The Unclad Soul

I don’t know if there is a heaven or  if there is a hell; but I know where paradise is.  Out in the country where the cattle graze, where the dogs play,  where the trees hang low  and the pace is slow.  Out along the old dirt roads where the fields are plowed and the wheat is sowed; and up on the hills, where the big bucks hide, and down below where the field mice crawl and the chicken hawks fly.  Paradise is where the fire pit burns and the beers are consumed,  where the laughs are shared and the city’s lampooned.  It’s cold nights in the warm house where the TV lights the dark, and the recliner welcomes with a comfortable embrace and the journey of sleep starts.  It’s morning dew  when the air is clean and the grass shimmers in the sun. It’s daily chores and work well done; it’s the flutter of birds over the trees, down in the low spots where the creeks run. It’s the end of d...

I want to run along the ocean and feel the waves wash over my feet erasing my footprints in the sand I want to skydive and sense myself falling watching the landscape below me seeing everything so clearly so cleanly until I love it all more than ever before I want to play guitar in an old bar and sing on a wooden stage with a drink at my feet making music that turns the crowd toward their dreams until all the hurts in the room melt in tears I want to write beautiful lines and put them in a book where the pages burn with longing and the reader sighs and blinks and walks toward a lost love until all of self is whole again I want to stand on a mountain ridge where the sun spreads light on slow moving cattle below where the Alfalfa smells sweet and the sky is a cloudless blue I want to ride a galloping horse in an open field until the air stings my eyes and I hear the pounding of the horse’s hooves and feel that floating that comes when you’re carried by forces beyond y...

My recent posts on the HBO series, Deadwood, generated some interesting comments. There was a discussion about the coarse language and the repeated use of the f-word. Most, however, commented how much they had enjoyed the series and hated to see it end after only three seasons. I watched it when it first came out in the spring of 2004 and just stumbled onto it again several weeks ago and re-watched the whole series. There is something authentic, truly American about those early pioneer days, and the importance of the frontier and the westward expansion in our incredible history. I am drawn to the cowboy, the rancher, the farmer. I grew up in the city and had little contact with places outside of that environment. But there was a veterinarian in my parents’ circle of friends, Fred Ryon, who practiced in the Stock Yards in Fort Worth. He was a tall, thin man with striking features. Thick hair combed neatly back, a smooth face and a square jaw. He always wore a pressed wester...

I recently spent the weekend with my son, Luke, in southwest Oklahoma. He manages a large ranch there set in the hills of vast trees and rugged trails. I love going there because, for one thing, I get to spend time with him and his dogs, Maggie and Gus. And for another, I get to get out of the city and enjoy the peace and quiet of the country. The ranch is a majestic spot set on nearly 3,000 acres and Luke has transformed it into a real paradise. The grounds around the ranch house, the barn, the shed, and the corral are immaculate. Big trees stand by the house and shade the nearby fire pit. It’s a perfect spot for morning coffee or friends around a fire at night. There are cattle and horses that Luke tends to and across the rolling hills deer graze and raise their heads to stare if Luke and I pull up in the gator. Then they take off, running elegantly into the woods. There are various tanks on the ranch, both large and small ponds. In the largest one Luke and I have fished...

The unhinged politics of the day, the messy presidential campaign, the total ruin of Congress, has created a lot anger, recrimination, insults and division in the country. We see it every day on Facebook and Twitter. The comments to one another have gotten more intense, more contentious. As novelist Michael Cunningham once said, “You get tired, sometimes, of wit and intellect; everybody’s little display of genius.” I’m guilty of that myself. And I don’t like it when I find myself feeling defensive, trying to convince others of viewpoints I hold, or attempting to counter theirs. The political atmosphere in the nation has made us smaller, less. It has reduced us to quarrelsomeness and discord. My friends are courteous in their disagreements with me. And I honestly try to be the same with them. But I do see now and then on other posts some really nasty stuff, horrible ugly comments that are sneering and demeaning. This past Father’s Day weekend was a nice and needed respite from a...