Summers always brought out the restlessness in me. I can’t remember which summer it was, probably 1971, I was living on an old Pennsylvania railroad barge on the Hudson, and the heat and humidity had settled over the river like a soggy blanket. It was so hot that I spent a couple of nights sleeping in the air conditioning on the floor of my cubicle at the Village Voice using a chair cushion for a pillow. The heat just refused to lift, and I was starting to fray around the edges, so I called Helen at her place on 83
I believe Lucien’s craftsmanship with words draws out the finest thinkers, writers, philosophers, and artists in us all. His writing takes you along on his journey, placing you in the first-class railway car as the landscape unfurls. You find yourself wishing the ride would never end.
His writings also remind us that our lives are/were are stories to share—with friends and family. My daughter stood stunned and open mouthed when she learned I had smoked marijuana…she’s GenZ. Yes, I’m 70 with 2 GenZ daughters—-THAT is another story!
From geezer writer (and editor) to younger writer: whew. I ask the different question than "Did you marry her?" What happened to Helen...if you know. Random soft drink factoid: in 1972 I was researching my book "Soda Pop" and I spent a couple of weeks in an office in the Archives of The Coca-Cola Company in Atlanta. Every day at around 10:30 a secretary would pop her head in and ask, in a magnolia-scented accent, "Would you like a co-cola, Mr. Dietz?" Sure. She would bring a six-and-a-half ounce bottle and a glass with ice. I had a pretty good sense of taste for soft drinks (all that research), and the Coke I was drinking was better than the Coke I drank in L.A. When I asked Wilbur Kurtz, Jr., the archivist, whether I was dreaming, he said, no, remember that the syrup is a living organism, and it diminishes with age. These bottles we get are made with syrup that is probably a day old, if that. Fresher even than the Cokes you drank in Virginia.
I drank some while researching my book on soft drink advertising and marketing. It's...interesting -- and a real Southern institution. On a TV talk show (c. 1973), Maury Povitch challenged me: had I tried Dr. Pepper and moon pie? Well, no. I still can't quite imagine the two together. Talk about a sugar rush!
I grew up drinking Pepsi Cola. Coca Cola, in my family, was for upset stomachs once the bubbles were stirred out, or sometimes Ginger Ale.
In the early 1960s, I was in France for a Jr. Year Abroad, and ordered a Pepsi. What a shock. It tasted like a Coke (too sweet) plus I had difficulty convincing the waiter I wanted ice with it. I learned that a squeeze of lemon improved it somewhat but basically gave up on soft drinks until I returned to the U.S.
Ah, yes. In Jewish families back then where there was some Yiddish spoken, soft drinks (don't forget 7-Up) were often referred to as grepswasser, greps meaning belch. As for the the taste of Pepsi being like Coke in France when you were there, you weren't dreaming. I noticed the same thing when I went South in the late 60s. I got pretty close to Wilbur Kurtz, Jr., the archivist for The Coca-Cola Company, as I was researching Soda Pop, my book on soft drink merchandising and advertising, and during a (bourbon-fuelled) lunch in Atlanta (1972, I think) with Kurtz and a nice PR guy, I asked about the matter of Pepsi taste in the South. Both Coke guys confirmed that yeah, it was an open secret in the industry that the folks at Pepsi tinkered with the formula for Pepsi syrup used to make Pepsi in the South, to make Pepsi taste like Coke, where Coke was still the dominant pop, by far. It would make sense for Pepsi to do the same in France, where the dominant pop would have been Coca-Cola, which shipped Coke to U.S. troops during the war, and established bottling plants as soon as it could. As long as you've read this far, one other absolute truth: there was never, ever, cocaine in Coca-Cola. Prior to 1904, there was an infinitesimal amount of *untreated* coca leaf in the syrup. To say that constituted cocaine would be like saying a single grape is the same as wine, or a single potato is the same as a glass of Wyborowa (Polish) vodka. The myth of cocaine in Coke was started (time for ironic smile) by The Coca-Cola Company, way back then. It advertised Coca-Cola as "brain food," and made other subtle references in ads to like the drink to the effects of cocaine (then legal). At our drunken lunch in Atlanta, Kurtz, the PR man and I tried to figure out how much pre-1904 Coca-Cola someone would have had to drink at one sitting to feel the effects of the untreated coca leaf. We came up with 24 six-and-a-half ounce bottles -- by which time the person's brain and body would already be overwhelmed by the effects of sugar and caffeine. End of lecture. Do some (old) people in the South still refer to Coca-Cola as "dope?" Probably.
