Copper Chronicles

Thomas Jefferson’s Hens

February 8th, 2025

Living in the heart of our colonial origins, I have the pleasure of seeing and experiencing the land of bounty early Americans so ecstatically called ‘home.’ It’s beautiful like the movie, “Last of the Mohicans” -with Daniel Day Lewis, a bit raw and grand all in one scene.

The beauty exists because man (or monsters that are men, or women, or “people”) had yet to blemish it. It is alive with potential and it is beautiful. The wilderness of the South is still so, to the degree that it remains un-managed.

It’s possible the people’s love of nature is what preserves nature in its ideal and grand state? Or, the rich soil can bring forth life no matter how badly human beings neglect it or abuse it? I believe it to be more the first idea: that people love nature here differently. They let nature exist in its raw and unmanageable form. Inhabitants do not ascribe to the same idea of “progress” as northerners do.

I imagined once that Copper, the hen, was ancestor to Thomas Jefferson’s hens. And she kept the fiery secret of her happiness alive as those hens did in the early days.

We are all ancestors of those who came before us. While we can not be ancestors biologically, we can be ancestors by our adoption of the ideas of those days. That was a core act of the rebel Jefferson, “The leveler.” He was so called by those ‘enlightened’ individuals of his day who believed they were entitled to tell everyone else what to do. Essentially this entitlement problem stems from that conversation every child has with a parent: “Why mom, why?” And she responds, “Because I said so.”

There’s too many questions and too many concerns that people do not take seriously. How else can one explain the phenomenon of Tik Tok? Or, Washington D.C.? Reckless orgies of empty words.

Or, when we do take them seriously, we still fail in implementing solutions completely. Like what to do with the human beings that are not enjoying liberty or happiness, neither possess the material wealth to do so? They work long hours, building some one’s else’s dream. But have no right to dream their own? All in exchange for a roof over their head and a meal that sustains them.

No matter how inflamed we become with delusions of grandeur, all the modern world has to offer for the disenfranchised is how to make us all a sustainable workforce of other people’s dreams? Decent healthcare, food, and quality of life paid for by the fake money printed by Washington D.C.? That is so depressing. No wonder people watch T.V.

SO, it seems like we still haven’t solved the issue of slavery. What happens with technology becoming the sustainable, and very efficient workforce, and not likely to revolt? Although it may yet, Ai being a manifestation of nature…

I believe to the degree we do NOT own our condition is life, helpless, prone to error, we are all likely to be slaves. Except for hens. Even with shadow of human error dimming the light of Monticello, the hens I believe, still soak up the sun each day, enjoy their hunting and pecking. Frolicking. The wind that brings fresh fragrance of spring. And the exquisite delight of laying an egg, which they happily celebrate.

Happiness is not in our nature to possess such as we are. That is the only logical conclusion to my quest and questions of why hens can be happy, peaceful and work happily all day long, as if they inhabited some eternity where human problems can not reach them.

But this is not the end of the story. It is only the beginning.
Flowers of Affection

January 21st, 2025

If you haven’t kept up with recent Chronicles, the main character of the story is on a quest to find to make sense of the world, with the less obvious motivation of wanting to belong somewhere.

‘Not a home with a TV and MTV- that close kin to the Halloween celebrations growing up. A place with no hollow religious warnings of doom, where I am in trouble no matter what I do. A place free of Hollywood stars playing the supporting role to the ruling class. Where a thing or person IS what she/he/it/they/them appears to be. I don’t know if such a place exists. But, I am not giving up hope.

I found my way to Virginia, the home for ‘Lovers’ apparently. I don’t entirely know what that means. But, when an old lady at the local drive-through treated me like a prodigal child come home for dinner, I nearly burst into tears.

I wasn’t crying because I was eating at McDonald’s, that is only partly true. Neither was I crying because of the disorienting effect of being called “Sugar!” at window one, then “Ma’am” respectfully at the next.

I only wanted a quarter pounder with cheese, french fries and a milkshake, America’s comfort food, (so coined by that TV that I hate). A heaping dose of affection and respect- that I did not expect.

