The Big Bang

NASA simulation

Eternity occurred in an instant.

The memory of all events began simultaneously with the physical occurrence of the first event.

The physical takes forever. however,the Memory of Forever occurred in a trillionth of a second.

God beget His Great Self with the snap of His Metaphysical Fingers.

Every event but the first one is (was / will be) a response to the one before it.

And all other events throughout eternity were  a response to the first.

Time was unnecessary.

The  result was total Knowledge/Memory and total Love.

Since Time was unnecessary and because all events evolved from the first, the first was a response to the last.

But In Truth there was no first.

And in Truth there was no last.

In Truth it is the same to say that all evolved as to say that all was created.

In Truth the words “was”, “is”,” first” and “last” offer no Truth.

In Truth, Time is an illusion.

Synonyms of importance: Love, Forgiveness, Infinity, All, Knowledge, Perfection, Ego, God, Memory, Messiah. There are many more.

Enjoy Christmas,


race? what race?



My favorite storyteller from history is Aesop. My favorite Aesop Fable is that of the Tortoise and the Hare. We all know the story but few know the lesson contained within:




It is a beautiful spring day,The Hare challenges a gathering of animals to produce a worthy opponent for a race from hither to yon.


No one accepts. Several minutes later as the hare settles down and slumps against a tree, the tortoise finally makes his way across the clearing that separates the two.


“I accept.”


The hare’s head bobs up. “Who said that?”


“I accept.”


“Accept what?” asks the hare, his long, jack-rabbity ears at full attention; “accept what”.

“I have decided to accept your challenge” replied the tortoise. “I will join you in this thing you call a race. Where do you suggest we start and what is our destination?”


Stunned by the audacity of this lowly creature the hare agrees. The two of them approach the starting line as the other animals draw near. The Wapiti with his head held high bellows loudly, “Go, fellow competitors, go.”


And they do.


The hare disappears as though he had never been and the tortoise plods forward.


The hare decides after disappearing from view, to find another tree against which, to lean and prepares his expectation of enjoying the previously interrupted nap before finishing the race; the tortoiseplods forward.


As the hare nods off to dreamland; the tortoise maintains his movement toward their shared goal.


An hour later, the hare awakens; with a stunned expression on his whiskered face the hare looks up and around and there in the distance he notices the tortoise approaching the finish line.


“Dang “, he swears to himself ” dang, dang, dang and off  he scampers  to win the race.


As hare arrives at the finish line the crowd begins to cheer and feeling very proud of his fine self the he prepares for a round or two of adulation, until…


There in front of him, barely visible as a result of a pressing crowd of admirers, is the tortoise. The hare has lost to a lowly reptile in a camper shell. “Dang”, he swears to himself. “Dang, dang, dang.”


And if we are to believe the moral that usually follows this philosophical charmer, “Slow and easy wins the race”, the we must decide how this message can be helpful in modern culture where nary a citizen has enough time to fulfill dreams and obligation.  But is this indeed, the real message?


With but a moment or two of logical thinking I believe  this story is about the response of a non conformist (the tortoise) to the taunts of  an anti-conformist, (the hare),  a challenge from one whose life has been filled with the conditional praises of others and which is  affirmed on this lovely spring day, by the acceptance of one  for whom praise was unnecessary.


The hare is a competitor of the first order, a rebellious critter interested only in the applause and congratulations for being noticeably and defiantly special and somehow, always a winner.


The tortoise’s lack of competitive spirit leaves no void within his persona for his spirit seems  awash with the cleansing effects of acceptance, peace and the forgiving love which comes from a life that is free of expectation or of a need for approval or words of gratitude.


The reptile in the camper shell was at home with himself.



Someone gave me a hug tonight.

Lee in Paradise

1976 was the worst year of my life. 1977 was the best. In 1977 a new friend told me the following things. In the years to pass I would discover them for myself. They are as follows:

Love is the Power that heals.

Love is the Power that overcomes fear.

Love is the Power that forgives.

Love is the Power that is offered with no expectation of anything in return. Love is Completely Unconditional.

Love is present when we cry.

Love is the energy contained in the laugh of a child or the cry of the warrior holding the lifeless body of a fallen comrade.

We humans, like everything else in nature possess a motive for everything we do, even when that motive is an unconscious event. In other words being the self-centered critters that we are, Love as a deliberate act is unnatural. We cannot “do” Love. But we recognize the feeling it leaves in us, usually after that feeling ebbs.

Where does Love come from?

Love is within arm’s reach.

What is Love?

Love is…

That’s all.

I feel loved when I say I accept.

I feel loved when I help another, especially if the person i am helping is unaware of what I am doing.

And, I was told that even though I thought I had lost everything, I still had something that someone else needed.



rocky the duck



A friend of mine has a friend named Rocky. Rocky’s a biped; Rocky’s a duck. My friend is a biped named Mary; Mary is not a duck.

Mary enjoys scooting along the canals in Phoenix, Arizona; she enjoys the scoot, the fresh air and the opportunity to acquire a clear head.

