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Technical Writing · Exposition & Argumentation · Grammar and Usage of Standard English · The Structure of English · Analysis of Shakespeare · Analysis of Literary Language
Advanced Professional Papers · The History of the English Language · First Internship: Tutoring in a Writing Workshop · Second Internship: Advanced Instruction: Tutoring Writing
Visual Literacy Seminar (A First Course in Methodology) · Theories of Communication & Technology (A Second Course in Methodology) · Language in Society (A Third Course in Methodology)
UMBC'S Conservative Newspaper: "The Retriever's Right Eye" · UMBC'S University Newspaper: "The Retriever Weekly" · Introduction to Journalism · Feature Writing · Science Writing Papers
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Non-fiction Creative Essay 1 · Non-fiction Creative Essay 2 · Non-fiction Creative Essay 3 · Non-fiction Creative Essay 4 · Non-fiction Creative Essay 5
Non-fiction Creative Essay 6 · Non-fiction Creative Essay 7 · Non-fiction Creative Essay 8 · Non-fiction Creative Essay 9 · Non-fiction Creative Essay 11
"Why is the last mile the hardest mile
My throat was dry, with the sun in my eyes
And I realized, I realized
That I could never
I could never, never go back home again, no"
Steven Duffy Morrissey, The Smiths
He stood staring inward on the edge of a theatrical stage. He no idea he stood on a stage as he had never seen one before. He did understand that this place did not belong to the world he knew. Within the dark stage a stream flows through a majestic forest, lush and green with sunlight pouring down through it. The scene didn't make sense to him. The image felt surreal but the word surreal did not exist in his people's vocabulary. In his mind, the gods created the image. The gods had a message for him.
He was an older man, a man his clan considered a wise man; a grayhair. From many years in the sun, his reddish brown skin created a distinct contrast with his long, braided, graying hair, which ended, halfway down his back. The sharp and distinct lines on his face showed he had spent many years exposed to the elements. He wore the mask of a great warrior past his prime, hardened and austere. His crooked nose, which had not been reset properly, stood out as a badge of valor from some past confrontation. He scanned the forest with dark, soft, tired looking eyes. He had endured much hardship through life, yet his eyes reflected deep wisdom.
He silently, cautiously stepped towards the river in his moccasins that showed evidence of wear. His buckskins brushed the brambles silently aside as he proceeded deeper into the forest towards the stream.
At the stream's bank, a woman knelt into her canoe rearranging her provisions to better balance the canoe. When Grayhair saw the woman he stopped and quietly observed her actions from a distance. He understood her movements as he had done this many times, on many riverbanks while on his own journeys as a young man.
As deer passed behind Greyhair it snapped a twig on the floor of the forest. The woman turned in response to the snap. She was a young woman somewhere in her late teens with classic American Indian beauty. Her long, silky, dark hair displayed a healthy sheen and cascaded over her shoulders. Her high cheekbones accented her dark soulful eyes. Surprisingly, she did not react with a sense of alarm to the sight of Grayhair. The expression on her face revealed a sense of relief as though being released from a great deal of anxiety. When she stood from where she knelt, Grayhair saw her as a statuesque young woman, somewhere around 5'8", thin and agile. Strangely, neither spoke a word, their communication was through the eyes and body language.
The woman quickly assessed from his eyes that Grayhair would do her no harm and quickly moved towards him. She grabbed his hand brusquely and began to draw him towards the canoe. She motioned with her hands towards the river. Her eyes spoke to Grayhair saying, "Please, oh please, come with me! Show me what you know about this journey. Guide me. Tell me what you know. What grandeur waits? Where will the perils appear? Show me the best way to proceed down the river? What will I find along the way? I can see from your years that you have traveled this journey many times and you have much to teach. Please guide me."
