The Spice Must Flow … and That’s Not Sean Spicer, the Spice Girls, or Piquillo Peppers!

As a dad, I don’t often get feedback on my job performance. Sometimes, the plan is to throw everything on the wall and see what sticks. This mish-mosh style acknowledges that my children may do the opposite of what I say. I liken this behavior to a parental remix of Schrodinger’s Cat of quantum physics fame—while multiple possible outcomes are superimposed in the quantum wave before observing the child, upon fixing the parental eye on the target, all that momentary potential collapses to the least desired result!

Once in a while, however, I abandon the scatter-shot parenting and take the direct approach. Included in this wishful category are books I consider a must for my children to experience. Thus, my tale today concerns science fiction novels—specifically, books that forever transformed my worldview. I have a long list, but for the teen years, my top four reads—and many of you may disagree—are Foundation (Asimov), Rendezvous with Rama (Clarke), Stranger in a Strange Land (Heinlein), and Dune (Herbert). These are generally not for the early teen years. Certainly, any good reader can get through these novels, but the magic occurs with a mindset mature enough to “grok” the beyond.

I have previously quoted many a Dune reference to my daughters with no avail. And so, with my eldest leaving the nest for college, I had almost given up hope that she would crack the book’s pages. Two weeks ago, she walked quietly into my home office, where I was working at my desk. She pulled up a chair, and then began the conversation in a measured tone, “Dad, I have some questions.”

I had immediate feelings of dread and gratitude—could this be about boys, and hadn’t her mother handled that topic … and she still wants my advice.

Taking a deep breath, and turning off my computer, I prompted, “Okay, what’s up?”

She let loose with, “I’m confused about the relationships between the Imperium, the Great Houses and the Emperor. How does the CHOAM company fit in, and is the Spacing Guild more powerful? Does the Emperor control the Bene Gesserit?”

Cue the huge smile on my relieved face. Inside, I was laughing with pure joy. Outside, I nodded and asked, “How far into Dune are you?”

“Not very,” she admitted tentatively. Then she quickly added, “His writing style is amazing. I can see why it’s one of your favorites.”

Not wanting to leave her questions hanging, I managed a half-reply along the lines of, “Herbert’s world-building—organizations, governance, trade, religion—is a lot to process. These are great questions. There are layers within layers within layers. It’s not unlike real life. The CHOAM … “

We chatted iteratively for five minutes on a framework. The rest was for her to discover. I finished with, “I’d love to hear your ideas after the next hundred pages.”

Addendum: I took my daughters to the Jersey Shore to visit Grandmom, and this gave my wife a staycation break. My eldest daughter forgot to pack hair conditioner, a brush, extra shoes, and other sundry items, but the big win—she remembered Dune in a plastic bag for reading on the beach!

Question: Regardless of the reader’s age, what are your top five transformative science fiction novels? If I had to provide a fifth choice, it would be from Zelazny, Gibson, or Niven.

Breathe slowly, observe humbly, dream deeply, and evolve.

W.L. Hoffman

Actions Have Outcomes – Digging into the Soil of Life

Spring, for me, means planting. On this topic, there is a treasure trove of technical and intuitive gardening information to discuss. While I’ve absorbed a fair share, I’m not tackling that beast for this entry. Instead, I feel compelled to share what I love most about gardening . . . drum roll please . . . the process.

Sure, gardening is a stress reliever, delivers good exercise, and enables you to feed delights to your family – both visual and culinary. And there’s an undeniable joy to smelling good earth after a rainstorm. But in a world of digital digression, exacerbated with moments of feeling stuck on a phantasmal merry-go-round, I am rescued from despair by a lesson from my garden: actions have outcomes. Seems obvious right? And yet, how often do I succumb to digital nirvana only to wake after an hour goes by and ask – what the hell just happened? I get this “dirty” feeling, a self-guilt far worse than the grimiest recess in my garden. Please avoid the lurid conclusions. Yes, that Content is pervasive on the Internet, and hey, I’m a guy – happily married with children – but still a guy. Curiosity and an open mind are healthy human traits. So, putting aside those distractions, the feeling I’m struggling to convey is one of life passing me by while I run like a hamster on the treadmill.

There are online interactions that are worthy, humorous, social, informative . . .  I acknowledge these positives. The problem is striking the balance. Our minds crave data. This is concurrently our great strength and our weakness. It takes effort and time to sort through a seemingly infinite field of electronic Content, and the few actions we take in the digital realm rarely have outcomes that we can predict, let alone recognize when they manifest. There is such a thing as too much connectivity, with too little impact. That largesse of other people’s stories, available with a finger swipe or keystroke, overwhelms us subconsciously, if not outright – paralysis by analysis. Or perhaps, it’s all too illusory, in that we think we have gotten somewhere only to glance askew at a mirror of empty dreams, and then turn away.  For who among us truly wants to stare into that abyss?

Little steps, joined together, inevitably produce results. Rather than being a voyeur, I jump into the fray. I stand, stretch and walk outside. The fresh air awakens my spirit. My garden is neither fancy, nor expansive, and I won’t win any prizes. The chicken wire needs fixing in places, and I have to constantly excise rotten wood in the raised beds and stakes. At night, I scrub the black soil from under my nails. My muscles ache with a soreness that is satisfying. My girls have become experts in removing my splinters. My thoughts alight with compost, companion plantings, succession crops, pest remedies and seed experiments. The preparation began in December. In February, seeds were ordered and pulled from my reserves. Then as March arrived, the clean-up hit me in earnest. Those days were cold, the wind raw and the weeds tenacious. I had cuts, thorns and reptile skin on my hands. I could sand wood with my palm, and that touch certainly wasn’t going to win over my wife. Early April saw pruning and mulch, and with the soil finally ready, I savored our seed choices. The girls had their favorites, too. I visualized the growth patterns and light sources, checked the day and overnight temperatures, and noted the weather forecast. Perennials that we had labored over last year began budding. Those ferns that seemed dead and gone . . . their fiddlehead fronds continue unfurling today. In a week, we should have vegetable sprouts poking through to the sun.

