EARTH: A DIVINIAN SHANGRI-LA OR A DARWINIAN SLAUGHTERHOUSE?!

 

THE GARDEN OF EDEN

I shall begin with ALBERT EINSTEIN, a scholar of the Hebrew Christian bible, who believed the literal translations of bible stories to be no more than primitive legends and childish superstitions. For myself, I must admit, some of the more famous ones are certainly entertaining! And there are lots of examples.

There are stories of talking animals, the serpent in the Garden of Eden, and Balaam’s talking donkey. There’s the story of Noah's ark and, of course, the Flood that prompted the Ark.

There is the story of God creating heaven and earth in just six days, then having to rest on the seventh. There is the immaculate conception, the virgin birth of Jesus, and then the story of the crucifixion of Jesus, then his rising from the dead three days later. Jesus also raises from the dead, his good friend, Lazarus. There are the mariner’s stories of Jonah being swallowed by a whale and living in its belly for three days, the story of Moses parting the Red Sea, and the story of Peter the Apostle and Jesus walking on water. And still relating to water, there is the story of Jesus turning water into wine. There is a tall Tower of Babel story of how different languages came to be. And then there is a story of Lot's wife, turning into a pillar of salt.

Yes. Believing in the narrative of creation and the Garden of Eden comes with many conditions.

And then along comes CHARLES DARWIN, who as a young man studied to be an Anglican cleric, but as a senior at 50 years of age writes THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES.

Darwin’s THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES, (1859), is the foundation of evolutionary biology. In it, evolution is defined as descent with modification, promoting the idea that species change over time, and share a common ancestor. Of course, this scientific idea was severely rejected by several religious denominations and rejected only because it contradicted the concept of a divine creator, as presented in the bible stories.

As presented in the bible, Adam and Eve and every other creature lived in idyllic splendor in the grass and sea until that talking serpent came along. But according to Darwin, even in the beginning (pun intended), all creatures great and small were just part of a hellish (another pun intended) food chain.

In Darwin’s forests the grasses are devoured by the rabbits who are in turn devoured by the foxes. In Darwin’s seas, the plankton is eaten by the krill which are eaten by the smaller fishes who are in turn devoured by the sharks. In Darwin’s jungles, the tree fruit are eaten by the monkeys who are then eaten by the jaguar.

Yes. Darwin's animal food chains are cruel and gruesome, certainly favoring the top-of-the-chain apex predators as the jaguars, the lions, the wolves, the eagles, the sharks, the crocodiles, the orcas, the grizzly bears, and, of course, the humans!

Humans hunt, yes, but not as the other apex predators. Humans hunt, too, for pleasure. In the beginning (pun intended again), humans gathered and hunted for food. Nowadays, humans hunt for fun and for trophies. Humans call this type hunting, “sport.”

(Notez bien. In my current view, killing animals for sport, taking another creature’s life when not necessary, is just selfish and ego boosting.)

But I am not without guilt. In my pre-teen years my buddies and I would march across farmers’ fields enroute to what we called, Burk’s Pasture, where, in the summertime, we’d snare and trap gophers all day long. As teenagers, my buddies and I shot gophers with .177 caliber pellet guns, and as we aged, with .22 caliber rifles. As an emerging adult, every fall I would sling my double-barrel 20 gauge shot gun and hunt ducks and partridges and pheasants with my grandfather. (Those days I was a duck hunter and whenever I packed my .30-30 Winchester, a deer hunter.)

Factoid: I agree that the idea of Hunting and Conservation can be a philosophy, as it was for my grandfather. He was born in 1901 and hunted practically every day of his life. To my recollection (and I was raised by my grandfather and grandmother) he never once purchased meat from a retailer. Our deep freeze was filled with wild game that he, himself, had hunted.

Sadly, my lust for the hunt continued into my young adulthood. Even as a first-year high school English teacher, most weekends during my summer holidays, I’d drive back to my hometown, pick up my childhood friend who had now owned the local hotel, load a couple rifles along with a couple six-packs of beer, and drive to Burk’s Pasture to spend many a lazy afternoon shooting the breeze and shooting gophers!

Now I never hunt. And yes, I am a hypocrite. Though I loathe the act of hunting, I love the taste of wild game. Go figure.

Close to closing, I wish to offer you (readers) a few candies to crunch on. I’ve borrowed this “candies” metaphor from Emily Carr and her scraps-of-nothing manuscript entitled “Hundreds and Thousands.”