Was I a prodigal child come home for dinner? Or, a woman whose reached a level of maturity in life worthy of distinction and respect of her young peers?

I got a burger all right and a snapshot of myself that I have never seen before. A wake up call, perhaps. A little light of truth bursting through those drive through windows!

This episode reminds me of a friendly conversation at my college orientation. When asked about my parents, I said, “My mother was German and my father was Irish. The young man, recognizing the temperamental tendencies of such different people, retorted: “My God! That must of been very confusing!!”

“Yes,” I said. “My mother was very busy, rigorously doing everything that needed to be done like her life depended on it.” I remember stories of her neighborhood in Little Neck, NY, where she scrubbed the front steps to the house each day. So, they sparkled.

My father was a bit more relaxed. If the roof leaked over his office, he’d just put a soup pot on his desk and continued doing his crossword puzzle until he felt like fixing it. It’s fine! No worries!

Of course, this temperament is not true of all Irish people. But, being easy going to a fault explains why he could sleep in his toolbox at the construction site where he worked in Boston. (It was a long drive home to Marshfield, I guess.)

My dad pops out of his 30″ X 72″ steel vault bright and early and his crew shouts: “Mal!” my brother tells us- entertaining the family at holidays. “It was sort of like Cheers! when the beloved character ‘Norm’ walks in for a beer,” he says.

So, affection is a balm to one’s soul, a soothing antidote to the chaos –within and without. “We’re not in Kansas anymore,” says Dorothy to Toto in the Wizard of Oz. This place will likely have it lions and tigers and bears, “Oh my!” But, the State for Lovers is starting to feel like home.
Monsters and Men

January 20th, 2025

When I say “men” I mean to describe “members of the human species, male, female and children” according to the dictionary. Using the plural form of the word denoting our species is easier than saying: “members of the human species, male, female and children.” It’s definitely easier than saying: members of the human race male, female, and children, and LGBQb+! But, to be clear, any member of our species is equally entitled to enjoy the distinction to which the title alludes.

A monster is a thing of danger and confusion, a creature whose behavior is difficult to predict and therefore capable of wreaking havoc. It indiscriminately devours and destroys. Children view as monsters as anything causing fear. The darkness, the unknown, human beings all can be scary. I believe it may be the fear that makes us so, and the deeply rooted need to ‘belong.’

The paths should be clear enough as I often allude to them: the darkness is scary so we pursue light. Unknown is scary so we pursue knowledge. Human beings who live in the unknown and in the dark can be scary, so we try to understand how it is that human beings historically make sense of their world through myths, enlightenment, religion, and science.

Such sources serve as guideposts to our collective reality. The only other choice is remaining in the fantasy of our own making, where we alone are ‘gods’ – where whatever we say is right and good IS SO, and whatever we do is OK… because we make the rules and who can say otherwise??

Men with clever wives know by now that ‘they can do whatever they want and who can say otherwise??‘ is inherently false. That is why the men are still alive and haven’t perished in some delusional pursuit of happiness after drinking multiple Red Bulls.

I believe the realm of men may be to build things, and the realm of women is to build better men, with the end object of building a better world together. Clearly, they can’t do it without us.

I heard a kind mannered man say that “Atheism is a form of insanity.” It seemed rather harsh and unforgiving at the time. But, he meant out of love to allude to the fact that- if human beings have no other guide in life but our own minds and our own self-interest- we can commit the most horrendous acts and lie to ourselves to hide the reality of it.

In the case of leaders, they can continually abuse power, wage wars, and commit genocide (until the people rise up and put them in jail which serves as a kind of checking mechanism for the egregious abuse of power.)

Our Founding Fathers who wrote the Constitution understood that men were capable of such abuse of power, which is why they put limitations on how much power a leader may possess. They planned to distribute power so that no one may act too rogue of the collective will or perceived ‘good’ of humanity of which each person had a say.

The problem is human beings possessed with too much power become unmanageable and monster-like. So, the place of admitting our limitations is a good place to start. Recognizing our failures past, present, personal, and collective, may help restore our world into something less chaotic, less monster-like.