Slowly, taking these myriad tiny strides, our garden comes into awareness. There will be outcomes, both good and unexpected. There’s no “easy button” to push. Gardening is patient work. But the process harkens to everything else we do in life – actions have outcomes – and sometimes when I’m lost, I rejoice in the comfort and motivation of that simple wisdom.

Sir Richard Branson – Bravo!

As I continue to scan news coverage of the recent commercial spacecraft explosions – Virgin Galactic’s SpaceShipTwo prototype and Orbital Sciences’ Antares rocket mission to the International Space Station – I am trying to process our current societal incarnation without acquiescing to a profound dismay. Too many of our media sources are displaying an accusatory tone or a condescending “I told you so.” Is this pandering attack-dog mentality now the measure of what sells newspapers and digital content to a plethora of armchair experts? Alternatively, is the situation even worse? Have our pundits forgotten the days when boats were made of wood and men were made of iron; when the intrepid Amelia Earhart launched a flight that would elevate all people, as did our steadfast aim for the Moon during the Apollo years? Have such whispers shadowed the visionaries of “every” human era, or is the intensity of the “hue and cry” different this time? Disappointing as the pettiness and naysayers may be, I doubt these rumblings eclipse the inner voices of the courageous men and women who challenge history, for this rare breed grapples with far mightier opponents – foes such as death, impossible dreams, and human destiny.

Folks, you’re going to scratch the paint when you move mountains. I’m not suggesting that death isn’t a tragedy. It is under any circumstances. Yet, when we shatter the ordinary, when we dare to greatness, it is then that our collective spirit finds solace in acknowledging the tradeoffs inherent to that particular dice roll. Some goals are worth dying for, hopefully not needlessly, but no plan is without error. Imperfection is the very essence of “humanity.” Combine that practical reality with pilots and astronauts who are essentially riding mega-bombs, and yes, this activity qualifies as ultra-dangerous on any given day. Applying our typical media filters and overly litigious legal standards to this extreme endeavor is inappropriate. In part, that’s why government has heretofore been at the helm of Space ventures. I think nobody questions the presumption that the private sector can produce more efficient results, but ultimately, the incredible costs, technological advances, oversight authority, mission parameters, and the “astro-ethics” discussion should fall under the umbrella of government. As plagued with missteps and waste as that public path may be, I am convinced that no single company, individual or oligarchy should control these outcomes.

Would I attempt Space, however, if I were a billionaire several times over? Absolutely, and I say to Sir Richard Branson – BRAVO! Don’t be discouraged by the exodus of SpaceShipTwo tourists. Their romantic, fantasy-fueled adrenaline rush is cratering to one hell of a reality hangover: Space travel is a serious matter, vital and necessary, but still potentially lethal. Save the apologies. None are needed. Humanity’s future depends upon colonizing the stars, and I would see that future become the present. To have a direct impact on that achievement would be profoundly satisfying. Some of us in this existence find peace within, while others taste magic in a simple joy, and yet others are constantly questing beyond the horizon. I am one such person “cursed” with a curious and restless soul. I have a friend who views this nomadic trait as a singular flaw in human nature. I disagree, and leave it to a higher power to decide. Until then, my gaze tilts to the night sky and I wonder at that which awaits – our evolution and reorganization into a civilization that would shine light into the darkest corners of the Universe. A fundamental shift in our cognition and values will only be possible once we escape our terrestrial origin. I recognize that we’ll export our brand of human weakness to the stars – fear, hatred, doubt, jealousy, fanaticism – but over time, these frailties will wither into memory as our consciousness expands. The Age of Discovery never ended, and like an old friend coming up the walkway, one need only open the door to renew ties.

 

Smile When Your Child Says, “No.”

This past week, my inner voice drove me to abandon work and attend an afternoon lecture on “Free Will & Philosophy” given by a Philosophy Professor from a top University. As an aside, we all need to listen to those subtle instincts and energies that guide our paths. That’s a hard task for many… filtering the white noise of life to note signals in the system that have deeper personal meaning.

Returning to philosophy, the topic wasn’t quite what I expected, but it was nonetheless captivating. As a bonus, the Professor was entertaining, energetic and nimble. At one point, the presentation focused upon the Yale University Milgram Experiment on obedience: why seemingly normal people when put in the role of “teacher” (and encouraged by a lab-coated authority figure) will administer electric shocks to a “learner” test subject in another room even though they can hear the person screaming. Hold the objections, the electric shocks were faked. The learner responses were pre-recorded theatre to observe each teacher’s reaction. The Professor then mentioned another famous psychology experiment: the Stanford University Prison Study where ordinary people were randomly assigned roles of guards and prisoners. Guards were told to be firm, but their actions grew steadily more brutal. So much so, that the two week experiment was prematurely terminated after only six days.

