June 2005
I was born in 1947. Eventually I was the middle boy between symmetrical pairs of brothers and sisters. We went to church where we learned there was supposed to be a “plan”. Between '68 and '71 I went to university where I trained to become a teacher but learned there didn't seem to be a plan. While contemplating my future I could see myself in a position where a desperate student asked me some version of “What's happening?”. I realized I didn't have the answer and I decided I should have the answer I was comfortable giving before I began to teach.
Finding it took a bit longer than I had anticipated but in 1998 I presented "the answer" in an essay titled, “What’s Happening: a view of life”. It was too late to teach but I thought I would offer my answer anyway. After a feeble attempt to have my essay published I concluded that given the amount of written material in existence and the pace we maintain to keep our minds away from the last "why?", it was quite likely no one would even take the time to read its title. Coincidentally, in 2000 I heard of a writing contest and for it I transformed the essay into a poem and a precis. As they emerged I realized I would call both “The Law of Human Nature”. They didn't win but I had a 6 page poem and an 8 page precis that were more likely to be read than a 65 page essay.
In 2001, because they could no longer organize their lives I invited my parents to share my home. I put both my living as a carpenter and my writing along with my interest in it, on a 'shelf'. My father died in his bed April 2004. I remember when I picked up his ashes first noting the unexpected weight and then thinking, “Is this it?” Shortly after, it occurred to me that at the very least, such as I am, I am my father’s legacy. I felt if I left the results of my life’s main activity on the 'shelf' then I would have squandered the generous amount of time my father gave to me. He didn't agree with what I had written but throughout my life I never lacked for his support. So I returned to my writing in part to honour my father's gifts.
I labored mightily over the next few months with ideas of publication until finally a series of conversations led me to the internet and the web. So Feb 2005 I bought a computer, I learned to type and set up this web site to publish my poem. In the process my poem acquired the title “The Last Why” because life seems to be about meaning. If anyone comes to my 'classroom' looking for "the answer", I can now offer what I am comfortable in saying is our optional purpose of living and the two possible consequences.
I’m very excited but I have never been more nervous about taking a step into the unknown. Throughout the adult part of my 58 years there have been events that have given my ‘flywheel’ of faith a good spin; but there have also been an equal number of times when it has come perilously close to stopping. I could be starting the time that tips the balance. On all previous occasions I’d heard from the back of my mind that it is better to wonder about the possibility of God and find out you're a fool, than not wonder and leave the possibilities of life unexplored. I have yet to find out for sure I've been a fool; maybe this time.
June 2007
I didn't think of updating "my bio" last year; but then there wasn't much to update. During my first year of writing I added entries to my journal and wrote a weekly letter about life with Mom that I sent to my siblings and eleven relatives in an effort to attract them to my site. Mostly I was a bother but I became better acquainted with a niece and I connected with a cousin I'd never known. She has become a friend. She invited her father, my mother's brother, to live with her so we share the unique experiences of living with a failing parent.
About thirteen months ago I made another effort to generate visits to my site by becoming a member of a philosophy forum at ilovephilosophy.com. I began a thread with my journal entry "Life: a reaction to the void". A few months ago when the number of hits to my thread surpassed 20,000 I decided to copy the "dialogues" to my site hoping they might attract similar attention here. For the same reason I began writing short "poems" for the creative writing forum. I wrote my first for a contest and even a second place finish inspired me to write over 30 more that about 16,000 people have read.
I have been surprised by the response and I am grateful. However, most days it is mainly my decision to invite my now 91 year old mother to live with me that keeps me from thinking I am a complete fool. In my continuing effort to find out for sure I have just published "the last why: the precis", a much improved draft of the precis I wrote seven years ago. I decided to make this addition to my site sometime, while copying my thread; but when I was informed "the last why: the poem" was too long to be considered for publication in the inaugral journal of the Canadian Academy of Independent Scholars (CAIS), I rewrote my precis which is a perfect length, sooner rather than later, to submit for consideration. I am also going to apply for membership in CAIS and try to have my site added to Epistemelinks, a collection of similar sites. So who knows, perhaps I will have a 2008 update. Then again, I may return to my shop and for a few more summers I hope, putter in the garden with my mother .