There is no better study than that of the human condition. Being human is a remarkable capacity. The human species has produced Beethoven and Shakespeare, Hitler and Hussein, Donald Duck and Donald Trump. No other creature hope and dream and anticipate (from my master’s thesis, ONE HUNDRED DAYS AT THE HOUSE OF CONCORD, 1994).

Are we closest to angels? Or to apes? Are our species beginnings specious?

If God were so all powerful and benevolent, why on earth and in Heaven’s name would he create such a slaughterhouse? Wouldn’t we best be living in a continuous Garden of Eden where no creature ever dies? A Garden of Eden that when overcrowded, we, inhabitants, could simply move on to another planet or universe or even multiverse?

And our purpose of life?! It’s obvious that we, no matter our culture, love to propagate (pun intended)! Methinks the empirical evidence is clear. There is only one purpose, and that one is for each our own! Thinking otherwise suggests that we are being manipulated by something more powerful than ourselves. “NATURE” would objectively fit that notion, whereas “GOD” would subjectively fit that notion. Hmmm.

ARE WE THE PEOPLE of a DIVINIAN SHANGRI-LA or a DARWINIAN SLAUGHTERHOUSE?!

And not meaning to vilify anyone, but if there really is a GOD, and GOD created man in his own image, then knowing what I know of the mercurial nature of man/mankind/humankind, there will be HELL to endure forever and ever! YIKES and AMEN!

Marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week:

MY FRIEND'S DAUGHTER

MY FRIEND'S BEST FRIEND

MY COLLEAGUE'S CANINE

MY COLLEAGUE'S CAT

 

I THINK, THEREFORE I YAM WHAT I YAM: FROM DESCARTES TO SARTRE TO POPEYE THE SAILOR MAN

RENE DESCARTES

My blogpost today begins with 17^th Century French philosopher, RENE DESCARTES (1596-1600), and ends with American cartoonist, E.C. SEGAR’S POPEYE THE SAILOR MAN (1929).

POPEYE 1929

Rene Descartes was a rationalist whose focus on personal subjective consciousness would later influence the Father of Existentialism,” Danish theologian and philosopher, SOREN KEIRKEGAARD (1813-1855). Soren famously stated that, “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.”

SOREN KEIRKEGAARD

FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE

Soren Keirkegaard's notions would later influence German philosopher, FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE (1844-1900), who promoted that each of us has a personal “superman,” as individual power, and this would later influence French philosopher and playwright, JEAN-PAUL SARTRE (1905-1980), who insisted that we, humans, were condemned to be free, therefore cursed to create personal meanings for our lives.

JEAN-PAUL SARTRE

And in the meanwhile, English naturalist and geologist, CHARLES DARWIN (1809-1882) presented that all human capacities, including intellectual endeavors, languages, cultures, and sexual behaviors are a continuance of evolutionary foundations. Darwin's theory of evolution suggests that we all have common psychological tactics and mechanisms that have evolved specifically for our continued reproduction for survival as a species.

CHARLES DARWIN

Charles Darwin was not aware at the time, that all humans are 99.9% genetically identical (Human Genome project 2003), though he did propose that humans and apes shared a common ancestor. And, too, Darwin was not aware at the time that humans and apes, particularly chimpanzees and bonobos, share approximately 96% to 99% of our DNA (US Academy of Sciences 2005), making apes our closest living evolutionary cousins.

Yes. We as humans have a collective goal: To procreate and continue the species.

CARL JUNG

Swiss psychiatrist and psychotherapist, CARL JUNG (1875-1961), proposed that as a human collective, we have shared archetypes. These archetypes are universal, recurring patterns (motifs, figures) that reside in our human collective unconscious, influencing our behaviors, our emotions, and our personalities across all human cultures.

And how does all this existential philosophy stuff fit into my philosophy of the buskerhood?

Well, in typical existential fashion, the art of the busk is not for acolytes. The stereotypical busker chooses to reject conventional employment in favor of an ever, precarious self-directed employ, defining a working identity via public performances. Busking offers the freedom to strum or thrum or draw or whatever action, whenever and wherever the busker chooses.

Think of this. And so, whenever I am busking with my twelve-string and harp, or my Sharpie and sketchpad, I am embracing the “absurdity” of searching for meaning in a world that offers none. I am searching for meaning while passers-by may choose to ignore me, may choose to respond to me with hostility, may respond to me with happiness, and may even choose to toss a coin or two in my direction. Yes. I’ve met grumpy old men and harridans; I’ve met delusional studs and delicate sweethearts; I’ve met the derelict and I’ve met the diligent. Knowing and experiencing this, my continuing to busk is really a continued attempt to create meaning, an almost desperate attempt to create art in an imagined plummy space that I know that is just indifferent.

