Tag Archives: freedom


File:The Earth seen from Apollo 17.jpgThe Blue Marble  Wikipedia File:The Earth seen from Apollo 17.jpg



Earth is a rock; Earth has no opinions; it cannot think, it cannot speak;  however…

Earth has a belief system.

If Earth could speak, it would say…

“I am hurtling through space in a perfectly straight line. I am not sure of my destination but I will arrive at the earliest possible time. Nothing can deter me; nothing can slow me down; I am following a perfectly plotted, straight path.  I am going where no Rock has ever gone before. I am Earth.”   

Of course, in reality this strong-willed rock has been in orbit for a very long time.  And so have you and I and everything else in the universe.

And that’s the Truth.

SAFETY FIRST (among giants)

lafayette compound 012




Life among giants is tricky.

We begin by staying close to Mom.

We venture out.

We crawl.

We rise up on our hind legs and we stumble.

We cry out for Mom but before she reaches us we are up again and on the move.

From Birth till Ever we search for safety.

We measure that safety with terms of approval.

We shout to the horizon “I am not afraid”.

And even when disappointed beyond words we seek additional measures of approval.

We had begun one person at a time until one day we decided “more is better”.

More approval meant  more cooperation but less emphasis on being right.

We stopped experimenting.

We adopted the attitudes and belief systems of the  group.

We rebelled occasionally, unhappy with having opted to be less true to ourselves in favor of what? Safety? Fairness? Fairness? Why had we abdicated our Freedom?

We had a cup of coffee in the most popular coffee shop and thought about it.

This isn’t so bad… is it?

Is it?

bathroom 1 014
Lee Broom



Lee Broom

Our first scream is an involuntary response to the first gasp. It occurs at the moment of our first sensation of fear; our first decision, our first affirmation and our initial attempt at managing our place in this new world.

This first noisy protest is interrupted with cradled arms and soft, cooing Mommy Words, which lend a hint that this dangerous world into which we have been thrust has an oasis of safety; ours for the price of a scream.

The calming voice, the gentle words are familiar to the newly initiated. The touch of Mother’s hands are a new sensation but it too is somehow, known.

Our first scientific experiment has begun.

This is our first experience at asking for and receiving Love, a sensation which will in future decades become confused with Approval.

Our  experiments will become more sophisticated if not necessarily objective; life and the events that greet us will be measured, examined, dissected and reassembled as we seek to secure Maximum Safety.

Life may be more difficult for those of us who have missed the touching and the softly spoken words of gentle parenting. Perhaps we ask for help.

Later, in the language of Mommy Words we may even ask another, untouched soul “May I lend a hand?”

And a Spark of The Spirit ignites the flame of LOVE.

Lee Broom



Recently a friend said to me…

“When I was young I beat my chest about “giving back”; today I give anonymously.

I once voiced group opinion as my own; today my own is my own.

As a young man I learned WHAT to think; today I am more concerned with HOW.

As a young man I jogged, I went to the gym and I rode a bike. I still do those things.

As a young man  I lived within my means; I still do that as well.”

I asked him to lend me some grocery money. He offered to plant me a garden.

And he showed me how to tighten the cable on  my bicycle.


Horace Dixie Broom 1918



Jiggsboy called a couple of hours ago and told me about the PBS historical account of the early years of our previous century.

As he spoke, he sparked memories of Horace Dixie Broom, the man who became my father, replacing Robert Lee Oakes Senior, my birth-father, who had left me in charge of my baby brother and my mother Esther Mae Gettings Walton Oakes. He was already in uniform and I was now the Man of the house.

I was two and a half years old at the time and the Japanese had destroyed Pearl Harbor only two days before.

As Jiggsboy (John) returned to continue watching PBS, so did I.

And the things that I had forgotten of my knowledge of the GREAT WAR decades before my birth, returned now to consciousness,

Horace Dixie Broom was my father from 1941 until his death in 1976.  Never in all those years did he speak a single word about his memories of that war, but there were stories told to me by my new Mom, his wife, my Great Aunt Sadie Hannah Marie Oakes Broom.

And there were hundreds of photographs of this brave young man who like hundreds of others from countries everywhere found their own way to Paris France to head off the German soldiers who were destroying everything in their path.

There were no enlistment offices because officially there was no war.

H.D. Broom at age twelve took over the family farm near Bonham TX when his three older brothers and his sister, the only teacher in Bonham, had gone their way.

Soon after this adjustment Dixie was offered yet more decisions when the town physician, his father Dr William Broom, died.

He assisted Mother Broom in selling the farm and took what money he needed to get to Paris. It was young people from everywhere  who gave this war its name.

Dixie’s experience as the youngest son of a Doctor Farmer Scholar suited him somehow to be stationed at the reins of a mule – drawn covered wagon-ambulance which made dozens of daily trips to the front lines and back to an open air hospital for days months  weeks and yes, years, or so I am told.

Though I can’t be certain of his age he was born in 1898 and when he died he was five and a half feet tall. When I finished high-school and left home at age fourteen, I thought often of Daddy Dick, Father, Lovey, the man who as a boy must have looked lie a mere babe and who carried the injured and the dead to relative safety.

What must it have been like for this child-man with  no gun at his side, the man who lived to tell about the horrors of war but never did.


The Man Who Knew Infinity (film)

“At the turn of the twentieth century, Srinivasa Ramanujan is a struggling and indigent citizen in the city of Madras in India working at menial jobs at the edge of poverty. While performing his menial labor, his employers notice that he seems to have exceptional skills at mathematics and they begin to make use of him for rudimentary accounting tasks. It becomes equally clear to his employers, who are college educated, that Ramanujan’s mathematical insights exceed the simple accounting tasks they are assigning to him and soon they encourage him to make his personal writings in mathematics available to the general public and to start to contact professors of mathematics at universities by writing to them. One such letter is sent to G.H. Hardy, a famous mathematician at Cambridge University, who begins to take a special interest in Ramanujan.” WIKIPEDIA.



I have watched this DVD film twice now, not because I am a mathematician but because of the way this character apparently received his information throughout his lifetime. Though his mathematical insights eventually proved to be correct they did not arrive in his mind as problems to be solved; they were received in their completed form as inspirations, in much the same manner as artists and scientists throughout history have done.

As Srinivasa pleaded for understanding by trying to explain that these inspirations were gifts from God, I shivered as I remembered using similar words to explain my own mystical adventures.

(I am an agnostic and I say essentially the same thing.)

When my own inspirations begIn, I feel as though there is a circular opening above my head through which flow these ideas – a shower of information from another world.

Sometimes these unnatural experiences last  for only a minute or so and l start writing them down in a pocket-sized spiral notebook or by typing  in OFFICE WORD, perhaps spending an hour or even a day or more editing the results.




(edited from yesterday)

Watching my children loving their children and their children’s children almost encourages me to stop beating myself for  all my meanness when drinking during The Fifties & Sixties..

But wait…there’s more…

Whenever there is a video from my son and his grandkids, I recognize his words; as he talks to the shorties; Billy Bob is copying his Papa.