Perhaps you are now asking “what do these studies have to do with my children or my parenting style?” The Professor viewed the discussion from a philosophical perspective of questioning Society’s idea of morals and blame, and whether we live in a deterministic clockwork world of no free will. This is an oversimplification for brevity, so my apologies to the good Professor. Still, why did more than 60% of the people in the classic Milgram Experiment keep shocking the learner subject until the occurrence of what might have been death or permanent injury, simply for a wrong answer? Why didn’t more people refuse the instruction, or acknowledge the desperate pleas (pre-recorded) of the learner subject? Did the teacher volunteer have free will or was another mechanism running the show? Well, such questions remain under avid scrutiny today, although there are several theories for the unexpected results. As you may have already guessed, I’m tossing out a proposal for you to consider, both as to your children and your parenting choices.

After the Professor’s formal presentation, I took the opportunity to ask questions (as did others). For a while, I listened to everyone… absorbing the ebb and flow. The Professor suggested that humans have a behavioral template that influences choice even when their actions have horrible effects. He posited that in a situation of conflicting data (i.e., I don’t like administering electric shocks that severely hurt a normal person, but the esteemed scientist standing over my shoulder calmly says to continue doing so), humans have a predisposition to obey the person that we think has more information or authority. This may stem from our early evolution, where snap decisions to follow the leader – a person appearing to have better data in a confusing situation – resulted in survival. Standing among the crowd circling the Professor, I agreed that this adaptive “Darwinian” strategy was a component to the equation, but my thoughts drifted to conclusions that would challenge that paradigm.

Before you ask for my academic credentials on such matters of the mind, the short story is “nothing formal.” I am a father, a fan of metaphysics, I believe in critical thinking, and my opinions rely on observation and theory. If that’s not enough, feel free to stop reading here.

As the conversation hit a lull, I asked the Professor, “Have you considered the implications of the Industrial Age public education model on the obedience found in the Milgram Experiment?” He seemed uncomfortable… there was a camera man filming the exchange… I waited, but was disappointed as his reply effectively dodged my question.

I wasn’t about to let the Professor off the hook. After another minute, I politely pressed, “Is it possible that the behavioral template evidenced in Milgram is being dramatically reinforced by our educational model of teacher/student that begins at pre-K? Teachers tell students they must sit down quietly, must memorize what is said, must study the knowledge presented and must be a productive worker/member in society.” I paused, and silence ensued. So, I fired away, “How often can students disagree with their teachers without receiving punishment or social stigma?” I really wanted to add mandatory prescription drugs for ADHD or similar en vogue behavioral disorders to the litany, but opening that door would have muddied the waters.

This time, the Professor launched a counterargument. He knew of a Milgram Experiment variation using test subjects in cultures without public education, and the results were essentially unchanged. Before I could ask him if the experiment’s designers had truly verified if they had a sampling with neither public education, nor a surrogate teacher/student learning system, he moved to another question… another philosophy twist.

I thought about his answer. While that study might have unexplored pitfalls in the analysis and conclusions, what would happen if I assumed for argument purposes that his Milgram variation had merit? This logic pushed my thoughts to another common factor that would reinforce such disturbing behavior. I again wedged my voice into the conversation, “Professor, what about the earliest form of education, the parent/child relationship? Those roles pre-condition an obedience template from birth that is not much different from teacher/student. Could our relatively modern parenting style, from the Victorian Era forward, which emphasizes discipline, respect, and obedience be unintentionally hard-wiring our children’s cognitive weakness?”

I could see him thinking about this… and the camera kept filming. Then, another audience member interrupted with a book reference to a related psychology topic, and after a moment, the Professor shifted to his core material, leaving my supposition dangling over the cliff in the company of Wile E. Coyote.

So, what’s my “takeaway” from this pleasant interlude of philosophical thought? I’m admittedly surprised at the outcome, though maybe I shouldn’t be: when you “select” the path, things happen.

Rather than knee-jerk disagreement or admonitions of impracticality, I hope that some of you will perceive the faint glimmer of light roiling against the darkness. To that end:

Life Lesson: Be open to letting your child explore asymmetrical or unconventional forms of education: apprenticeship, travel, homeschooling, independent study, art, experiential investigation, play, etc. Mainstream public education can be a positive (I have met teachers that give heart and soul to the kids), but as applied across the board in its lowest denominator, today’s public education is designed as a compliance oriented Industrial Age necessity for managing the masses, instilling societal programming and producing workers.

Life Lesson: From this point on, I will do my utmost to look beyond the surface when my child says “No,” whether it’s to me as a parent, to a teacher or to anyone. Safety concerns aside, I will encourage my child’s instincts, independence and critical analysis skills. I don’t want to produce another cog in the great wheel of Society. This approach won’t be easy, convenient, or peaceful. I will suffer a fair amount of impingement upon my existence to the extent that I freely choose to sacrifice my expectations for the sake of my child. Of course, it’s maddening to hear your child reject your direction, and there are certainly risks to encouraging a non-conformist model. But I’m going to reap the wind, and think of it in terms of a contemporary film metaphor:

Neo must awaken from the Matrix.

Extra Credit: anyone recognize the picture reference below?

The Soulstealer War – Finally on NOOK in E-Pub Format and Discounted!

There’s a master blacksmith at the NJ RenFaire who forges serious weapons… truly artistic and elegant battle steel. At our last few “hail and hearty” greetings, besides testing a blade or two, and chatting of things metal, he has asked me in earnest, “Bill, when will The Soulstealer War be available in E-Pub format?”