Recognizing our potential to abuse of power, we may find ourselves unplugged and immune from the world’s madness. And, we may find a safe harbor for our souls.
Gratitude or Attitude?

January 14th, 2025

The problem growing up with a television (which replaced mothers in the home when I was young) is the non-stop non-sense that is funneled into the unformed, almost prescient, human consciousness. With all due respect to actors who portray characters who are truly heroic and to be admired, it should be obvious by now Hollywood stars make terrible parents.

Growing up watching t.v., I started to mimic naturally what I saw which is what children do. And to assimilate to the madness. That’s why when I’d suffer I’d look to the drug store. When I wanted comfort food which did not exist at home – because mothers were supposed to be working like men and leaving children home alone with the television– I ate at McDonald’s. And, it may be said about me, I live in a complete fantasy as do the Hollywood stars who went before me. Can I be blamed for that??

In most cultures before our time, mothers are revered as the defenders of the weak and helpless, children, the sick, and the oppressed. Men died in tribal skirmishes or all out wars by thousands to defend mothers and children. The sixties changed all that. Women were made to be confused about their value then, just like public schools are making children confused about their gender now.

To what end? Well, so the gods of the New World Order can sell us solutions to whatever problem we have. No moral restraints whatsoever! No mothers to protect them, children are ripe fodder for the beast I spoke about in Myths, Beasts, and Conspiracies.

Despite my horrible Hollywood upbringing, and the toxic swamp that is our current culture, I am grateful to find meaning in the madness. Once we identify what the madness is, we can be free from it. The madness is the lie: “We can do whatever we want! Who can say otherwise??”

Does anyone believe that to be true anymore?
Wo man!

January 13th, 2025

My happy days with the hens are long over. However, I have Copper’s example of courage and duty, and discipline in the face of great trial as sign post – or ‘North Star’ one may say – in case I get lost in this new place called “the South.”

I am not typically a big earner of cash. Cash is handy. Money in this world does seem to answer most material concerns. But, it’s the immaterial things that concern me- the elusive ‘happiness.’ But, rarely does anyone gives you cash for asking questions. I’ve grown to believe unless I am contributing to the GDP in some significant way, I am irrelevant.

This mindset is a bit less so in the South. Here people seem like a big family. People treat each other with kindness and respect – even affection. In the minute and a half I was at the McDonald’s drive-through, I went from “sugar” to “ma’am.” The elderly mother figure in the ordering window treated me like a beloved grandchild come home for dinner. The young, black woman in the next window treated me like an aged-woman, worthy of respect, for being a woman, I guess.

This troubles me because I have never thought of myself as ‘beloved’ by anybody before. Neither have I ever been a person worthy of distinction because of my seniority (except at Dunkin Donuts where the 13 year old serving coffee gave me a ‘senior’ discount.)

Whoever I thought I was before seems a little less relevant. My object of leaving New England was to continue living my brave, new life somewhere where lower contributors to the GDP may find refuge. I didn’t expect to find affection. I felt like crying which is strictly “verboten” in German families. The tears somewhat waned in the face of a big burger, fries and a milkshake from Grandma.

This opens a whole new set of questions, like: What is a woman? If I get to be distinguished just for my biology, it seems prudent to know why, so I don’t disappoint anyone too terribly.

I always thought women were useful to tell men to stop doing the stupid things they are doing. Hence: “WO MAN!” Then there’s is the ancient meaning of woman, Wo(mb)man or – hu-man with a womb.

It seems the social agitators demanding equal rights for woman forgot that bearing humans into the world and then guiding them continually like a North Star, from the stupid they may endeavor, is already a full-time job. Perhaps that is why they contribute less to the GDP. Right?

If we forget women’s forever contribution to the world, who will raise the future employees of the world? The television? What I am trying to say is: If there were more mothers celebrated for being what they are by nature, we’d have less stray children crying in the McDonald’s drive-though. And eating burgers and fries to comfort themselves.
Justice or Just Us?

January 4th, 2025

There’s seems to be a great conflict, two competing ideas that twist through our culture and our beings as well. In the Copper Chronicles, a repeating theme is quest for meaning- to learn things- and to explore. I mean, to know things that matter.

