The Unclad Soul

What is Real? The HBO series, “Westworld,” is a tough to watch show about a futuristic park; sort of a perverted Disneyland for rich adults. It offers people a chance to live out their worst fantasies with “hosts,” who are human-like and life-like robots. As you can imagine things go horribly wrong. You can’t create an environment of no consequences no matter what awful things you do, without disastrous results. Even if you do them with and to robots. We were created with a conscience, the ability to self-limit our actions, if we know they will harm or destroy others. This is an essential part of our humanity. In Westworld, those innate boundaries are eliminated. In one insightful scene, Bernard Lowe (Jeffrey Wright) the programming director of Westworld, is talking privately with one of the beautiful hosts, Delores Abernathy (Evan Rachel Wood).  Delores is becoming confused. She questions her purpose. She’s having disturbing dreams she doesn’t understand. In the scen...

I saw him as I pumped gas in my car at the Shell Station. It was hot outside and he was sitting in the shade in front of the convenience store. An older man, thin, African American, with a scruffy two or three-day growth of white stubble and shaggy salt and pepper hair. As I walked into the convenience store to get a soft drink he smiled at me with uneven teeth. There was a warmth in his smile. He didn’t ask for anything. But I knew he was there to accept any change anyone might give him. I returned to my air-conditioned car and stared at him for a minute. As I drove out I went around to where he was and rolled down my window. I motioned for him to come over. He slowly got up and walked to my car. “Yes sir?” he said. I handed him some cash and said, “What is your name, friend?“ He said, “Carl.” I said, “You have a good day, Carl.” He smiled and put his hands together and bowed and said, “Oh, God bless you, sir. God bless you.” I don’t know his situation. But whatever it is I f...

Mary Oliver has a beautiful little poem in which she asks: “Is the soul solid, like iron? or is it tender and breakable, like the wings of a moth in the beak of the owl?” It is both. The soul, we are told by philosophers, theologians, and mystics, is our essence, the permanence of our true self. It is that part of us that lives beyond death. Or so we are taught by religion. Where exactly the soul exists beyond that, has of course, been long debated. There are times in life when something deep within us is, as Mary Oliver says, solid as iron and we operate out of some sense of aliveness, confidence, and inner strength. It may be fleeting, but there when needed; or it may carry us through long periods of endurance when we build a sturdy self, confident and capable of our abilities and talents. This is the work of the soul. This is a part of our spiritual development. This is what enables us to believe there are forces in life, loving and generous and mystical, that nurture an...

I stumbled last night onto “Billy Connolly's Route 66” on PBS.  Connolly is a British actor and comedian.  The show is centered on him riding a three wheel motorcycle across the country.  He starts in Chicago and follows the famous Route 66 all the way to Santa Monica, California. There are four episodes in the series.  They were filmed in 2011 and originally shown on British television.  I have only seen the first one.   But it has me hooked. Connolly is an aging but vibrant man.  He has long white flowing hair and matching mustache and goatee and dresses like someone out of the 1970’s.  He looks part Hippie and part motorcycle gang from an assisted living center. I wasn’t much interested at first but the strength and sheer joy of Connolly’s personality kept me engaged.  He’s a bit of a rebel with an absolutely infectious laugh.  He’s old school and loves the historic architecture of the cities and towns he visits...

Teaching us to fish My name is George André Morrison. I work at the Dallas Public Library and have been with the City of Dallas for 14 years. I am also a high-functioning autistic person. I was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome in 1990. I am writing this open letter on my friend Tim Moody's blog to bring attention to an issue that is dear to my heart. I believe it is important to other people as well. The reason I have been a success in both school and work was that my parents made many sacrifices to help me and my normal sister. I am proud to have parents like them and am now taking care of them in their old age. Some people are not as fortunate. On March 6, 2012, a 22 year old autistic man, George Hodgins, was murdered in Sunnyvale, California. The perpetrator was his mother, who then killed herself. From what investigators can determine, the mother despaired that she could not get resources to help her son and believed he was better off dead. The reason ...

I was at Starbucks the other day to settle into a vanilla latte and do a little catching up on my reading. I’m trying to finish Tana French’s “The Likeness.” Which by the way is a fantastic novel. I was struck by how nearly everyone in the room was on their phone. Even couples or groups of people sitting together; they were all texting, or doing some kind of data or app stuff. No one was talking. Except one lone woman who was on her phone going on and on to an invisible person on the other end having some insipid discussion about flooring. Apparently she was remodeling her extravagant kitchen and couldn’t decide on a pattern or color or whatever. I’m not judging. I do it too. Check my email. Send texts. Search websites. Download tunes. We are all constantly on our phones. No one though really talks to anyone anymore. Our society is sick with inattention, blather, bullshit, indifference, blocked emotions, blank stares, or being lost in some smart phone fog. We really...