After much angst, of which I will spare everyone, you can now purchase The Soulstealer War on Nook in E-Pub format! This version is priced at a 50% discount from the hard copy… for a limited period.

As a reminder, my work remains available on Kindle, Amazon, B&N and at various independent shops.

My author “to-do” list now includes completing the Audiobook version, as well as the next installment of the series – The Soulstealer War: The Splintering Realm. Yes, I know folks expected this earlier… thus, let me part with simple words of wisdom from the esteemed poet Robert Burns:

“The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men, Gang aft agley…”

With gratitude,

W.L. Hoffman – breathe slowly, observe humbly, dream deeply and evolve.

Ground Control to Major Tom – Anyone Listening?

Absent extraterrestrials accelerating our learning curve by letting us ride their alien coattails as Space-faring vagabonds, humanity’s future rests with colonizing the final frontier. The hazards of this gamble will be severe. We may even splinter into multiple subspecies as we adapt to conditions on other worlds. So be it. I don’t like rolling the dice with existence, but incredibly, that’s civilization’s daily lottery purchase while governments squabble, squander, and potentially degenerate into Orwell’s 1984 or the movie Idiocracy. Neither of these fictional options bodes well. Let me remind everyone that although the odds of winning the Powerball Lottery jackpot are a daunting 1 in 175 million… it happens frequently. Now think about those statistical results in relation to the occurrence of an Extinction Level Event. It’s not as farfetched as you thought.

To those who say we aren’t ready…  my riposte is that we damn sure won’t be without setting into motion dedicated resource allocation and systemic planning. Sadly, I cannot repudiate the fact that humanity is an immature and imperfect life form. However, long before we gain enough wisdom to govern our base nature, we will need to ascend to the stars if we wish to survive. Show me the corner of our shrinking planet that remains untouched by our sphere of influence – it’s impossible. While our population is ceaselessly smashing against our terrestrial boundaries, what of incurable pandemics, deadly environmental degradation, gamma-ray bursts, rogue asteroid collisions – pick your cause, but the only effect question is “when,” not “if.”

I have opined on this topic before and will continue to do so. Today, my outcry is sparked by a news article on China launching astronauts to their Tiangong 1 experimental Space Module. The article seems to mock China’s description of the task as “glorious and sacred,” denigrates their national support as “Communist Party propaganda,” includes ridicule of their children “dressed as happy ethnic minorities waving,” cites a Twitter comment that charges China of wasting money for this mission, and finishes with the coup de grace – accusations of an interstellar arms race. Really, that’s objective, agenda-free reporting? Of all the critical discussions that this worthy event could have engendered, why is the public instead served a cold dish of short-sighted, fear mongering drivel?

At a time when NASA’s current role in Space exploration is that of an armchair cheerleader, are we truly going to hurl stones at any culture that pursues advanced strategies for our race’s sustainability? Why is it that in the last decade the most memorable moment of Space ambassadorship is a song performed in orbit by a Canadian astronaut? Bravo, Commander Chris Hadfield!  Someone must awaken the people, and your rendition of David Bowie’s “Space Oddity” aboard the International Space Station was magical… my hope is that it calls to those among us, young and old, who still harbor enough imagination and pioneering spirit to propel our species to a wondrous adventure among the heavens.

I am an American, and I love my country. The US Constitution stands as a singular social triumph over an otherwise turbulent human history. Though the freedoms enshrined therein may be under siege these days, I derive no comfort from petty attacks on foreign nations. I am not defending China’s human rights record or similar politics. I am speaking of their effort to embrace a common destiny, one that should unite humanity. Indeed, one of my greatest concerns is that my country has cut the legs out from under what could be our existential salvation – NASA. While I agree that permitting and incentivizing private companies to enter the foray into Space makes good sense, I am steadfast in my belief that such a galactic endeavor really does require global cooperation. For that reality, we need our governments and elected leaders to be stakeholders in this higher vision.

What happened to the grandiose dreams of the generations following Neil Armstrong’s “one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind?” Does nobody look in amazement to the sky, to the Universe? If only every one of us could reflect upon our blue jewel from Space… Earth… humbling, magnificent, and yet, merely a dew drop in the vast Cosmic ocean.

All for RenFaire, and RenFaire for All!

Have no doubt, my friends, these are serious times. And for this reason, I have never been more appreciative of the revelry that converges at the NJ Renaissance Faire at Liberty Lake.  http://www.njrenfaire.com

This weekend my family strolled in costume among the RenFaire community, savoring the spontaneous interaction with the inhabitants of Crossford. The village welcomed me with a hearty “M’Lord,” and my daughters each garnered a gentle “M’Lady.” Indeed, Hallie and Hannah giggled uncontrollably upon discovering that the players bowed in their presence until released. “Rise, good sir,” had a pleasant lilt from the lips of my pre-teen princesses.

Hannah roamed the merchant stands with discerning and fickle taste, while her older sister marked treasures with practiced confidence. My girls opened their hearts and imaginations, and prepared for barter and baubles, as the townsfolk were ever-so-gracious in their dealings. To mention only some, is a disservice to the rest – we cherished them all.

Similarly, there are not enough words to adequately describe the amazing performers! Impromptu stage and troubadour skits, music and jest, song and rhyme, flames and daring acrobatics, archery and swordplay, a living chess match and fine spirits to imbibe… it was too much to absorb in a single outing.