The blinking lights of social media are very stimulating, like coffee. But, having my heart beat in an elevated state, then seeing thousands of images (mostly peppered with sales pitches), is not particularly helpful to this pursuit of meaning.

I mean, who’s idea is it anyway, to subject human beings to steady sources of mostly meaningless stimulation, then sell them things??

Jean-Luc Picard’s Next Generation Star Trek crew experience this phenomenon. An alien ship introduces the crew to a new electronic ‘toy.’ After everyone gets addicted- and hypnotized essentially- the alien species begins to take over the ship.

There’s an unhealthy subliminal message twisting through our media and my being- ‘one that creates confusion and desperation. So, one feels like Humphrey Bogart hacking his way out of the jungle while lost on his ship, “The African Queen.”

That message is: it’s ‘Just Us.’ There’s no such thing as truth, or God, or Justice. We are accountable to no one. That’s explains why the world is chaotic. People in power think they can do whatever they want. Who can say otherwise?

Is it Justice we want? Or is it Just Us? And we would like to continue doing whatever we want? I watch Star Trek, I don’t want to be hypnotized and infiltrated by alien species! And, as for Humphrey Bogart, his real character in the story steals the missionary’s wife, I believe. Then rushes out in the jungle with her and the two get swallowed up by it, never to emerge again…

Hollywood makes the two characters tragic heroes, of course. You can do anything in Hollywood! ‘An industry devoted to selling complete fantasy: where we can do whatever we want!

Who can say otherwise??
Justice or Just ice??

December 24th, 2024

Shaking a fist at the universe as if some strange thing has happened cannot be an exclusive experience to the modern person. Or myself. In this I find great comfort, that I have expressed what is possibly a cry of humanity in general, a cry for Justice. A cry for the uncertainty of our existence to end. A longing for the world to make sense.

I am pleased with myself, which I decided is not vanity, but an appropriate response to wrestling this lion in the wilderness. I sought it out, found it, and so describing it – it can no longer subject me to its incessant roaring!!

This lion is not Lyle, the Lion, who visits my house. Eats. Sleeps. Enjoys adoration and bacon. This is another lion, like my conscience, or it could be the Adversary who, “like a roaring lion” seeks whom he may devour that the Bible cautions about.

The Lion has been trying to say possibly for decades, that there is injustice in the world, and as inhabitant of the earth, I am both part of the problem and part of the solution. And for too long, my response has been Just ice. Chilly, silence. I wanted the privileges of a happy and just world without owning the responsibilities of what exactly that requires of me.

Justice that is genuine requires that we suffer for our mistakes and flaws. Then, we can escape the trap of conscienceless consuming! The false existence we have been living says: “You’re a victim! You’re powerless. Poor you! Buy this, that or the other thing, and be assuaged of your existential angst.”

NO, the TV doesn’t talk like that exactly. The TV appeals to our vanity. It says: “Look at the sea of mindless idiots out there.” The caveman commercials selling insurance, Citibank’s horde of violent vikings…Allstate’s super racist ads. “Don’t be moron (like x, y, z,),” the ads say. “Buy, this, that or the other thing and be better than them!”

However, the solution to the injustice in the world never comes. We are trapped in a conveyor belt experience with no Justice. Just ice, ice-cold social engineering to make us obedient, global consumers.

The conclusion is, Justice requires ownership of our responsibility. Recognizing we ignore the lion’s urging and accusations is not easy. (Who or whatever that lion is.) But, being free of the lion’s incessant roaring is most pleasant!

Shaking our fist at the sky and feeling like victims in an icy cold universe is not exactly a faithful representation of the human experience. Justice requires we own our part in the injustice of the world, our failures, so that we can be procurers of a just state.

Justice or Just ice?? We decide. Roooaaaaar!!
Skilled or Skewed?

December 21st, 2024

Rising hens may not seem sufficient prerequisite for living in the world. In fact, that hens have built-in knowledge (so that they know what to do naturally and do not experience existential angst like me) is still bit of a mystery.