Grayhair hesitated as best he could. He traveled the river many times and knew what to expect along the way, but he was tired. Tired of the struggle to survive along the river. He possessed the experience but lacked the gumption to live through it all over again. He had done it so many times. He no longer desired the sense of adventure that would come with the journey. Grayhair couldn't explain all that he experienced in traveling down the river. This was her journey. A journey meant for the viral, fit, adventurous, and most of all; young. He calmly resisted the woman's pleas as she continued to pull him, motion him towards the canoe. He understood what the woman wanted but he just couldn't give into her desires.
I stirred in my sleep, partially conscious and somewhat aware of my surroundings but also aware of my dream. My analytical mind focused on the dream, peering into it, trying to make sense of it. I wanted to believe. I wanted to believe that my ancient ancestors wanted to convey a message to me. I wanted to believe this as strongly as Agent Mulder believes in extra-terrestrials and UFO's. I wanted to believe, as Agent Scully wants to believe in her faith, that we purpose beyond existence, that knowledge in the universe does not end with what our limited senses reveal to us, and that we have a spiritual purpose serving a personal God.
I wanted to believe that U.S. Robotics Corporation would announce the next day the invention of Electric Monks making them available on the retail market by the third quarter. The Electric Monks purpose is to believe in all sorts of things for us. They believe in oceans of shocking pink and in skies of nauseating hues of purple. The Electric Monks would believe in God, extra-terrestrials, ghosts, telepathy, sea monsters, Sasquatch, and all sorts of things that would free us from the burden of having to believe in anything and finally get on with the process of living. Alas, U.S. Robotics Corporation never made such an announcement the next day.
American Indians appeared in my dreams many times before, but never the same person and none of them spoke. If they had a message for me, they delivered it silently. Their eyes contained the message. They appear in times of high duress. They appear when I'm at a crossroads and I can't decide on the best alternative to pursue. They appear when the decision I make will have a tremendous impact in my life and once chosen, I won't be doubling back to pursue the alternative direction.
The last time an American Indian appeared in my dreams was after I consulted a psychic while visiting in Decatur, Illinois. A friend wanted me to see the psychic with her to determine if the psychic really had psychic abilities. She hoped that my scientific mind and a healthy dose of skepticism would provide enlightenment. Once we left the Psychic's presence we compared notes and found that she asked canned questions. The psychic asked us the same questions in our individual sessions. My scientific mind took hold of this and dismissed it. I observed that the psychic would read the person's body language and ask very general, vague questions in order to draw clues from her visitor to determine why they came to see her. As she did this it would help guide her in presenting the client with exactly what they wanted to hear; absolutely nothing psychic about her. The psychic performed as a highly trained salesperson and as a salesperson, I could see right through her. She knew how to read people.
The psychic told me that my ancestors had a message to convey to me. I should relax and open my mind to them and their message would come through. Not that I revealed this to the psychic, but my mind reeled over the thought of which ancestors. Maybe my ancestors from my colonial American roots? Maybe my ancestors from the clans of Scotland? Maybe my ancestors from Cuba, Spain or my Basque ancestors? My American Indian ancestors? Could it be further back, maybe my ancestors who lived in the treetops? Maybe further back still. Maybe Flipper and the dolphins had a message for me, after all evolution insists we all came from the oceans. Which ancestors?
That evening I had a dream, an American Indian on a horse. He wore deerskin breechcloths, with a hide shirt, leggings and moccasins. From his dress I surmised he once lived on the northern plains. He didn't have one of those huge headdresses that you see in the old cowboy movies. First, too cliché, second, only the Sioux tribe wore headdresses of that nature. He gazed down at me and said nothing. After a few moments, he turned his horse away from me and rode slowly over the hill of the plain. My mind screamed out, "What does this mean? I should remain in Illinois? This is where I belong? Get out of Illinois, this isn't your destiny? What are you telling me!" My mind ground and ground on the dream and the eyes of the Indian. I so badly wanted to accept that one of my ancestors did indeed pass me a message. I painfully wanted to believe. The psychic was right! Or was she? Then my scientific mind took hold and wrestled my subconscious beliefs to the ground.