December 2008
In July 2007 my mother was attacked by shingles. She said nothing about the 5" wide belt of scabs that covered her right side from her spine to her lower abdomen I discovered while looking for the cause of pain in her arm. In a panic I took her to the clinic where doctors assured me that even though less severe cases usually required hospitalization, Mom was in recovery and doing well without intervention. More devastating was the two week course of antibiotics Mom was given to combat a bladder infection. I had to plead with her to eat. It was during this time that I wrote "Mother's Leaving". Thankfully Mom recovered, not completely but enough that she was able to return to our garden and to remain the source of inspiration I need to continue publicizing my website. Mom turned 93 on December 28. I wonder how I will continue without her.
Neither my abstract of "The Last Why: the precis" nor that of my selected short poems evoked an invitation to submit the full length articles to the committee assembling the first journal of CAIS. I wasn't told why the abstracts were rejected. Perhaps it was because I proposed submitting original writing and not traditional research papers normally published in journals. Other than that I can only guess that if they got by the style of my abstracts into the substance, committee members must have concluded there wasn't any. So that potential source of traffic vanished.
Although the journal committee rejected my abstracts, the CAIS membership committee did accept my application to become a member. I was initially excited because membership as advertised meant my website would be listed in their on site registry where it could generate some scholarly traffic. My excitement waned however, when I learned more about CAIS. It is affiliated with Simon Fraser University in British Columbia, Canada, a world renowned institution. CAIS is further affiliated with the National Coalition of Independent Scholars and the European Academy of Arts and Sciences; but CAIS is just getting started. It is being developed by a dedicated group of volunteers who have not yet created the registry. The last I heard I am one of 50 members so I even wonder if at this early stage the membership committee may have relaxed its standards so that the academy could count one more head regardless of its contents. It remains to be seen if I will give the registry time to generate traffic.
Like my abstracts, my application to be included in Epistemelinks was also rejected. The site owner said my site did not qualify as a philosophical resource but rather would be more appropriately described as creative writing. I was going to appeal by arguing that all his listed religious/philosophical resources are the consequence of creative writing on an entirely theoretical foundation but decided winning would be as difficult as trying to convince the Pope his entire 'site' is supported by creative writing. Without my biologically based site Epistemelinks remained purely theoretical but without Epistemelinks I didn't get a potential source of traffic.
In November '07, after 18 months, I ended my daily association with Ilovephilosophy. The writing experience was invaluable and apparently a lot of people still read what I wrote in the forums. I am not sure how they find it in the back pages but visitors to ILP are still reading the thread I began with "Life: a reaction to the void". Up to 01/01/09 it has received 33,900 hits. I am not sure how many people have since read the 30 poems I posted there but when I left it was over 20,000. Nevertheless, the percentage of those that then followed links to my site wouldn't register without a lot of preceding zeros. One young man said he used "What's Happening: waiting for Godot" in a term paper and another asked permission to publish "Hummingbirds" in his one page newspaper. At the end though it had been some time since I'd had a referral from ILP, my reason for joining, so I decided it was time to leave.
I began using the reclaimed time to rewrite my essay which gave birth to "The Last Why: the poem", "The Last Why: the precis" and from which almost all my writing is derived. Naturally I changed its title from "What's Happening: a view of life" to "The Last why: the essay". I wasn't going to rewrite it until I could create a demand because I didn't want to waste the enormous amount of time required to rewrite something no one was going to read. I changed my mind though and decided I would rewrite it so I could link my derivative writing to my essay; and for the pleasure I thought I might derive from making it perfect. I have made good progress but since there is no demand to read it thus no rush to finish it I put it on hold several months ago to write a couple journal entries on nutrition I felt might attract visitors to my site. These are nearing completion and I look forward to resuming the reconstruction of my essay early in the new year.
At the end of October '07, just prior to leaving ILP my last hope of generating traffic, I decided to create my own by advertising with Google. I began with an ad that landed on my poem "Hummingbirds". Within days I received a comment from Sandy Sandy, an artist with a passion for hummingbirds who asked for permission to post my poem on her website with a link back to mine. After visiting her site I agreed and at the same time asked permission to adorn "Hummingbirds" and "Questions" with her paintings. "Eagles' Vision" and "Wolf's Cry" were inspired by paintings that also accompany these poems. Leading up to Remembrance Day I advertised "Peace Poppies" and prior to Christmas I advertised "Christmas Poem". My poem on Sandy Sandy's website has generated about a dozen hits while despite many hundreds of paid hits, the latter two together realized no more than a few comments. After my younger sister said my poems make her think I changed advertising tactics. Rather than advertising individual poems I created the ad that opens my poems index, a change that greatly increased the number of additional page hits. When advertising individual poems, they are what visitors read. About half of the visitors to my index likewise read it and either don't like the choices or don't like to make choices and leave without making one. The other half however, read enough poems, including "The Last Why: the poem", to average two for each hit on the ad; and once in a while someone like you even reads my bio, thank you.
