watch brain activity on fancy machines. They can see parts of the answer through the windows of their disciplines. But no one can explain the process by which people and other living things are turned on, animated, for many years before the switch gets turned off. No one knows for sure if the light dies or goes somewhere else, or even where the switch is.

Comedian Steven Wright once joked: “In my house there’s this light switch that doesn’t do anything. Every so often I would flick it on and off just to check. Yesterday, I got a call from a woman in Madagascar. She said, ‘Cut it out.’”

Writing in the magazine Philosophy Now, Philip Goff says we may not even be asking the right question:

It is sometimes said that consciousness is a mystery in the sense that we have no idea what it is. This is clearly not true. What could be better known to us than our own feelings and experiences? The mystery of consciousness is not what consciousness is, but why it is.

Yes, why. That’s always been the killer question, right? Van Morrison on one of his lesser known albums sang: “It ain’t why why why. It just is.”

Which seems to be similar (in tone anyway) to what Descartes said hundreds of years ago. sounding to me like he was being plagued by questions from philosophy students.

Descartes famously wrote: Cogito ergo sum.

 I think, therefore I am.

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Who Am I?

Who am I?

This is a philosophical question.

In song, The Who asked ‘Who are You’? Black Uhuru asked ‘What is Life’? Frank Zappa said, ‘Help I’m a rock.’

Some of you have pondered this question, I’m sure. Others think it is silly because it has no set answer.

As some of you know, I have Lewy Body dementia. My brain neurons are dying, being killed over time by excess  proteins. There is no known cure and its cause is unknown. But it’s the second leading cause of dementia after Alzheimer’s.

So the question for me is pertinent .

As I have written earlier I am literally, albeit slowly, losing my mind. Does that mean every day I am a little less of myself? Or that I am myself at all?

What if my perception of myself is widely different from what others see. It could be a horror movie: ‘Invasion of the Alpha-synuclein Proteins.’

David Hume

Justin Caouette posting on the blog A Philosopher’s Take, asks if we rip a page out of a book, is it the same book? How about a chapter? How about if you blot every word out with Wite-Out?

Philosopher David “Hume says that all that “we” are is a bundle of perceptions at any given reference point, according to Caouette. “The ‘self’ for Hume, when perceived as something fixed through time, is an illusion. Strict identity claims are simply false when talking about ourselves as persisting through time. The bundle of perceptions changes with each experience, therefore, there is no one enduring ‘self’ that persists through each experience.”

So minute by minute we change. But is he saying we are not who we are two minutes earlier? Yes and no. I think.

Here’s more; “When I say “I will go home in an hour” I’m referring to the bundle of perceptions that is related by past experiences to the bundle that will walk out the door. I may be wrong in my claim that ‘I’ will leave in an hour (I may take longer or turn in sooner, but, I will leave at some point),  the ‘I’ is simply a quick and fast way of identifying who will walk out the door.”

So I’m following this, sort of. He brings up Alzheimer’s (I wish Lewy Bodies would be mentioned in conjunction with Alzheimer’s as another leading cause of dementia.)

“One need not have a fixed memory or even a good one to be a person or a self on this account. This gets us around those who have Alzheimer’s. They are still persons on this view.”

That’s nice.

For me this is all a Catch-22 because I am actively losing the thing, my mind, which  interprets my perceptions, of which I am a downsizing ‘bundle of.’

I may soon  be asking ‘Who are you?’ to loved ones. But I won’t be meaning it in a philosophical way.

So before this part of me goes away, I am thinking a lot about who I am..

Will Durant, channeling Aristotle in his definitive ‘The Story of Philosophy’ said ‘we are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then is not an act but a habit.’

So who are you? Who am I?

Parent, weekend athlete, storyteller, son, daughter, music lover, prankster, hiker.

I do know this:

I am Lewy.

 

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Staying Alive

Requip. Memantine. Sinemet. Vinyl.

Now which of these will help me live longer?

The first three are drugs I’ve taken or am taking to battle my disease. While  they will help with the symptoms, they aren’t proven to stop this disease.

I have Lewy Body dementia and my life is expected to be 5 to 7 years (but varies widely) after diagnosis. I was diagnosed 13 months ago at age 56.

For more of my story click on the About Me button and  read some of the links.

The fourth item, Vinyl, as in vinyl records is what I am banking on. I am reviewing on this  website my collection of vinyl records, mostly from the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s’. I have 678 records. I’ve made a vow to  complete my collection before I go to that big used record store in the sky.

So my birthday — which was on Nov. 9 this year* — my sister Julie sends me albums. New vinyl record albums not some rummage sale used discs. And she said there will be more at other events in time. She said they are going to keep me alive longer.

And you know I think she’s right, this project which I am loving will keep me going. And I’ve got a long way to go..

And it’s getting longer. Four more records I haven’t even heard  of. (Well I know Fleet Foxes a little.)

Here’s what Julie and Rob and family sent me. I’ve listened to some but am not ready to review. I will slip them in alphabetically as I am doing. I’m in the B’s right now.

  • “Crack-up” by Fleet Foxes.
  • “Milano” by Danielle Luppis & Parouet Courts.
  • “Relatives in Descent” by Protomartyr
  • “Pure Comedy” by Father John Misty

And one that I picked up at a mini concert on the back porch of a basketball buddy of mine. It’s a husband wife team and the band and album is called:  When Particles Collide “This Town.”

So here’s some exciting new music I’ll be reviewing after I get to know them a bit.