My compliments to Phil Leipf as the villainous Comte de Rochefort, to Melissa L.E. Baker as his temptress co-conspirator Milady de Winter, and to Katie Horahan as the charming Duchess of Northumberland, and still, there are more notes of special attention…

 At mid-afternoon, we sheltered from a passing thunderstorm within the Willows Stage structure. Therein, my little girls were drafted by the Bard of Avon – William Shakespeare – as he organized an abbreviated and raucous audience participation version of “Twelfth Night and The Three Little Bears.” The good natured folks in the crowd were hilarious in their guided acting, and Will’s wit was sharper than all the nearby swords.

Thereafter, and harkening to the days of old, we experienced true artisanship. We stood spellbound at the forge of “Historical Glassworks,” as master glass blower Jason Klein crafted a Renaissance-style fluted wine decanter before our eyes. With absolutely no pressure from the onlookers, and between ample puffing breaths of creation, Jason explained his techniques, issued commands to apprentices, and orchestrated a delicate dance of molten glass.

Meandering away from that skillful glass menagerie, we happened upon a fearsome couple arrayed for the Zombie Apocalypse! They offered my daughters a copy of the Adventurer’s Handbook – a publication by TJ Miller and John A. Williams a/k/a The Lords of Adventure: Roger Awesome and Jack Bold. My girls boldly whispered to these armor-bound warriors that we owned two copies already, and then demurely asked if they would consent to pose for a picture.

After snapping the above cameo, we thought it wise to retreat to the jousting arena for our fill of knights, horses and chivalry. But along the way, we spied the Royal Falconer and his avian charges. Perched at rest, the birds were beautiful and majestic. During the falconry demonstration it was simply nature’s magic, as they soared aloft the entire encampment, banked a few feet over our heads, and launched talons-a-ready upon the Falconer’s twirling lure.

On our way back to the main amphitheatre, I was waylaid at “LaForge Weapons.” Sparks flew both in the blazing furnace and on the sturdy anvil. There were regal decorative weapons a’plenty, but I required a combat blade capable

of enduring full throttle impact – steel on steel. I selected a likely candidate off the rack and then asked the master smith if its edge would stay keen in hard battle. No words echoed in reply, though I think a slight growl ensued… he then gripped the sword from my hand, moved his anvil into position, bade me step back, and firmly struck the blade’s edge upon the anvil with not one, but three ringing blows. With a satisfed grin on his face, the weapon was returned for my inspection. I anticipated a chip given the enthusiasm of his test… I found not even the hint of a scratch.

At day’s end, the girls and I lounged at the Lakeside Amphitheatre enjoying a cornucopia of musicians and performers. I sipped a glass of cabernet-merlot courtesy of the Valenzano Winery. Within the hour, the primary acting Troupe escorted a horde of Faire-goers to our venue for the final reconciliation between D’Artagnon and Constance, and the Comte de Rochefort and Countess de Winter. Yes, as you may have guessed, regards to Alexandre Dumas, for this year’s RenFaire theme is the Three Musketeers. After due ceremonies, the players serenaded the crowd with a last ballad and a simple wish – that we may all be present to do this again. Amen. As I listened with Hallie and Hannah, I thought of my wife: she was absent from our festivities in order to comfort a dying friend of the family. My eyes blurred, and I thanked the powers-that-be for my blessings and the opportunity to share our day among such joyful and talented folk.

You can yet partake, for I’m told that the 2012 NJ Renaissance Faire will continue for at least one more weekend – June 9th and 10th. Failing that, perhaps it will be another worthy RenFaire in your home state. For let it be written and let it be said: we can all do with more laughter and love!

Humanity’s Epitaph: Space Colonization, Extinction, Jane Goodall and the Medieval Vikings

Recently, our family attended an evening program featuring a conversation with Dr. Jane Goodall. This graceful and passionate elder was a role model extraordinaire for my adolescent daughters. Dr. Goodall talked of humble beginnings, her family’s unwavering support, bold adventures and the future conservation of this ship we call “Earth.” What a “lived” life! We were fortunate that night to be accompanied by an ethnobotanist who personally knows Dr. Goodall. The after-lecture thoughts were profound and spicy, in contrast to the sleet frosting the streets of New Brunswick. I respected Dr. Goodall’s message, but pushed the envelope much further – from a terrestrial boundary to the boundless. Yes, I’m referring to the Universe. And yes, I acknowledge the possibility that the Universe might be bounded. But for purposes of this discussion, I’m not delving into spatial expansion or contraction under Big Bang Theory, Inflationary Cosmology or any other model – let’s just say that from a practical perspective, the Cosmos may as well be infinite.

While I continue to take responsibility for my actions, and will do my utmost to launch the maximum positive ripples into this linked firmament of earthbound life, i.e., the George Bailey effect, part of me was distracted from Dr. Goodall’s worthy admonitions. Maybe it’s the generational difference or that Africa is less of the “undiscovered country” these days, but I have always been enthralled by the stars. Perhaps, it was too many episodes of Star Trek, an excess of science fiction novels and movies, or an innate awareness that simply gazing into the night sky stirs my thoughts to realms of wonder. Regardless of the source of my fascination, my instincts are irrepressible. Thus, as I sat listening to Dr. Goodall, my mind argued the pros and cons for humanity’s extraterrestrial ambitions.