Because of this apparent interest in my poems, whenever I felt inspired I took time from my other writing to add new poems to my index and as a result it has grown from about 30 poems to over 70 during the past year. My motivation for writing poems has not changed. I have never had a dream to become a poet nor do I now have a burning desire to win the Nobel prize for literature. Had I this desire I would not be using the rhythm and rhyme inherited from listening to hymns for the first 24 years 9 months of my life. I'd be stringing abstract images together with free verse, which I cannot do honestly. Still, I am trying to create a piece of literature, "a written work, esp...whose value lies in the beauty of (the rhythm and rhyme in our) language (and) in emotional effect.". I chose poetry because it takes only seconds to read and fits into my advertising strategy. A piece of poetic literature could go viral attracting increasing numbers of free visitors to my site who while here might also read one of my 3 versions of "The Last Why", which is the reason I set up and publicize my site. I thought "Olympic Nightmare: the little girl" was that piece. I wrote it after hearing the Beijing Olympic organizers had a girl with a pretty face lip-synch the words of a song sung by a girl with a pretty voice. I sent it to the C.B.C., our national broadcaster, as a comment on the story and they read it on their news cast "The National". Needless to say I was thrilled when I heard it but like Olympic glory, the next day it was as if it never happened. Since then specific ads for "Barack Obama: a cautionary view" and more recently "American Nightmare: the dying economy" caused 'sparks' but neither burst into 'flames'.
Had I not created ads for specific poems from time to time in addition to advertising my index, "Love" would have received the most hits, elicited the most comments, motivated the most sharing and thus apparently had the greatest potential for going viral; but it hasn't. About a month ago though, "Love" did initiate an intensifying evaluation of what I am doing. A young woman discovered "Love" by clicking on my Google ad and liked my poem enough to share it on "StumbleUpon" a social network that was new to me. The sharing resulted in a few hits I would not have otherwise received but more importantly I discovered a less expensive way of advertising specific poems. I tried a few different ads but given this period of change we are in I settled on "Barack Obama: my hope". The results have not been encouraging. Between December 11 and January 01, 5252 people viewed my poem. 50 or .95% gave it the "thumbs up"; 77 or 1.5% gave it the "thumbs down"; and the rest let it pass without giving it any thumb. Perhaps half a dozen viewers followed links to one of the other three Obama poems I have written, not even one clicked on at least "The Last Why: the poem" and as of 12/31/08 no one has left a comment.
Although I knew I would analyse the results of my index ad sometime, until I saw those of my Obama ad I hadn't and when I did I had to admit they are probably about the same. I have had about 100,000 clicks on my index. From among the half of those who clicked on at least one other poem I received no more than 10 comments and recommendations a week over the year which is about 1%. Visitors who click on my index ad do not have the convenience of indicating their preference with the "thumbs up" or "thumbs down" buttons on "StumbleUpon". Had they, perhaps I would have received 1 1/2 % thumbs down. More importantly, out of the 50,000 hits with subsequent hits only about 50 a week or 2500 were on "The Last Why: the poem" and perhaps half as many again were on "The Last Why: the precis"; and I have no idea how many people who clicked on these pieces read them. Each has received only one recommendation. I began advertising to 'prime the pump' but it doesn't seem to be working. What I am getting out of the pump is only what I am putting into it. If I quit 'priming', the traffic will stop. This is probably as good a definition as there is for going anti-viral.
The reality of the figures made me pause to reflect, for though it is only what top Canadian executives earn in one minute, I have spent what for me is a lot of money. I began advertising my site without setting a limit on how much I would spend because I didn't know what to expect. My only 'advertising' experience was with ILP where even though well over 20,000 people read my 30 poems, only "Heaven" caused a stir worth mentioning. So I imagined I might spend a few hundred dollars, see a flat line on the monitor and quit; but the 'patient' seemed to show signs of life so I maintained the infusion of cash. When the amount passed $2000 I rationalized the expenditure by reminding myself had I not been hanging out with my mother 24/7 I would have spent more than that a year on sporting activities. When the amount passed $4000 I reasoned what I was spending on my mind was quite a bit less than I'd spent on my teeth. When the amount passed $10,000 I compared it to the many more ten thousands of dollars members of my immediate family have offered to God in their effort to perpetuate what I now consider, given the evidence, one of several divisive religious myths. In contrast though, and I know I can be wrong, I considered my expense an offering to help God dissipate the myths that divide humanity. Nevertheless, after spending all this money without apparent results I had to ask myself a long drawn out, "When... are... you... going... to... quit?" that might be echoing somewhere around the world.