To close, whether I am busking with my Sharpie or with my guitar, I am expressing a very personal exalted feeling of freedom, just by choosing to be there which not unwittingly gives me great meaning to that moment. And in that create self-alterity, I am just that handsome stranger that comes to town, but in reality …

I THINK, THEREFORE I YAM WHAT I YAM (AND THAT’S ALL THAT I YAM).

Marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week, are the members of the most beautiful family I met on my ski vacation to ELKWATER SKI RESORT, CYPRESS HILLS, ALBERTA, CANADA.

ELKWATER SKI RESORT

 

A LIFE SENTENCE?! YOU DESERVE IT!

MY LONGTIME LONG-DISTANCE RUNNING MATE

BEST EVER WORKMATES

Pozzo, one of the characters in Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, states that “the tears of the world are a constant quantity.” Beckett’s play is most certainly one of despair. In my early English Literature days at the University of Regina, Waiting for Godot was presented in class as an investigation of philosophical voids, human tribulations, and human values. It does seem that somewhere there are always people in misery. And it does seem that there is always something to cry about. Was Pozzo right? Did he know that to live is to suffer is the skinny of Zen?

Ah Zen! I like reading Zen stuff. And when I do it always prompts me to think about and write about Evolutionary Psychology, Existentialism, and my favorite, Existential Dread.  Yes. Sometimes finding one’s purpose in a world seemingly filled with chaos seems fruitless. Yes. Searching for meaning seems next to impossible. And I am certainly not alone in this type of thought.

Burt Bacharach wrote a song about it:

"ALFIE"

What’s it all about, Alfie?

Is it just for the moment we live?

What’s it all about when you sort it out, Alfie?

Peggy Lee sang about it:

"IS THAT ALL THERE IS"

Is that all there is?

If that’s all there is, my friends, then let’s keep dancing

Let’s bring out the booze and have a ball

If that’s all there is.

 Yes and alas, readers. That is all there is.

Factoid: I know the end of all our stories, which is we are all going to die. And I know, too, the end of humanity, at least humanity here on Earth. The sun will eventually burn out and by the time it does all of humanity will be residing elsewhere, tenants on some faraway planet in another solar system.

But in the meanwhile, what is one to do?!

To me the answer is simple. To find any meaning in our lives, each of us needs to serve ourselves a life sentence, or maybe many life sentences served consecutively (some maybe concurrently). This sounds malefic, but it is not. But to do this in a positive fashion, we need guidance and wisdom from people in the past. Let me start with a couple of 19th-century Existential philosophers, Soren Kierkegaard and Friedrich Nietzsche.

Kierkegaard wrote that the meaning of life is not a fixed, objective truth to be discovered, but rather a personal and subjected reality to be created by oneself via free and passionate choices. Nietzsche wrote that life, by itself, has no inherent or universal significance, because the world is only characterized through chaos and suffering. Nietzsche insisted that we must act as self-creators, finding our life meaning via authenticity and embracing life’s challenges.

Allow me to continue such thought by evoking a couple of 20^th-century French thinkers, Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus.

According to Sartre, life has no inherent, pre-defined meaning, but we can define ourselves through our freedom to make choices. Camus, too, insisted that life has no inherent, pre-defined meaning. He coined this concept, “the Absurd.” Both Sartre and Camus agreed that we are condemned to be free, free to create our own purpose in life, despite the universe being indifferent and absurd.

Russian novelist, Fyodor Dostoevsky, stated the obvious, that life is a mystery, and the best way to discover any meaning for is to embrace it through love, action, and spiritual commitment.

German phenomenologist, Martin Heidegger, believed that facing the certainty of death will break the absurdity of one’s everyday, routine life. Through accepting that life is a finite experience, Heidegger thought that we should stop wasting time and start living a deliberate design.

And hence, my notion that we assign to ourselves a life sentence or two or three or more to be served consecutively, and perhaps concurrently on occasion.

No matter your station, be you a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn or a king (from the song, “That’s Life”), or no matter your religion, be you a Catholic, a Hindu, and Atheist, a Jain, a Buddhist, a Baptist, or a Jew (from the song, “Universal Soldier”), if you are breathing you are midway into your personal story. And for those of us who decide to simply seek peace and pleasure as best we can, we are free to create personal moments by writing our own life sentences between the sufferings all of us at one time, or sometime, or all the time, endure.

