Turn, Turn, Turn

Roger McGuinn of the Byrds

Roger McGuinn of The Byrds – I had a pair of those sunglasses back then.

To everything, turn, turn, turn,

There is a season, turn, turn, turn,

And a time to every purpose under heaven.

A time to gain, a time to lose,

A time to rend, a time to sew,

A time to love, a time to hate,

A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late.

The  previous lyrics were written by Pete Seger, adapted from first eight verses of the third chapter of the biblical Book of Ecclesiastes.

As summer turned to fall, I thought about the above song, recorded by the Byrds, which is embedded at the end of this week’s entry.

Yes, I’m back to my regularity with no help from Ex-lax, thank goodness; nor from prune juice. How can anyone drink that stuff? Tried it once. Took me well-over two weeks to go through a quart of it, forcing the dreadful extract down daily, not to let it go to waste; but it did anyway, however, so to speak. OK, albeit, that’s way too much info.

Sorry for getting off on a tangent there. As for the song, I think of its lyrics at the turn of every season, sort of like a perpetually seasonal ear worm.  Now you’ve got it. No need to thank me. You’re welcome just the same.

The poem has so much to say about human nature and is fresh today as it was in 935 BCE, when Ecclesiastes was mused by King Solomon, which is relevant to today, having been Yom Kippur that ended at sunset. Hope your fast went well, for all of our Jewish friends.

A time of love, a time of hate,

A time of war, a time of peace,

A time you may embrace,

A time to refrain from embracing.

The prior stanza sounds like my former marriage, the world stage today; or even Social Media, which takes up the lives of too many individuals who really need to get a life outside amongst real people.

Even when they do, you see these unfortunates hunched over, looking at their smartphones while meandering around seemingly aimlessly.

Basin-Park-Bristol-s

At least this woman had a book to read.

At a public park the other day, while bird-watching and taking photos, enjoying nature, I took notice presumably of the majority of people about, who were reviewing their Social Media feeds.

Roughly 98% of the park’s visitors carried their devices openly in one hand, if not looking at the screens.

Couples strolled together, but each gazed at their own phones, as if walking in a fog, unable to see a world of beauty around them. People sat on park benches, engrossed in their iPhones or Androids, whatever. Some even had tablets with them.

While someone waited at a stop sign in a car, he peered at his smartphone. It drives me nuts to see this. If the humans aren’t glued to the screens of their communicators, they’ve got them stuck to their earlobes, talking a mile a minute, with that glazed-over look in their eyes, like deer on the side of the road, staring at a vehicle’s headlights in the middle of the night.

A time to be born, a time to die,

A time to plant, a time to reap,

A time to kill, a time to heal,

A time to laugh, a time to weep.

Now we’ve reverted back to the time of nuclear-war paranoia. This old-timer remembers clearly as if yesterday, air-raid drills in school: drop and tucking under desks, tables, or in the church basement where stacked 55-gallon drums of potable water were stored in case of a nuclear attack.

People in Japan, seeking shelter within minutes’ notice from emergency-broadcast systems, have to worry about crazed neighbors across the sea who are hurling guided, ballistic missiles above their country.

Citizens in the U.S. are fully aware of a madman whose rhetoric leans too close to nuclear holocaust; and then there’s North Korea’s Kim Jong-un.

A time to build up, a time to break down,

A time to dance, a time to mourn,

A time to cast away stones,

A time to gather stones together.

Fall’s first full moon, or the “Harvest Moon,” is five days away. In celebration, Rie Waits and I are working on a special duet to honor the event. Stay tuned to Twitter and the other dreaded Social Media Networks to which I subscribe, for further details.

In the meantime, Turn, Turn, Turn, in the right direction; and thanks for your continued support. By the way, my novel is on its way to becoming a best-seller. Better pick up a copy before Sarobia: Sanctuary for Human Beings, Birds and Animals sells out!

About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at Lulu.com.
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