The need is paramount for us to establish multiple fountainheads in Space. The very survival of the human species demands this result – a manifest destiny. My mother always told me not to put my eggs in one basket. It was a lesson I took to heart. So too, must humanity. Will it be a rogue meteor strike, an unstoppable Andromeda Strain, environmental toxins, cataclysmic climate change, nuclear annihilation, a gamma ray burst, or simply death by a thousand cuts as we careen into the unyielding barrier of our little fish bowl? I don’t have the answer. These events may not happen in this lifetime, or even a hundred lifetimes. I’m not a doomer – it’s a basic probability calculation of time and odds. As a realist, I see the need to diversify our portfolio… to increase our chances of Universal sustainability. So, whether it’s a moonbase, a fleet of city-size starships, another planet, a separate dimension, a deviant time-scape or an alternate universe – our race must formulate strategic plans and allocate resources now. And yet, beyond raw survival, there is a less quantifiable reason that I’m shooting-for-the-moon. 

Historians now recognize that apart from raiding voyages to Britain, and settlements in Greenland, the Medieval Vikings established a presence in the New World (Newfoundland circa 1000) far earlier than Christopher Columbus. They journeyed over perilous seas to strange lands and unknown destinies. What spirit drove them to such extremes? Surely not everyone wished for an express Valkyrian escort into Valhalla? Perhaps more intrinsic urges held sway. There were vast resources, territories where families could thrive, and freedom – an awakened Soul-searing, Fate-be-damned FREEDOM.

 In the realm of legend, these Norsemen (men and women) are larger than life, as were their Gods. The Mighty Thor battled endlessly with the Frost Jotnar and other giant creatures. Their heroes like Beowulf and Siegfried had the strength of ten men and single-handedly destroyed monsters of epic scale. This perception of robust and virile peoples continues in several related mythologies. An apt example from the Celtic mythos is the tale of the Irish hero Oisin (Fin McCool’s son) and the fabled land of Tir na nog. Niamh of the Golden Hair guides Oisin to this faerie kingdom beyond the western horizon. He rides with her across the ocean on a magic horse. Once there, he resides for a brief time with Niamh, but longing for home, he departs on her steed with a warning not to let his feet touch the ground. When he regains the shores of Eire, he is bewildered to find that the primeval forests have been transformed into tame pastures. Asking after the fortunes of his family – the Fianna – he is told they are the stuff of legend and three hundred years have passed while he visited with Niamh. He encounters a group of Irishmen, whom he thinks are boys by their small stature and inability to move a boulder. He offers to help, and mindful of Niamh’s caution, he leans over in the saddle and uses one hand to fling the boulder aside. Unfortunately for him, the girth breaks and he falls to the ground. In seconds, old age catches him.

This Oisin tale is a fascinating transition from the legends of old to the beginning of the modern period. Why are the modern peoples portrayed as shrunken and weak? Could this unflattering physical depiction in mythology reflect a decline of the human spirit? Or is the answer something more scientific such as that the Norse/Celtic genetic lineage was forged from closer ties with that of our Ice Age Cro-Magnon ancestors? Well, I have two responses for you to ponder. In the first instance, there may indeed be more powerful physical features that flourished in a Darwinian lottery. Humans were massive and stronger because that’s representative of those that endured to successfully reproduce. The very actions of a questing life, exploring uncharted oceans and lands, and waging a contest with all that Mother Nature had to offer may have spawned “legendary” human biological characteristics. However, equally relevant is the “joie de vivre”… the spiritual energy that fed the “liberated being” of those early humans and inspired them to deeds seemingly beyond mere mortals. 

While sipping a fresh blend of coffee with a wonderful friend, we had the debate. He posed the question of whether that yearning for discovery within humanity is a fatal flaw – an anachronistic leftover of genetic recombination after a dark prehistory. As a self-proclaimed proud and hardy scion of peasant stock from the Old Country, he would rather spend his years on a hundred acre farm savoring good food, loving his family and laughing with friends. I admit to the allure of this vision. But looking within, I must also face the reality that for me there may be no such rest without a little voice whispering in my ear… that undeniable twitching of the psyche that wants to know what’s behind Door Number Two even if it means losing everything. I cannot say whether this restless trait is our saving grace or our undoing. But I informed my friend that if I could seize the opportunity, I would take my family to the stars. Like the early pioneers, we would forge a new life. In part, I think the days of his halcyon retirement scenario are dwindling. Assuming the requisite level of prosperity, he can still do so in this lifetime – but what of his children, his grandchildren, his great-grandchildren? This world on which we live is shrinking, just like the image of civilized man in the legends. No, the Earth is not contracting, other than a minor tectonic plate shift now and again. I’m speaking metaphorically about “freedom.” Population continues to explode across the globe, resources remain finite, and the Hobbesian compact of civilization that was made long ago is tightening with chain-like strength around our bulging necks.

I’m too young to have any memory of the Apollo moon missions. But you can feel the excitement even from the news reels. The average Joe on the street was enthralled by Space exploration. Dinner conversations had more than their share of prognostications on aliens, other worlds and future technological innovation. It was a time when anything seemed possible and when the “best” in us rose to the forefront. A generation of children grew up wanting to be astronauts and scientists. Can you say the same today? Let me clarify that I have no problem with humans in other careers, but if the Sirens of the digital age lure our brightest into a Lotus Eater sleep of the living dead – well, you can understand my concern. As I write, NASA has been essentially cancelled, and society’s “bread and circus” atmosphere is overwhelming. Even with my own children, I don’t merely fight, I wage WAR every single day to limit the video games, the meaningless TV dribble, the consumerism, the media brainwashing, the presence of impure foods (GMO, sugar, syrups, chemicals, contaminants) and most importantly, the dulling effects of an educational system that dims the light in their eyes. We desperately need critical thinkers, innovators and dreamers.