If you see a gambler putting dollars into a slot then clicking on "detailed traffic activity" to see if the 'stars' line up, your vision is excellent. I've been a gambler most of my adult life. When I graduated in 1971 I bet on finding the answer to "What's happening?" outside the security and possible prestige but confines of academia. In 1977 I did decide it was foolish to wager my life on odd jobs so I quit gambling and added a well paying 'real' job with a career path leading to a corner office, to a relationship; but after only two years I again bet on traveling my own path toward wonder, alone. When I became a carpenter in 1979 I could have turned that occupation into a full time career but I bet on just enough self-employment to live and organize the consequences of my search. Being alone and self-employed allowed me to easily invite my parents to live with me in 2001 but because I had no idea what to expect, the invitation was a huge gamble. Watching my father's body, mind and sprit whither away 24/7 for three years was traumatic for both Mom and me. My inexperience and ignorance left me with "Regrets", not that I took the gamble but that I didn't do more for Dad.
Had I not invited my parents to live with me I would quite likely not be writing this bio because I would probably still be working as a part-time carpenter, wondering why I had spent almost 40 years trying to explain life. As it turned out, before he died my father left me with a retirement income for which, due to my gambling, I had made no provision. My mother continues to support me in an unequal relationship. All I do for her is look after the aspects of her life she no longer can, which are things I do for myself anyway, and give her companionship. In addition to returning that companionship Mom looks after all our expenses including my first computer, a second when the first died and of course my gambling. Mom consequently gives me all the time I need to write and an endless supply of inspiration. I might yet discover I've been a fool but the way I look at it now, I have 5 cards to turn over. The first two were the king and queen of hearts. I have enough chips to continue for a bit, so now is not the time to "fold em".
Still, as I wave goodbye to my first $10,000 and begin a second year of advertising, I wonder how long I will continue. For the time being I can justify the expense by equating it to the far greater amounts millions of others have spent on travel to exotic places over their lifetimes. I just happen to be paying for my continuing journey of self-realization all at one time. It is a journey I cannot make alone so it does seem reasonable to advertise for help; but how loud does the silence have to be in response to even the relatively short "The Last Why: the poem" or "The Last Why: the precis" before I conclude what I have written is incomprehensible or unworthy or both; or that no one wants to think about what's happening out of fear, conviction, tradition, obligation or some of all the above; or simply because ignorance is bliss? When do I decide there likely is no light at the end of the tunnel into which my gambling has taken me? As exotic as it is, for how much longer will I travel the paths of thought in my mind until the only thing I realize is that I was a fool to start that journey and twice the fool for spending money discovering I am a fool? How much more do I offer to God before I accept my offering has been disappearing into a black hole? The answer to "What's happening?" I know. The answers to my life questions, I don't know.
I will at some time quit advertising. Perhaps I will end my journey when my mother's journey ends. I am not driven by a savior complex. I won't be able to continue without a source of inspiration. I will quit gambling for sure when the numbers don't add up. I may be a fool but I am not stupid. I can add and if the joker turns up I will know I have a greater chance of winning if I bet I can fly or breath under water than gambling on generating viral traffic flow. I hope and pray though, I quit because we have created a self-perpetuating flow of traffic that will infect every computer on the planet. If I don't turn up this 'royal flush' I will be able to survive without writing because a writer is not something I wanted to be, like Barack Obama wanted to be president. I became a writer as I recorded and organized the thoughts that entered my mind and I continue to write, not to be a writer but to publicize the record of my thoughts. I have occupied myself with creative carpentry before so if I have to I can occupy myself again with that activity until I can do it no longer. If we have not this time hit ourselves with a massive economic asteroid that will result in the extinction of homo sapiens sapiens materialisticus, I will be able to survive until the next one without the money I will have gambled away. However, even though I can survive if I don't turn up the 'royal flush', I profoundly question that I will be able to live without the wonder I have followed for most of my life.
As I think about the coming months I wonder what 'cards' I will turn over.