As the greatest wrestling match of all time raged in my mind, I had missed one subtle point. Science cannot remain purely "objective." Human beings are not purely objective. There exists a leap in faith when one enters the unknown, especially when one progresses towards the 'bleeding edge." The scientist has to take chances and say, "Well the collected data seems to point towards this..." and hence giving birth to a new revolutionary theory. Scully, as myself, maintained science and faith as two separate entities; Mulder embraced the fact that science and faith exist as one with all the passion of embracing death with a tonsil scraping tongue kiss. Science makes a prediction based on previous knowledge, then draws a conclusion based on pure repetition, calling the repetition an experiment.
Science makes a prediction based on repetition and that the same result will occur. If one leaps into the eternal abyss of the unknown either one will die from the breath of life being drawn out of the body due to the fall or that the infinite is infinitely finite and somewhere one will encounter the laws of gravity, and then... splat! On the other hand, one could say after 10,000 trials the result has been splat, but what if with a belief in faith on the 10,001 trial one jumps into the eternal abyss and this time by intentionally aiming for the ground, one misses, finding for the first time they can fly. It is this very leap in faith that results in a revolutionary new theory or acceptance in what the human senses cannot grasp. Is the problem that science doesn't have all the answers or is the problem that we don't have all the science?
Before Grayhair's appearance, I was grappling with the decision to continue a life long dream of a career in the sciences. Over the years I modified the plan over and over again due to pitfalls, roadblocks, brick walls, academic politics, and various crossroads. I started out pursing a degree in Automotive Engineering for I wanted to work in research and development in alternative energy sources. I completed an associates degree with high honors and received acceptance to Kalamazoo U in Michigan. My father blew holes through the whole dream. "Are you out of your mind? That area has never economically recovered from the oil embargoes of the early 70's. When times are bad, you stay close to home." I followed his advice and modified my dream to obtaining a degree in mechanical engineering at night. Halfway through, my father picked up and moved to New Mexico. I never saw him again. I worked my way through school writing auto parts catalogs and had a career position. Then the election of 92' occurred. The day after the election my boss came in and said, "There goes the country!" Six months later, the president politely fired me from my career position of seven years and said, "I'm letting you go due to economic cutbacks." I had to modify my dream once again.
I enrolled in a computer science program in order to save all the academic work I had done up to that time. In my last courses I came to the realization that the university had not preparing me for the real world. With five years of mathematics under my belt, I found a university that made me an offer I couldn't refuse. With two years of study I could obtain a dual degree in Mathematics and Information Systems. I took the bait. From Automotive Engineer, to Mechanical Engineer, to Computer Scientist, to finally Information Systems; turn, turn, turn. I had spent years in upper level mathematics and had only three courses left to receive a degree in Mathematics. Like a dog with a bone, I just couldn't let it go, yet I couldn't pass my exams in mathematical analysis. I lost my ability to think in symbols. Turn again.
I had excellent marks in Statistics and modified my academic pursuits to complete my degree in Statistics. I also decided in order to improve my research and writing skills in order to gain entrance into grad school to pursue a professional writing minor in English. As the saying goes, "Publish or perish." Having spent ten years in publishing, I intended to publish and not perish, but the room was spinning, my stomach kept churning, and I felt a sense of vertigo. I could see the ground approaching faster and I couldn't break my fall. "If I close my eyes and deliberately aim at the earth, maybe, just maybe, at the very last nanosecond this will be my 10,001 trial and instead of going splat - I'll fly.
My academic plate overflowed with courses in Information Systems, Statistics, and publishing complex papers in English. Something had to give. I couldn't keep up with my Statistics homework deadlines, my SAS compiler wouldn't behave, and when I questioned professors on the intricacies of SAS and Statistics, they shrugged me off. I so desperately wanted to make HAL speak. "Good morning HAL." "Good morning Dr. Paul." This would take a tremendous collaborative effort. It would require a team of experts in the fields of computer programming, artificial intelligence, linguistics, statistics, logicians, and psychologists.