The twenties. I failed to participate in the sexual revolution because it seemed to me that if you gave into what the Boy wanted, he would despise you and never want to see you again -- and if you held out, he would despise you and find someone with lower standards and fewer scruples. God knows, the college campus was crawling with willing women.
I confess that I set myself up for four years of unwanted chastity by joining the drama club. Most of the delightful young men I met therein were either (1) already gay; (2) in the middle of finding out that they were gay; (3) gay and unwilling to admit it, so they got married to women -- whom they eventually left for another man.
I went to school with three of those brides, one a good friend—probably more I didn't know about. Victims, actually. I hope that the emptying of closets since then has reduced that kind of misery
My father, who met my mother on a Bronx stoop in 1928 when he was 19 and she 13 and then spent the next 66 years together harmoniously until death did them part, always used to shake his head wondering why that part of life had always been so easy, straightforward, for him and such a tortuous and tortured hall of mirrors for me. Why was he a man at 19 and I still groping at 40? A question neither he nor I was ever able to answer. Nor, I suspect, have you -- but the memory vat is deep and fruitful and, in some way, its own reward.
Thanks for this straight dip into it -- brought to mind, in no particular order, Edna Millay, Leonard Cohen, and Charles Bukowski. Also, a little Simon & Garfunkel: A time it was and what a time it was...
Great piece. You were a real pain in the ass, weren’t you. {Not that she wasn’t a bit difficult, herself} Sigh. Must have been something about you she liked, though. Good writer? Maybe. A way with words. Words are powerful.
“Words are friends”, was a revelation l had at 20, and insecure of which way to go! I realized l had the ability to decide for myself, and proceeded one step at a time. I never did like roller coasters.,
Great piece. Again so many familiar streets (but nothing as upperclass as dealing with the help at least in the states). Helen had no brothers to grow up with who would have inoculated her against the torture of romance. I hope she found it elsewhere though I’d guess she still thinks about you.
Every time I read your memories my own of the early to mid 70’s tumble forward.
I need to dig into the many journals I kept then and revive my stories…beginning in Morgantown, WV. I gave away my prized bamboo bong, convinced a friend to drop out of college with me—she had a VW convertible, and we drove to Champaign-Urbana, IL.
For some reason, I am afraid to reread—or is it relive—my crazy 20’s.
This valley girl involuntarily stuck in the mountain state got launched out of Morgantown, alone on a Greyhound, to NYC and a life worth living four blocks from the Hudson.
My need to leave WV was cemented after traveling from NYC to Morgantown! (had spent summer as Girl Scout camp counselor). I was beginning Sophomore year at WVU…native West Virginian. I never returned.
I grew up in Girl Scouting in WV-60’s-early 70’s—troops, camps, outdoor adventures. I worked as camp counselor in CT for 2 summers before leaving WV. Later had a troop here in TN for years and was a G.S. Camp Director for a summer. A chapter of my story.
I thought I was the only one who had Coke in the morning. Started when I was away in college, and then in my first years in NYC. Everyone thought it was weird. Of course I never did that when visiting home; growing up all Coke consumption was regimented. I eventually transitioned to tea then coffee. I always passed the Pepsi challenge.
I know, I know, Coke and Pepsi are Hatfield and McCoy, and every other irreconcilable pairing in the world, but Pepsi cans with real sugar are easier to find in many stores. High fructose corn syrup is a worse (and far more real) devil than flouride was to Gen. Ripper in "Dr. Strangelove"
That Pepsi vs. Coke thing is very real especially in eastern North Carolina where Pepsi came to life (NC’s colonial capital, New Bern, claims that fame). New Bern, Morehead City, Beaufort, etc. are all small nut charming eastern NC coastal historic towns each colorful in its own right and way. In any case, while Helen had no Coke, I am wondering whether there may have been a Pepsi or a Mountain Dew stashed away in the depths of her refrigerator.