And she likes ducks.

I’m not sure if she has always liked ducks. I’m curious you see because I too like ducks. Chickens are okay. I ‘ve known some chickens in my life but chickens aren’t as smart as ducks and who would ever think to name a chicken Donald or Huey, Dewey or Louie; and Rocky? No chicken could ever get along with the other chickens with a name like Rocky.

When Mary met Rocky I suspect it was rather one sided. Actually (if I got the story right), Rocky was a duckling at the time and he must have stood out from the others; at least I don’t remember Mary talking about Rocky’s diblings (that’s duck for duck sibling) by mentioning Darlene or Joey, if ya know what I mean.

I’ve asked Mary repeat the story a coupla times which she gladly does; she even gives me updates from time to time so I’m surely getting most of this right.

I don’t know where she spotted Rocky but my brain has filled that in for me and In my mind’s eye I can very clearly see Mom and the kids waddling down the canal under the cottonwoods near 56th and Indian School Rd. So there.

I think that Mary must have stopped to linger for a few minutes for she clearly fell head over heels in love with the duckies (you should see her eyes light up when she tells the story). She may not have been a duck lover before the incident but Mary is now a duck lover for life.

When Mary gets to that part of the story where Rocky is missing, that light in her eyes becomes a flash of lightning. I think the way she tells it is that on the second visit Mom was there and perhaps one of the kids but there was no Rocky.

Mary looked up and down the canal for a while, jogging this way and that and finally with a pout and a wrinkled brow returned to her living room and pondered the possibilities of a missing Rocky.

Mary is a very determined lady which is probably what drew her to Rocky in the first place for you see, she did not talk about Rocky as though she was a Mother Duck – after all Rocky had a mom. No, Mary’s eyes spoke of Rocky kinda like a brother, yeah that’s it; Rocky was a brother duck and Mary in the telling comes alive again when letting me know that Rocky was back on the third day.

She reported nothing else about brother Rock tha I can recall, just that Rocky was alive and well and back with Mom and his diblings.

I think that must have been a year or so ago that these compelling events became such an attractive story; When I saw Mary on Sunday she brought me up to date; Rocky is a daddy Duck now and has ducklings of his own, One looks exactly like Rocky. The rest are decidedly Mom.

Overheard in an Alley

color029_sJPG_950_2000_0_75_0_50_50 Boy building a model airplane as girl watches. Robstown, Texas, January 1942. Reproduction from color slide. Photo by Arthur Rothstein. Prints and Photographs Division, Library of Congress

Voice One: The guy with the hair; what’s his name again?

Voice Two: I forget.

Voice One: They say he’s guilty.

Voice Two: Who says he’s guilty?

Voice One: Everybody.

Voice Two: Really?

Voice One: Yeah, really. So Whaddaya think?

Voice Two: About what?

Voice One: Is he guilty?

Voice Two: Who? The guy with the hair?

Voice One: Yeah.

Voice Two: Guilty of what?

Voice One: I don’t know, actually. It must be something awful.

Voice Two: Why do you think that?

Voice One: Well, because; He won’t defend himself.

Voice Two: Did he say why?

Voice One: It didn’t make much sense, come to think of it.

Voice Two: Okay, but what was it; what’d he say?

Voice One: Something about turning his head or something like that?

Voice Two: Could it have been about turning the other cheek?

Voice One: Cheeks, yeah. Turn the other cheek. That was it. Whaddaya think he

Voice Two: Well you were there. What did you think?

Voice One: Beats me.

Voice Two: Then why do you think he’s guilty? You don’t know what he’s guilty
of but you think he’s guilty. He doesn’t defend himself and you seem
to think that this is evidence of his guilt. And now that you’ve heard
his reason for not defending himself, you don’t know what he means
but you still think he’s guilty?

Voice One: Everybody else does.

Voice Two: What he said was that when someone wrongs us or metaphorically
slaps us across the cheek that it is better to turn our cheek and let
the offender slap the other cheek than to have our revenge with him.
His reason appears to be that it is better for only one person to suffer
than two.
And you know yourself that when you argue with someone it is rare
for anyone to come out on top.

Voice One: Well, I still think he’s guilty.

Voice Two: Why’s that.

Voice One: Because, Silly; everybody knows he’s guilty.

Voice Two: And that’s it?

Voice One: What can you expect from a guy like that?

Voice Two: A guy like what?

Voice One: Well ask anyone; everybody knows he was born in a barn.





Most of life’s ills I’m told, occur after forty.

Most of those ills can be prevented with exercise and good nutrition.

My sources tell me that more than half of life’s ills can be prevented even with a crummy diet by taking large daily doses of vitamin C and sub-lingual B12 or bi- monthly shots of same.

More than half of life’s ills can be prevented by replacing most if not all of the animal products in their daily diet with home cooked beans and two tablespoons of broken walnuts or pecans. There are millions of very old vegans who believe this.