Here are some of the life sentences I have written and served over my adulthood years:

“I am going to be a scuba diver.” At 22 years of age, I completed the National Association of Underwater Instructors (NAUI) course at Caribou College in Kamloops, British Columbia. Afterward, I was a participant in the very first Scuba Bronze course offered by the Royal Life Saving Society (RLSS). I still dive, my last being at Elkwater Lake, Alberta, two summers ago.

“I am going to be a swimming instructor.” During my undergraduate years at the University of Regina, I was listed as an English Literature major with a Physical Education minor. Factoid: The only Physical Education classes I took were Swimming 110 (introduction to swimming), Swimming 210 (bronze medallion qualifications), and Swimming 310 (instructor level qualifications). At 26 years of age, I began teaching swimming and springboard diving (I was also on the university diving team) and continued to do so at the Regina YMCA for a dozen or more years.

“I am going to be a writer.” I became a published author at 34 years old with my first book, A WISHBONE EPISTOLARY, published in 1985 (University of Toronto). My second book, QUEST FOR BLACK BEACH, was published in 2023 (Wood Dragon Books) when I was 72 years old! Also, this blog you are reading has been around for many years and has a readership in 152 countries to date!

'TWAS A LONG TIME AGO

MY BOOK IS OUT THERE!

“I am going to run a marathon.” I started running in 1977 after reading The Complete Book of Running by Jim Fixx. And after completing 13 half-marathons, at 38 years of age I officially ran and completed a full 26.2-mile marathon in 1989.

SHINY!

“I am going into private practice.” At 56 years of age, while teaching as a sessional instructor of Psychology at the University of Regina, I quit my high school job and opened my counselling practice. I began that practice as a Reality Therapist, then converted to being a Solution-Focused Therapist to accommodate an agency contract, then to being Cognitive Behavioral Therapist, to accommodate yet another agency contract. Currently, I am exclusively a Hypnotherapist.

MY HYPNO DIGS

“I am going to be a guitar busker.” The summer I turned 58 years old, I convinced my second oldest son to accompany me on a buskation to Victoria, British Columbia. And what a glorious summer of busking that was! Since then, I have been a planetary busker in such cities as Amsterdam in The Netherlands, Limerick and Dublin in Ireland, and Marrakech in Morocco.

BUSKING IN MARRAKECH

“I am going to be a ski instructor.” My first time on alpine skis was at White Track Ski Resort, Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, in 1972, and I have been skiing ever since. At long last at 72 years old, I was certified as a Level 1 ski instructor with the CANADIAN SKI INSTRUCTORS’ ALLIANCE (CSIA). I taught skiing at Mission Ridge Ski Resort all last winter, and half the winter before that.

CHILLAXING ON THE HILL

“I am going to be a professional caricaturist.” Over my travels, wherever I have busked on the street with my guitar (The Netherlands, Ireland, Morocco, and Canada) I have also busked with my pencil and sketchpad. Last summer I was the designated caricaturist at a few country fairs, Manitou Beach, SK, Old Wives Lake, SK, Limerick, SK, being some examples. Also, I’ve drawn caricatures of people from Kelowna and Kamloops and Vancouver, British Columbia.

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A PROFESSIONAL CARICATURIST

In summary of this, no matter if we are begging, busking, or banking, all our stories have the same ending. Whether we are redbrick or royalty, all our stories have the same ending. We are all going to die.  Saying this, there is no reason to act dead until we are dead. And until that time comes, if you bethink the world is going to give you the life you want you are dead wrong. Even if you are in the winter of your life, there is no excuse to be chapfallen. 

SO GIVE YOURSELF A LIFE SENTENCE!

YOU DESERVE IT! 

 

 

   

 

THE LIFE YOU WANT LIES IN WAIT BENEATH THE WORK YOU SHIRK!

 

The life I want lies in wait beneath the work I shirk. Hmmm. I want to be a full-time caricaturist and a part-time hypnotherapist. Being a caricaturist, I imagine, would offer moi many a fast-paced, freelance work opportunity filled with direct client interaction, with loads of fun and munificence on endless summer sunny days.

A caricature is typically defined as being a drawing of a person in which certain and striking characteristics are exaggerated to create a comic or grotesque effect. My caricatures then, are not typical. My caricatures are really stylized portraits, simplified sketches of the faces seated before me, attempting each time to draw exactly what I see within my self-imposed ten-minute time limit.

A CLINT CARICATURE -- NOT MINE:(

ANOTHER CLINT CARICATURE -- MINE:) 

To ensure the person remains recognizable, I always focus on facial structure. Despite this focus and not by design, my caricatures do adopt a rather animated look, but not quite as cartoony as most others' caricatures.