Kudos to both Lucien and Helen for successfully navigating our local waterways and their precariously positioned array of sandbars, shoals, etc. — at night!
Particularly interesting for me, as I live in Beaufort, NC (across a couple of bridges from Morehead City). In 1972, I too was a bit of a hippy (more surfer than hippie but definitely some of both) having afternoon cocktails in a similar scene while now and then dating (even escorting) a Hollins debutante from New Bern, NC. Thx for the diversion and rich trip down memory lane. Cheers
Whoa, that was one powerful piece Lucian, I just finished it as the clock struck midnight. So much of what you write is like an echo to me, it can be little things like where do you put commas, something I face every day I write anything, or a bad acid trip, I had one of those but it got buried behind all of the good ones. Thank goodness, speaking of which, after VN, I struggled to be good that is. The one part that wasn’t hard, was to bring no harm, not intentionally, or maybe better put knowingly. It took 3 marriages to mature me into the man I am today, age will do that to you if you let it. Your description of the house with old Persian rugs on polished wooden floors rang like a bell, my mother grew up in a home like that and I spent much of my childhood there. Where we diverged was over morning breakfasts, I loved having breakfast with a woman especially if she was a new lover, I never wanted it to end. Growing up as an adult wasn’t easy, a life well lived has it’s share of regrets, so many conversations could have led to a different road taken if only I had been more open. It’s funny how aging changes our perceptions, I suppose it’s its’ gift, (that was fun) or maybe not. It’s possible to have insights now that I had never given a thought to previously, that now never reach the people from the past that I’m constantly having conversations with in my mind. Your writing is a gift my friend, both for me the reader, but also for yourself, because of your honesty there is truth there, and where truth exists so also does growth. It took me 45 minutes to write this and I had no idea where it was going beyond the first word, it’s an adventure, thank you for the impetus 🙏
Relationships can be difficult, especially when young. I've read our brains are not fully developed until about 26. Another factor is as couples I think we subconsciously create drama to break up feelings of restlessness and boredom or just to get attention. / As some once said, we can't live with each other and we can't live without each other.
Regardless, every life has its ups and downs. I guess we wouldn't appreciate the ups if we didn't have downs :) Even famous composers are not immune: This is an email I got recently amadeus@heavenlyrealms.com As you are well aware, my personality was unfairly and inaccurately portrayed in the film Amadeus. It was an artistic construction, and works on a dramatic basis. But it in no way resembled how I lived my life and how I related to other people. I tended to be rather shy and reserved. I knew I had an extraordinary gift and facility with music, but I didn’t advertise this in a boastful way. I just accepted it, and thanked the Good Lord, whom I believed in most sincerely, for this gift.
I was a devout Catholic, though I didn’t always follow all the rules. By devout, I mean that I accepted the basic dogmas and premises that the Catholic Church propounded. However, after I passed over and observed, in this world of spirit, the utter helplessness of so many Catholic souls, I concluded that I had to reexamine these various doctrines. And as soon as I came to that conviction, I found that opportunities presented themselves to help me in my quest.
I died, as you know, fairly young. Of course, the circumstances of my death were tragic, since it was a great loss for my wife and children. But the joy of being reunited with some of my loved ones, soon took away the pain and sadness, until I actually become genuinely happy to be free of earth cares.
And then I realized that my musical gift was given to me for a specific purpose. Of course, I had always believed that God was the origin of my musical ability. But what I mean is that it all made sense in a way which was impossible to see when I was a mortal; there was another dimension added to my understanding of my music as related to my destiny. This conviction crystallized as I observed how on earth my music became accepted and loved as part of the beloved heritage. Of course, this was tremendously gratifying. But it also elevated my soul (since I was essentially humble) to think differently about my destiny.
Once that different way of thinking was in place, the door was open to explore more openly the spiritual significance of my life. With this as my compass, I began to reflect on the Catholic and Biblical beliefs in a new way. Of course, when I was on earth, if someone dared to say that the Bible was wrong about certain matters, I would have consigned that person to heresy. But in this world of spirits, where everything is naked, I had a very different perception. I reasoned that if someone had believed implicitly in the Biblical plan of salvation, why were so many of these souls in darkness? Something was wrong somewhere.