There were some readers who viewed me as anti-technology after my recent science fiction spin piece “Regards to the Father of Aviation.” However, don’t sign me up for the Amish just yet, and that lost Amazon tribe will have to subsist without one more mouth to feed. What I was arguing for therein, was fundamental liberty – the right to be free from encroachment and to follow the dictates of the Soul. Try to name one creature that has improved for having been tamed, that has not been tragically lessened in the transformation. A gilded cage may keep you safe and alive, but what is the measure of that existence? I’m not advocating anarchy. However, I am suggesting that we inherently need to ride the storm’s edge. It is on that threshold that our actions rise to the heights of Heaven or fall to the depths of Hell. For now, technology is a necessary partner along that continuum to help us understand the Universe, to propel human achievement and to insure our survival. But we need to evolve humanistic mechanisms alongside technical inspiration to preserve that which makes us “heroically” human. With each passing year, we are advancing our metaphysical understanding of the Cosmos. We have a lexicon of quantum particles in the Standard Model to supplement electron, proton and neutron, and we are creeping toward resolution of such mysteries as the Higgs Boson, Dark Matter, and Dark Energy. However, while acknowledging the genius of our machines, I believe our greatest advancement has been programmed within our very being. I have no doubt that one day our curiosity, perseverance and desire for inner exploration will enable human consciousness to make the leap between worlds and realities. Everything we are and experience, may have started as ONE interconnected incredibly dense singularity. Even if this proves overstated, our experiments are revealing what more of us are intuitively recognizing – there are varying levels of quantum entanglement in all matter and energy. For now, we might employ descriptive euphemisms like Einstein’s “spooky action at a distance” or endearing analogies like Schrodinger’s Cat. In the future, however, the wave-like nature of the subatomic particles that comprise the nearly empty space that we call matter might be transported to an infinite locale simply by consciousness “willing” it so. Perhaps, this type of journey is possible today in limited aspects for literally a handful of people. Admittedly, evolution may require another million years for this “breakthrough” – I like that word as it nicely captures the essence of the task. However, until such capabilities can be effectively harnessed, the imperative for more accessible human colonization beyond Earth must be embraced and actualized.

My friend from the coffee session also suggested that we might be alone in the Universe… that life might be unique to Earth. Putting religion aside, he cited the improbable chain of causation that must have occurred for life to have arisen here, and then calculated the astronomical odds of duplicating that elsewhere. Taking this supposition as true for the moment, this implies that we have a higher obligation to colonize “life” throughout the Cosmos. For such a wondrous creation as the Universe cannot have been engendered for an inanimate and meaningless death dance across infinity. However, let me shatter this premise of solitude with the same reply that I gave to my friend, “Nonsense!” I explained that when you look at the vast scope of existence, the sheer number of stars (estimated currently between ten sextillion and one septillion) that inhabit the known Universe, those incredible odds don’t seem all that compelling anymore. I then reminded my friend of a counterargument intrinsic to our world: the millimeter size Water Bear (Tardigrade). Water Bears are able to survive a wide array of brutal environments that include temperatures approaching absolute zero, a thousand times more radiation than would kill a human, the absence of water for a decade, and most relevant to this conversation: the vacuum of Interstellar Space. On this note, he relented, and qualified his statement to mean the absence of carbon-based life. In this alternate path, I maintained to my friend that even if humans are members of a vast orchestra of life spread across the Universe, we yet have qualities that argue for reserving our seat at the Galactic table: love, creativity, altruism, curiosity, compassion, and intelligence.

Humanity must arise from its slumber! Now is the time for our collective consciousness to lift its ostrich head from the illusory sands of this tipping vessel, and to focus our intentions on the expansive reality of the Universe. We are mandated to shatter the confines of our planetary lifeboat. Yes, there will be unbearable sacrifices, appalling death and strange adaptations that may fracture our species, but these will be offset by a legacy of freedom and glory that will forever rescue humanity from an epitaph of ignominy and irrelevance.

Regards to the Father of Aviation

The summer of 1878 in Iowa was more oppressive than usual, and Milton Wright longed for an evening breeze to waft through his upstairs window. He had been working all night. His wife tiptoed into his study. The flickering oil lamp revealed her presence before her free hand lightly tapped his shoulder. “Milton, can the labor of God not wait until morning? It’s late, even the crickets are hushed.”

Milton turned from his feverish sketching, and explained, “Susan, I met the most amazing Frenchman today at Church. Alphonse Penaud. An inventor, a man that would see humanity become as birds in flight. He gave me this toy.” Milton pointed to his desktop. The toy, about a foot in length, was crafted of cork, bamboo and paper, with a rotor that spun using rubber bands. “I am going to give it to the boys in the morning. Can you imagine, people using a machine to simply soar into the sky?”

Susan leaned closer and peered at his pencil marks. Her husband had a keen mind. That was how he had risen to Bishop in the Church of the United Brethren in Christ. She asked, “What’s that you’ve drawn?”

Milton adjusted his spectacles and proudly announced, “Well, there are details to refine, but it’s a flying machine.”

Susan giggled quietly, not wanting to wake the children, and then said, “Oh really? How does it work?”

Milton was tired, but rode the wave of excitement that had inspired him after meeting the Frenchman. He blurted, “Alphonse had spoken about propellers and engines, and I got to thinking about how birds move. I’ll need the right wing shape and span to generate lift, and I must control the direction, rudders and, I mean… the ideas just kept flowing.”