SAGE BROCKLEBANK

My signature style is derived from drawing as fast as I can. I draw my clients with a black fine point Sharpie, then highlighted with an Artist’s Loft grey marker. If ever I do add color, it is only to the person’s eyes and with a fine point Sharpie permanent marker.

Becoming a saleable caricaturist takes practice, practice, and more practice. Factoid: I have been drawing people’s faces since I was in grade school and so I’ve had lots of practice, but drawing caricatures with a black Sharpie, I have been doing so only for this past year.

As I oftentimes fancy myself as being a planetary busker, I have sketched people’s caricatures (with my pencil) on the streets of Amsterdam, Limerick, Dublin, and Marrakech. But as a planetary busker with my Sharpie, I have drawn only on the streets of some village and town summer fairs right here in Canada. Methinks on my next buskation out-of-country, I will pack my Sharpies!

To be living the life of a planetary caricaturist sounds fascinating and fun, and for the most part it would be. Factoid: Every city mentioned above where I’ve drawn faces of people on the street, on these same streets I have thrummed as a guitar busker. From busking with both a guitar and a pencil, here is what I know. Being a caricature busker offers considerably more social cachet than that of a guitar busker. Oftentimes, guitar buskers are simply beggars with a guitar, whereas caricature buskers are revered visual artists. Even so, I must confess, whether home or abroad, being a caricaturist ain’t always fun, and it ain’t always easy!

Drawing faces all day long is physically draining. I have on many an occasion in summertime, literally for hours, sat at my table drawing people from a long queue of consumers standing under a scorching summer sun waiting to pay a good dollar for me to draw their caricature. Seated at my mercenary drawing table for hours on end is physically a pain in the butt. To ease my physical pain, after finishing a caricature, I always stand up and stretch. And every time the line goes empty, I go for a walk and peruse the other vendor wares at the market.

And there is also mental fatigue. Having to focus on yet another face, after drawing more than a dozen or so caricatures, I feel this to be mentally exhausting. Admittedly, after a long while, all my customers start to look the same! In a general description, we all have hairlines, eyebrows, eyes, noses, chins, and necks. In a specific description, some of us suffer alopecia and are bald with no eyebrows. Some of us are cross-eyed and wearing bottle-thick spectacles. Some of us have pencil-thin necks and some of us are without necks. Yes. For me, during a long day of caricature drawing, the mental fatigue can be hallucinatory enough to have me imagine that we all share the same face!

Economically speaking in cliché, being a free-lancing caricaturist means to be the quintessential starving artist. Such a job change would reduce me to having an inconsistent income! Keeping with the status quo, I am currently a daytime counsellor under contract with a couple of provincial agencies, and a part-time hypnotherapist in private practice every weekday afternoon. Weekends only, I am a caricaturist.

Factoid: Waiting for the weekend gets me through the week! Another factoid: The reality of my current financial affairs doth easily kibosh my retirement dreams to be a full-time caricaturist. Yikes! (In a line, I would have to budget!)

And of course, being a caricaturist is not always flattering and therefore not always fun. Sometimes my clients are not happy with their “portraitures.” In such cases, customer interactions can be challenging! I remember, especially, many years ago drawing a Dutch girl at a farmers’ market. The girl was polite and sweet, but her mom was a know-it-all bag. After I drew the girl, her mom spent at least ten minutes berating me on how I did not capture her daughter’s spirit! And she was quite annoyed that I dare charge her anything for such an abomination! But I didn’t budge. Neither did I respond in gesture nor in voice. Myself exercising a passive stance, she eventually paid and marched away.

THE DUTCH GIRL

During Yuletide 2025 while vacationing in Vancouver, I enjoyed Christmas dinner with my friends, Jennifer and Bob. To repay them (somewhat) for their graciousness, I drew their caricatures (not live but from a photograph sent to me later). Now here is a case in point when my customers could legitimately complain! I was not that happy with my caricatures but mailed it to them, nonetheless. I do believe I captured Bob, but I am sure my Sharpie likeness embarrassed Jennifer! (She is sending me another photo asap to redeem myself!)

Admittedly, I am accursedly addicted to drawing people’s faces! Any visages I encounter, I scrutinize the eyes and nose, the lips and chin, in the off chance that I may someday be drawing them. And to continue this lifestyle dream, when I do get that chance, my preferred place for this Sharpie caricature business would be on a sunny plage in a warmer clime!

(YES! ‘TIS TIME TO DO THE WORK I SHIRK!)