Thanks and much love to  Julie, Rob, Sophie, Rachel, Graeme,  Jake and my lovely daughter Emily.

*Interesting note, but that’s what my b-day was last year.

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Another hugging, this has got to stop

I hugged my pastor on Sunday.

So did hundreds of others after (and before) the services at First Presbyterian Church of Birmingham on Oct. 29, 2017.

It was the Rev. Shannon Webster’s retirement service followed by potluck with fried chicken and more pasta salads, fruit plates and macaroni and cheese than you could shake a big spoon at. The abundance was threatened by appetites and attendance.

After more than a decade here, Shannon will be soon leaving Birmingham with his wonderful wife, Lou Ann, a  social worker, for his beloved home-state New Mexico. See AL.com story.

Tears flowed as tributes were made.

The church stakes claims on it being the oldest church in the city of Birmingham with roots going back to the 1850s before settling into its current place at 2100 4th Ave. North in the late 1800s, and I couldn’t believe that my first attendance was only about two years ago.

I’ll soon be a very regular attendee as my wife, Catherine, begins working there as interim associate pastor. She’ll be working with  the Rev. Catherine Goodrich,acting  head of staff.

Trust me when I say that they will be one dynamic duo.

Like Shannon, the two fit right into the historic church’s legacy of pursuing social justice causes. Shannon and the church were a big factor in the battle against  unfair payday lending practices. The church started the women’s shelter, First Light, on the same street.

Social Justice  is in the church’s DNA. .The mostly white church stood up for civil rights in 1963 and paid a price for it, including the pastor, Dr. Edward Ramage’s job. Ramage was one of the clergy Dr. Martin Luther King  Jr. addressed in his letter from Birmingham jail. The letter was like a revelation, an epistle from Paul, Ramage said.  Clashes within  ultimately ended  Ramage’s  tenure there.

Shannon, a guitar playing, singer songwriting, New Mexican, wrote a song about Ramage which was  featured on handouts with music and verse on this day, his last Sunday. Here’s part of ‘Peace of the City’:

Generations down the years have steadily accrued, both the faults and fears of ancestors and the gifts and good they knew

So the prophets still call us to God’s will and its of their names we sing Shuttlesworth, Ed Ramage too and Martin Luther King

So, on this special Sunday I was thinking about the irony that I was once again at the intersections of 4th Avenue North and 22nd Street (and 21st St. N. There’s actually two intersections and adjacent blocks but i’m using the ‘city block’ as a literary device).

This city block is the place where my journalism career began, the place where I started playing basketball at the downtown YMCA and now the place where I have found solace in my church home .

After living (in order) in Maryland (born), Texas, Alabama, Minnesota, Indiana, Georgia, Alabama,  Florida, California, and now Alabama again, I realize something  keeps calling me and my family  back.

And it’s not just the state, it’s this city block.

Like the canyons and mountains of New Mexico are calling Shannon and Lou Ann.

Shannon, here are some words to a song by your favorite theologian, Kris Kristofferson, to take us out of here, then listen to Kris sing it..

Was it wonderful for you was it holy as it was for me
Did you feel the hand of destiny that was guidin’ us together
You were young enough to dream I was old enough to learn something new
I’m so glad I got to dance with you for a moment of forever

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Me and My Old Boss

Jim Jacobson, Editor.

I hugged my old boss one day recently. Out of the blue we embraced.

Funny thing, my most vivid memory of Jim Jacobson is being called into his office with my colleague Rick Bragg decades ago. It was like the principal’s office only I was 26 and the year was 1985. Rick and I got into a bit of trouble for publishing the prisoner’s list of demands from a riot at St. Clair Correctional Facility in which I was somewhat involved in.

. 

How I looked in 1985 covering St. Clair riot.

Recently I went with Catherine to visit Frances, the mother of Ann, a neighbor of ours. She’s in a memory care unit in Birmingham with the same disease I have: Lewy Body dementia. She is about 20 years or so older than me though.

We had a wonderful talk and shared our experiences. She asked: “Do you ever forget what you were going to say while you are talking?”

Of course, I said. We laughed and shared some more. I noticed her hands shook more than mine. But her lucidity comforted me, even though she had her Lewy moments.

She asked: Did you see Mr. Jacobson? Such a nice man. I told her I did. Down the hall, just a bit ago.

He was sitting in a room with three other residents watching TV.

My old boss looked older of course.

I didn’t really know much about him, though I knew he was a respected journalist, who did some work overseas, including correspondence from Vietnam, and  he was an elected member of the University of Alabama communication school hall of fame.

I hadn’t talked to him in 30 years. I had left the paper in 1987, and returned in 2011. He retired in 1997.

I told him who I was; I thought I detected a flash of recognition. We talked and I believe he was telling me about the news business and how it has changed.. But I’m not sure what he said as he spoke softly. My hearing is going downhill fast. And people ask me to speak up a lot – a soft voice is one of the symptoms of my disease and many types of dementia.

We chatted a bit more as I sat there trying to process.

Things often come full circle. That circle is important for reasons I don’t know now other than I know the circles are important..

Upon leaving, he arose from his chair. He hugged Catherine.

I stuck out my hand.

I had been away all this time in Florida and California. Had three kids. I hadn’t thought about Mr. Jacobson in forever it seemed. But now here we were, me and my old boss, here at the end of a circle.

But a circle never ends.

He ignored my hand and opened his arms wide.

We embraced, me and my old boss.


Ron Ingram, Dean Barber, James Jacobson, Tom Arenberg at the Big N, Jan. 1986.