Susan was as practical as she was spiritual, and asked, “To what end? If God had wanted us to fly, would He not have given us wings?”

Milton nodded. “Yes, you have a point, but God also gave us intellect and the will to use it. This might take years and I’ll need funds, but I think it can work. Why, my dear, someday humanity might sail through the clouds on immense machines carrying hundreds of people. They’ll be like a flock of giant birds overhead, day and night, rushing from one place to the next.  You could visit your relatives in Germany in a matter of hours, maybe minutes if powerful engines could be built.”

Susan’s eyes sank to the floor, “Engines. Will they be very loud and smoky?” She thought about the steam traction engines that belched and spit as the fields were plowed near the Church.

After nearly twenty years of marriage and bell ringing at the churches, Milton understood Susan’s aversion to booming noise. She preferred the gentle hum of God’s creatures. “The machines might rumble and roar a bit, but if they travel high enough, you might not hear them. Not too much. And there’s bound to be exhaust of some sort, but the vapors should dissipate before causing any mischief on the ground.”

Susan shifted to the open window nearby and gazed at the stars. The heavens were glorious in their beauty and peace. She whispered as if in a dream, “Would you see these machines in the night sky?”

“Yes dear, I think they would need bright lights to keep from hitting objects and one another.”

Susan mused aloud, “Will they be like trains or boats? I mean will everyone be crowded into compartments, with soot pouring in from the engines? Will the wealthy have their own quarters, while those less fortunate suffer?”

Milton rubbed his bearded chin. “There’s always an issue with weight. Birds bones are less dense than ours, and their wings, well… they don’t say light as a feather as an idle boast. So, I guess space would be at a premium. It might be like Sunday Worship when the pews are packed elbow to elbow.”

Susan issued a long sigh and then urged, “Come to the window.” Milton rose and joined his wife.

She asked determinedly, “Do you not see the miracle around and above us?”

Milton looked onward, and thought, it’s a jubilee of stars tonight. Mother Moon’s waning crescent would be a cozy spot from which to cast a fishing line into the sea of stars. And there’s Sirius at the horizon. With his faithful hound at ease, Orion is done hunting this eve. Indeed, everything with sense is resting in this heat. He removed a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and dabbed his forehead. Just then, a fluttering gust combed the tall grass below, and as the breeze caressed his cheeks, he caught the scent of lavender on Susan from the flowers she had gathered before dinner.

Susan brushed her lips to his ear, taking advantage while she had him, “Now close your eyes. Think about what you’ve described. Blaring, malodorous machines at all hours of decency, cutting the evening majesty apart with their lights… jammed tight with people hurtling across the world so fast as to miss the splendor of life. And do you suppose those machines might fail every so often, the way the trains do when they leave the tracks?”

Milton’s eyes snapped open, “But people will be able to cross the globe without taking days or weeks…”

Susan frowned.

Milton paused, deep in reflection. His arm slipped around Susan’s waist as he nuzzled against her. After a time of silence, he spoke softly, “I wouldn’t be the first to open Pandora’s Box, but have it your way, dear.”

She kissed him, and said, “You need your sleep.”  Susan held her hand out waiting, as Milton folded the sketches and tucked them into a desk drawer. He couldn’t quite bring himself to burn them. He thought, human technology must go forward… we have the right, don’t we, don’t we?

As he slipped into bed, he wondered what his sons would do when he showed them the toy. Wilbur and Orville were sharp for their age.

 

Author’s Note: As a Fantasy & Sci-Fi author (www.SoulstealerWar.com), writing is my preferred method of activism. Thus, I offer you this original short story with a science-fiction twist as a means to highlight a local issue. As my family walks around the neighborhood, and tries to settle down at night, we cannot help but observe that the flight paths above Princeton/Montgomery Township evidence a sky overburdened with low-flying, crisscrossing planes, excessive noise and air pollution. Contact your Legislators, FAA Eastern Region Noise Complaints at 9-aea-noise@faa.gov or FAA Noise Program Specialist: (718) 553-3365.

An Evening Sojourn in the Realm of Weir

  It’s been a while since my last posting… lot’s of things happening on the personal and work fronts. Yes, to all those asking, I am working on Book Two of The Soulstealer War. Indeed, I was recently inspired by the possibility that the “God particle” (aka the Higgs boson) had been detected at the Large Hadron Collider.

Anyway, as to the matter at hand, the attached Playbill is for a charity fundraiser ($50 per  person) this Saturday night featuring a unique theatrical translation of four scenes from Book One of The Soulstealer War. While not yet closed to new guests, any requests to attend (Princeton, NJ area) should be sent via e-mail to WLHoffman@SoulstealerWar.com. I reserve the sole right and discretion to approve attendees. Further description is as follows:

Hear ye tales of the Bard of the Realm by the fire pit, or enter the Inn of Delvin’s Landing, where fine fare of the Realm abounds and tankards of wine, mead and cider clash in cheerful toasts. Said Bard of the Realm has paid silver for a troop of performers in costume to enact scenes from the legendary epic – The Soulstealer War – as well as provide live Celtic music by Draegn. Vignettes are expected to include swordsmanship and song, among other tidings. Performers will be mingling for good company throughout the evening, as will your Bard, who invites many a traveler to seek guidance on the trade of writing, and upon the fabled denizens of Weir. All Lords and Ladies of the Realm will be gifted a signed first edition of the Bard’s work, and all are encouraged to attend in costumed attire suitable of indoors and out (Medieval/Renaissance Faire style).

Video of the performance will be uploaded afterwards.