I’m old. I take care of myself because I am enjoying this stage in my life. I want to continue learning, loving and living. That being said, let me tell you about a sandwich I made today. But first a few words about food preparation in Lee Broom’s kitchen.

I eat lots of veggies. No animals. No cheese. No eggs. One exception. I buy an unusually healthy mayo containing neither preservatives nor high fructose corn syrup. It is made with eggs of course, so I use it once a week and no more than that. On weekends I like to cook. While beans and rice simmer in the background, I make use of this two-hour period by slicing and dicing veggies and making salsa and soups.

Today at lunchtime I put a paper plate on the chopping block and placed on its surface five fingerlings of cooked carrots from Sunday’s cooking session. I mashed them. I sprinkled them liberally with red pepper flakes and stirred in some broken walnuts. Two tablespoons of this great mayo made in Utah and another quick stir, slice a tomato, grab some lettuce leaves and plop this veggie goodness between two slices of today’s fresh bread from the corner bakery. I carried this wonderful creation to the table and returned for the fruit desert and plain soda water tinged with the whizzed remains of a dozen blue berries, and seated myself. I then thanked the Love of my Life for this wonderful moment in an otherwise hectic day and slowly feasted to the accompaniment of Chopin. Thanks for joining me. Lee Broom.

The Automat


I saw a silent film a few years ago. I don’t remember the title; it was probably about fifteen minutes in length. The photraphy was shot in black and white. It was not a pre-talkie; the silent feature and the lack of color were important special effects. The story would have to support itself:   

And  the cameras begin to roll……………….

An expensively attired, middle-aged woman is seen entering The Automat. She peers into several windows, puts money into the slot, removes her food selection – let’s say it was pork chops and broccoli; she spots an empty table and seats herself. Then, realizing that she failed to select eating utensils she rises from her seat and walks to the counter containing the necessary extras. As she returns to her table she sees a man in a shabby suit seated there, eating her food. Several expressions cross her face in quick succession; surprise, anger, pity and finally a sort of resolve. She seats herself opposite the haggard looking and apparently hungry, consumer and again displays the conflicting emotions. Should I allow him to eat my food(?) she seems to ask herself, or should I stand my ground(?).

She places her utensils on the table and reaches for the plate of food. As she begins to eat, her newly acquired dinner companion extends an arm and rescues his meal. They look at each other, he with curious eyes, she with the look of strength and determination. She repeats her previous performance as does the ragged gentleman on the other side of the booth. What now(?) they seem to wonder.

Eventually, it is the man who appears to have the problem solved. Clearly, he is not going to relinquish his claim on the meal but he also appears to be something of a gentleman in spite of skid row appearance. He places the plate of food at a point halfway between them and motions for her to partake of some nourishment. She slowly and with a cautious look and manner, complies. He then carves the pork chop and with the edge of his knife moves a few pieces in her direction. With his fork he places a morsel of meat into his mouth and motions for her to do the same.

What, I wondered would motivate this woman to give in so easily? What would I have done in a similar situation? In a matter of only a few minutes the food is nearly consumed by these two people. She moves the plate toward her dinner partner and rises to leave. He thanks her with his eyes and with the wave of his hand and a final tap of the napkin on the corner of his mouth seems to be saying “No thank you, I couldn’t possibly eat another bite. Thank you for joining me; have a wonderful day.”

She returns his smile. They turn their backs to each other and depart, each exiting in different directions. As she passes the booth situated directly behind the location of her meal of moments ago, she notices a plate of pork chops and broccoli with no utensils; there was no one seated before it.

To Rock or Not to Rock the Boat.


I read Life of Pi. It was captivating. After all, I do enjoy reading about myself, don’t you? The last few pages sounded like the last four years of my life. The Rest of the Story sounded like all the rest of my life, save for a couple of details (I am all the characters).

Like Pi, I am the tiger, the hyena, the ship’s cook and the creator of my own mythology. I am the inquisitor, the carnivorous algae and the mother who would die for her offspring. I’m the irresponsible father who allowed his teenage son to help supervise this most dangerous of all endeavors.

Like everyone, I am Slave to my Beliefs. though I must insist that I have a higher regard for the esteem of self honesty however illusive, than to the accuracy of an ever-changing Group Myth. This innately creative facet of human behavior was made clear in the final chapter as Pi was being interviewed by representatoves of the sinking of the ship, the result of which was the prospect of an ever-changing reality, not only in Pi’s future but in his past.

Also displayed in this chapter of varying realities was the united expression of shared belief as dominate any kind of group activity and which sought to exert control over this brave teen. These skeptical interviewers sought facts, not stories. Had Pi been interviewed by a Hollywood writer rather than these insurance motivated fact finders, this story might have gone differently………..or “Not”.

And I, like Pi, in order to getalong with the singalong, often hear myself reducing my music to the basic chord structure in an attempt to honor not only myself but my groups and the individuals within.

After all we are all in this boat together, aren’t we? (Sorry, that just slipped out.)