While taking a course in logic, my problem of thinking in symbols reared its ugly head once more. I understood the coursework and could successfully complete the proofs, but I had a problem. Speed. No matter how much I practiced, no matter how much choline I took, no matter how much fish I ate, I couldn't build enough speed. I could solve the proofs, but it would take me at least four times longer than the twenty-year-olds around me. I'd also get caught in traps where I could get through four or six steps but then couldn't see how to proceed further or other times I couldn't see in the third or fourth step that a different path existed to proceed down.
Eventually, there comes a time when your mind can no longer see alternative routes to solve a problem. It becomes a problem in pliability and flexibility. Mathematicians know this all too well. As an adult you've developed all the neural-electrical synapses your brain will develop and to create new ones becomes difficult. The ability to twist and turn one's way through the integral worm's borough and chase him out into daylight becomes increasingly more difficult.
I grappled with the problem day and night. I felt that I had a purpose on this earth and my purpose was a contribution in the sciences. I found myself plagued with Dr. Doppler's dilemma. In physics, the Doppler Effect tells us that you can't tell from the sound of a car whether it's arriving or leaving. The vehicle sounds the same, hence the ongoing joke about Dr. Doppler is he was never sure if he was coming or going. At forty-seven, I didn't have a decent job, a home, a wife, children or a retirement nest egg. I had given all these things up in order to get my education and a career in the sciences and all my dreams for bricks and mortar couldn't save me now. Entropy was quickly approaching equality with enthalpy and there wasn't anything I could do to stop the reaction. I had to make a decision. What do you do?
After being awake from the dream for a few moments my scientific mind took over. It pulled out its dissection knife and began to slice up the problem into neat little components. My mind filed, indexed, and numbered the components for future analysis. The original hypothesis, Ho, said, "Does an afterlife exist and if so can your dead ancestors interact with the living?" The alternative hypothesis, Ha, said, "Is there a scientific explanation to the arrival of the Indian in my dream?" The science of psychology held the most plausible explanation.
I concluded that I had grappled with the dilemma for so long that it had seeped into my subconscious and that my subconscious played the solution back to me in the only form it could. The subconscious being the primitive part of the brain began playing back the solution as a movie reel. As a young man I drove an auto parts delivery truck. Lost somewhere in Manhasset, NY, I pulled into a gas station to ask for directions. The old man in the gas station said, "You can't get there from here." My subconscious played back the same message to me one letter at a time. "Y-o-u c-a-n-'t g-e-t t-h-e-r-e f-r-o-m h-e-r-e." The Indian, Grayhair, was myself. The young Indian woman represented one of my classmates. I could provide my classmates with all my life experiences, explain all the pitfalls, trials and tribulations in meeting the dream, but I no longer had the strength or the gumption to pursue the dream myself. The time had come for me to relinquish the reigns to youth.
So I couldn't practice science, but I could do what always came natural to me; I could write. I could write about science, technology, philosophy, ethics, politics, history, mathematics, statistics, and religion. I could throw them all into a blender and stimulate the imagination of others. I could convey complex material in a format that all could understand and then forge ahead into "what if." I could quickly envision where science without ethics will take us and put up warning signs asking, "Is this really where you want to go today, or even tomorrow?" Too many people not using their own God given gray matter and leaving all the thinking and decision making to an elite few. And once it's done, will it really be the future you had planned for or even wanted? But we chose to ignore the warning signs and we chose to go on with living without thinking about the implications of allowing someone else to do all the thinking for us. We pine away for electric monks.
Chinese numerology claims that people born in 1957 are born under the sign of the Cock, or the Rooster and that the Rooster is an alarm bell. He calls attention to things that are wrong. When I became aware of this, so many different scenarios in my life had flashed before my eyes where I blew the alarm whistle. I posses the foresight to see through science. The ability to see it's positive and negative implications in changing the future. I also posses the gift to express myself in the king's English, and the ability to convey concepts to others. I had gone through my own metamorphosis. If Kafka would be proud; I had become the writer.
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