And then there came to me the thought that God is Love, and that He had given me my musical gift to bring pleasure and elevate people’s souls through the creation of beauty. Once I pondered on the idea that God is Love, it was inevitable that I find my way to the New Birth that Jesus taught. And what a corresponding happiness has been mine.
I thank you for receiving this message. It has meant a great deal to me to express my thoughts in this way. I am no longer a tragedy, but a splendid success.
Thank you. I wrote the above to replicate an ordinary everyday occurrence with an authentic looking email address just to see what kind of a reaction I might get. Of course the content of the supposed email is anything but ordinary :)
I was along for the whole trip, right down to the Fatima cigarettes. I was always in search of a Sweet Caporal. Once I found a pack for sale in Times Square. Cashier thought I was nuts. That pack had probably been sitting there since 1939 or so. I was about 14.
“I stayed a week. We loafed on the screen porch in the heat, went swimming, ate hot beaten-biscuits for breakfast made by her housekeeper.”
I haven't turned my mind to the gem of a word "loafed" in years. Like a nosy neighbor, I slipped into your tale unnoticed.
Chef’s kiss for your last sentence. Delicious words.
I believe Lucien’s craftsmanship with words draws out the finest thinkers, writers, philosophers, and artists in us all. His writing takes you along on his journey, placing you in the first-class railway car as the landscape unfurls. You find yourself wishing the ride would never end.
Spot on, Gloria
His writings also remind us that our lives are/were are stories to share—with friends and family. My daughter stood stunned and open mouthed when she learned I had smoked marijuana…she’s GenZ. Yes, I’m 70 with 2 GenZ daughters—-THAT is another story!
“Chef’s kiss” ❣️. Love that ❣️
👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻💥
Thank you.
This is an amazing piece of art
From geezer writer (and editor) to younger writer: whew. I ask the different question than "Did you marry her?" What happened to Helen...if you know. Random soft drink factoid: in 1972 I was researching my book "Soda Pop" and I spent a couple of weeks in an office in the Archives of The Coca-Cola Company in Atlanta. Every day at around 10:30 a secretary would pop her head in and ask, in a magnolia-scented accent, "Would you like a co-cola, Mr. Dietz?" Sure. She would bring a six-and-a-half ounce bottle and a glass with ice. I had a pretty good sense of taste for soft drinks (all that research), and the Coke I was drinking was better than the Coke I drank in L.A. When I asked Wilbur Kurtz, Jr., the archivist, whether I was dreaming, he said, no, remember that the syrup is a living organism, and it diminishes with age. These bottles we get are made with syrup that is probably a day old, if that. Fresher even than the Cokes you drank in Virginia.
Try Dr. Pepper.
I drank some while researching my book on soft drink advertising and marketing. It's...interesting -- and a real Southern institution. On a TV talk show (c. 1973), Maury Povitch challenged me: had I tried Dr. Pepper and moon pie? Well, no. I still can't quite imagine the two together. Talk about a sugar rush!
Ha! Diabetes, here we come.
7 years in N.C. and I never paired the two.
Never will I ever! LOL
I grew up drinking Pepsi Cola. Coca Cola, in my family, was for upset stomachs once the bubbles were stirred out, or sometimes Ginger Ale.
In the early 1960s, I was in France for a Jr. Year Abroad, and ordered a Pepsi. What a shock. It tasted like a Coke (too sweet) plus I had difficulty convincing the waiter I wanted ice with it. I learned that a squeeze of lemon improved it somewhat but basically gave up on soft drinks until I returned to the U.S.
Ah, yes. In Jewish families back then where there was some Yiddish spoken, soft drinks (don't forget 7-Up) were often referred to as grepswasser, greps meaning belch. As for the the taste of Pepsi being like Coke in France when you were there, you weren't dreaming. I noticed the same thing when I went South in the late 60s. I got pretty close to Wilbur Kurtz, Jr., the archivist for The Coca-Cola Company, as I was researching Soda Pop, my book on soft drink merchandising and advertising, and during a (bourbon-fuelled) lunch in Atlanta (1972, I think) with Kurtz and a nice PR guy, I asked about the matter of Pepsi taste in the South. Both Coke guys confirmed that yeah, it was an open secret in the industry that the folks at Pepsi tinkered with the formula for Pepsi syrup used to make Pepsi in the South, to make Pepsi taste like Coke, where Coke was still the dominant pop, by far. It would make sense for Pepsi to do the same in France, where the dominant pop would have been Coca-Cola, which shipped Coke to U.S. troops during the war, and established bottling plants as soon as it could. As long as you've read this far, one other absolute truth: there was never, ever, cocaine in Coca-Cola. Prior to 1904, there was an infinitesimal amount of *untreated* coca leaf in the syrup. To say that constituted cocaine would be like saying a single grape is the same as wine, or a single potato is the same as a glass of Wyborowa (Polish) vodka. The myth of cocaine in Coke was started (time for ironic smile) by The Coca-Cola Company, way back then. It advertised Coca-Cola as "brain food," and made other subtle references in ads to like the drink to the effects of cocaine (then legal). At our drunken lunch in Atlanta, Kurtz, the PR man and I tried to figure out how much pre-1904 Coca-Cola someone would have had to drink at one sitting to feel the effects of the untreated coca leaf. We came up with 24 six-and-a-half ounce bottles -- by which time the person's brain and body would already be overwhelmed by the effects of sugar and caffeine. End of lecture. Do some (old) people in the South still refer to Coca-Cola as "dope?" Probably.
In 1970, the store that sold burgers, soda, and fries plus clip-on ties, note books, etc. was called "The Dope Shop."
Certainly, my sister, who worked at a movie theater in Durham recounted this conversation to me. She was working to concession stand.
"I'll have a coke."
Sis: "What kind?"
"Orange."
For you Yankees, "Coke" was generic for "soda."
Brave writing. Thank you.
The twenties. I failed to participate in the sexual revolution because it seemed to me that if you gave into what the Boy wanted, he would despise you and never want to see you again -- and if you held out, he would despise you and find someone with lower standards and fewer scruples. God knows, the college campus was crawling with willing women.
I confess that I set myself up for four years of unwanted chastity by joining the drama club. Most of the delightful young men I met therein were either (1) already gay; (2) in the middle of finding out that they were gay; (3) gay and unwilling to admit it, so they got married to women -- whom they eventually left for another man.
I went to school with three of those brides, one a good friend—probably more I didn't know about. Victims, actually. I hope that the emptying of closets since then has reduced that kind of misery
Reducing misery -- I agree. Closets are for shoes and clothes. It's no way to live.
Every revolution claims its victims, survivors, and maybe in this sweeping cultural version, generates its triumphant heros and heroines.
And it's not close to being over, as sexual freedom's opposition constantly reminds us.
Plus freedom means responsibility, a terrifying prospect for some.
So, did you marry her?
Married? I couldn't spell the word.
Boy, can I relate to that. After I matured [have I matured?]. I married too much. I see myself in this narrative.
My father, who met my mother on a Bronx stoop in 1928 when he was 19 and she 13 and then spent the next 66 years together harmoniously until death did them part, always used to shake his head wondering why that part of life had always been so easy, straightforward, for him and such a tortuous and tortured hall of mirrors for me. Why was he a man at 19 and I still groping at 40? A question neither he nor I was ever able to answer. Nor, I suspect, have you -- but the memory vat is deep and fruitful and, in some way, its own reward.
Thanks for this straight dip into it -- brought to mind, in no particular order, Edna Millay, Leonard Cohen, and Charles Bukowski. Also, a little Simon & Garfunkel: A time it was and what a time it was...
Lucien’s prose is as smooth as Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings and as biting as William Faulkner.
The Yearling /
That goes back to junior high! What compelling prose!
Her books are a marvel.
Great piece. You were a real pain in the ass, weren’t you. {Not that she wasn’t a bit difficult, herself} Sigh. Must have been something about you she liked, though. Good writer? Maybe. A way with words. Words are powerful.
“Words are friends”, was a revelation l had at 20, and insecure of which way to go! I realized l had the ability to decide for myself, and proceeded one step at a time. I never did like roller coasters.,
Great piece. Again so many familiar streets (but nothing as upperclass as dealing with the help at least in the states). Helen had no brothers to grow up with who would have inoculated her against the torture of romance. I hope she found it elsewhere though I’d guess she still thinks about you.
Every time I read your memories my own of the early to mid 70’s tumble forward.
I need to dig into the many journals I kept then and revive my stories…beginning in Morgantown, WV. I gave away my prized bamboo bong, convinced a friend to drop out of college with me—she had a VW convertible, and we drove to Champaign-Urbana, IL.
For some reason, I am afraid to reread—or is it relive—my crazy 20’s.
By the way, quite a word picture of tension.
This valley girl involuntarily stuck in the mountain state got launched out of Morgantown, alone on a Greyhound, to NYC and a life worth living four blocks from the Hudson.
My need to leave WV was cemented after traveling from NYC to Morgantown! (had spent summer as Girl Scout camp counselor). I was beginning Sophomore year at WVU…native West Virginian. I never returned.
[a correction]
[comment based on a misreading]
I grew up in Girl Scouting in WV-60’s-early 70’s—troops, camps, outdoor adventures. I worked as camp counselor in CT for 2 summers before leaving WV. Later had a troop here in TN for years and was a G.S. Camp Director for a summer. A chapter of my story.
Good.that you were able to start early and stick with such an inspiriting way to use your time and help others.
I thought I was the only one who had Coke in the morning. Started when I was away in college, and then in my first years in NYC. Everyone thought it was weird. Of course I never did that when visiting home; growing up all Coke consumption was regimented. I eventually transitioned to tea then coffee. I always passed the Pepsi challenge.
Now I want a Coke. The real kind from Mexico, with cane sugar.
I know, I know, Coke and Pepsi are Hatfield and McCoy, and every other irreconcilable pairing in the world, but Pepsi cans with real sugar are easier to find in many stores. High fructose corn syrup is a worse (and far more real) devil than flouride was to Gen. Ripper in "Dr. Strangelove"
That Pepsi vs. Coke thing is very real especially in eastern North Carolina where Pepsi came to life (NC’s colonial capital, New Bern, claims that fame). New Bern, Morehead City, Beaufort, etc. are all small nut charming eastern NC coastal historic towns each colorful in its own right and way. In any case, while Helen had no Coke, I am wondering whether there may have been a Pepsi or a Mountain Dew stashed away in the depths of her refrigerator.
Kudos to both Lucien and Helen for successfully navigating our local waterways and their precariously positioned array of sandbars, shoals, etc. — at night!
Lucien = Lucian (my bad)
nut = but…😎
I am originally from the Western Carolinas and Coca-Cola was our “thing”. Then Mountain Dew was invented and that tasted like dog pee! It was gross.
We played Coke and Pepsi at bar and Bat Mitzvah receptions! Kind of like musical chairs, but you had to sit on someone’s lap, l believe.
Not as good as we remember - (found a place that stocks it)
That is the only kind worth drinking.
Particularly interesting for me, as I live in Beaufort, NC (across a couple of bridges from Morehead City). In 1972, I too was a bit of a hippy (more surfer than hippie but definitely some of both) having afternoon cocktails in a similar scene while now and then dating (even escorting) a Hollins debutante from New Bern, NC. Thx for the diversion and rich trip down memory lane. Cheers
The twenties are a terrible time for most of us. Looks like they were for you too.
"He had fallen upon the beat evil days that come to young men in their twenties." - On the Road, Jack Kerouac
Whoa, that was one powerful piece Lucian, I just finished it as the clock struck midnight. So much of what you write is like an echo to me, it can be little things like where do you put commas, something I face every day I write anything, or a bad acid trip, I had one of those but it got buried behind all of the good ones. Thank goodness, speaking of which, after VN, I struggled to be good that is. The one part that wasn’t hard, was to bring no harm, not intentionally, or maybe better put knowingly. It took 3 marriages to mature me into the man I am today, age will do that to you if you let it. Your description of the house with old Persian rugs on polished wooden floors rang like a bell, my mother grew up in a home like that and I spent much of my childhood there. Where we diverged was over morning breakfasts, I loved having breakfast with a woman especially if she was a new lover, I never wanted it to end. Growing up as an adult wasn’t easy, a life well lived has it’s share of regrets, so many conversations could have led to a different road taken if only I had been more open. It’s funny how aging changes our perceptions, I suppose it’s its’ gift, (that was fun) or maybe not. It’s possible to have insights now that I had never given a thought to previously, that now never reach the people from the past that I’m constantly having conversations with in my mind. Your writing is a gift my friend, both for me the reader, but also for yourself, because of your honesty there is truth there, and where truth exists so also does growth. It took me 45 minutes to write this and I had no idea where it was going beyond the first word, it’s an adventure, thank you for the impetus 🙏
Relationships can be difficult, especially when young. I've read our brains are not fully developed until about 26. Another factor is as couples I think we subconsciously create drama to break up feelings of restlessness and boredom or just to get attention. / As some once said, we can't live with each other and we can't live without each other.
Regardless, every life has its ups and downs. I guess we wouldn't appreciate the ups if we didn't have downs :) Even famous composers are not immune: This is an email I got recently amadeus@heavenlyrealms.com As you are well aware, my personality was unfairly and inaccurately portrayed in the film Amadeus. It was an artistic construction, and works on a dramatic basis. But it in no way resembled how I lived my life and how I related to other people. I tended to be rather shy and reserved. I knew I had an extraordinary gift and facility with music, but I didn’t advertise this in a boastful way. I just accepted it, and thanked the Good Lord, whom I believed in most sincerely, for this gift.
I was a devout Catholic, though I didn’t always follow all the rules. By devout, I mean that I accepted the basic dogmas and premises that the Catholic Church propounded. However, after I passed over and observed, in this world of spirit, the utter helplessness of so many Catholic souls, I concluded that I had to reexamine these various doctrines. And as soon as I came to that conviction, I found that opportunities presented themselves to help me in my quest.
I died, as you know, fairly young. Of course, the circumstances of my death were tragic, since it was a great loss for my wife and children. But the joy of being reunited with some of my loved ones, soon took away the pain and sadness, until I actually become genuinely happy to be free of earth cares.
And then I realized that my musical gift was given to me for a specific purpose. Of course, I had always believed that God was the origin of my musical ability. But what I mean is that it all made sense in a way which was impossible to see when I was a mortal; there was another dimension added to my understanding of my music as related to my destiny. This conviction crystallized as I observed how on earth my music became accepted and loved as part of the beloved heritage. Of course, this was tremendously gratifying. But it also elevated my soul (since I was essentially humble) to think differently about my destiny.
Once that different way of thinking was in place, the door was open to explore more openly the spiritual significance of my life. With this as my compass, I began to reflect on the Catholic and Biblical beliefs in a new way. Of course, when I was on earth, if someone dared to say that the Bible was wrong about certain matters, I would have consigned that person to heresy. But in this world of spirits, where everything is naked, I had a very different perception. I reasoned that if someone had believed implicitly in the Biblical plan of salvation, why were so many of these souls in darkness? Something was wrong somewhere.
And then there came to me the thought that God is Love, and that He had given me my musical gift to bring pleasure and elevate people’s souls through the creation of beauty. Once I pondered on the idea that God is Love, it was inevitable that I find my way to the New Birth that Jesus taught. And what a corresponding happiness has been mine.
I thank you for receiving this message. It has meant a great deal to me to express my thoughts in this way. I am no longer a tragedy, but a splendid success.
May you be happy in the coming days.
Love,
Mozart.
Nice to make your acquaintance?
Thank you. I wrote the above to replicate an ordinary everyday occurrence with an authentic looking email address just to see what kind of a reaction I might get. Of course the content of the supposed email is anything but ordinary :)
I was along for the whole trip, right down to the Fatima cigarettes. I was always in search of a Sweet Caporal. Once I found a pack for sale in Times Square. Cashier thought I was nuts. That pack had probably been sitting there since 1939 or so. I was about 14.
😂😂😂