Returning to yesterday’s question, “Why might my life be filled with drama, heartache, existential angst, and person b. for no recognizable reason, seems to be happy and carefree?” Honest people will say that largely life comes to us all. Few if any escape it’s hardships in one form or another…

But, my question rests on a concern that somehow I am to blame. I took a nap one day, something I rarely do…and Buffy the hen died. For twenty minutes I sought relief from the incessant demands of life, I forgot them in a hopeful escape, and someone died. Sometimes being a human being is more than I can bare.

Maybe if I just did everything right? 🤔That seems impossible, too. I think that is why I fell asleep that day in the first place. The problems, responsibilities, and cares were too many.

The only conclusion I can find is that human beings are not capable of operating alone. There’s some source, wisdom, enlightenment that must be missing. It’s like being disconnected from What I may call “god” the thing which makes life complete and meaningful. And above all, the god-figure, makes life make sense.

The missing What or ‘god’ must be from another source and not myself. I know this must be true because- if I make the rules – I’d just tell myself anything that makes me happy and feel good all the time. I can be very persuasive.

Truth becomes irrelevant in this Me-centric scenario. My happiness- Me- is the object of worship to which all things including reason must be sacrificed. If all the hens in the hen house made their own rules, there would be hen chaos. Right? Daily. Everyday new problems and chaos. We may never have eggs again if the hens just decided, hey- I am not laying eggs anymore. I am oppressed! I want to be free!

The end result is a bunch of bored hens, looking for something to do, finding anything and trying everything for amusement. To pass the time is their new object, since they gave up their original purpose. How Milton describes Hell: an unreal place in the mind where I am very virtuous in my own eyes! And, Who can say otherwise?? I assert most impudently.

I may be skilled at words (at moments). But, what I say becomes completely skewed if I decide myself and my own happiness is the whole object of life. And, “I” make the rules. Forgive if any words may seem rambling. My object is to find what is true even if it means hacking through an unkempt jungle of thoughts and ideas to make order out of the chaos.

To conclude, today’s take away is: If I was qualified to make the rules that govern my existence, I’d still have four hens, happily hunting and pecking in my yard. I’d be eating fresh eggs regularly! I’d know what to do and how to do it. My life would be one ending stream of happy satisfaction, productivity, and peace!

Nope. I am no god-figure in my story. Maybe that is why we suffer? To bring our thoughts and imaginations into their rightful place, the employment of ending human tragedy. And in that employment, find we our true selves.
Luck or Pluck?

December 19th, 2024

The word “luck” never settled well with me. Mostly because it suggests there is a randomness about life that is hard to bear.

I am up to my eyeballs in some misfortune or drama. And next to me is sitting pretty someone without seeming a care in the world?? Seems unfair.

However much randomness is part of our daily experience, I learned it is a sign of maturity to accept the uncertainty as well as what I think I know. What I know compared to what there is to know is like a salty tear and a vast ocean.

People drown in that ocean if they arrive at with all the cumulative knowledge of ‘what they know’ and deem that satisfactory to traverse it. I think that’s the difference between being ‘awake’ and being ‘woke’. Knowing what you do not know is the beginning of wisdom, at least according to Socrates. Huzzah!!

‘Pluck’ is an altogether separate word but closely related to luck, I imagine. One suggests randomness that may lead to hopelessness. I am an object of fate and powerless says s/he/her/them. The other suggests ownership in the face of uncertainty.

Pluck: spirited and determined courage.

Uncertainty awaits each. Luck is for the clueless who wander vaguely a willing object of ‘fate.’ Pluck is for those who await with anticipation and humility- the great fortune and randomness combined in the vast ocean before us!
Germans and Southerners. Rrrrrr

December 16th, 2024

My father was Irish from whence came my family name “Brennan.” But, I identify more with my mother’s ancestors, Englestaders. What’s in a name? You may ask…

Well, growing up Irish in the south shore of Boston was easy. Things made sense back then. People worked, had families, BBQs on weekends. There was no revolution that I was aware of. One can’t be disgruntled while eating the fat of the land.

Then, I moved to western Massachusetts, where the land was a little leaner. Jobs- fewer, folks minimal. There seems a revolution was ongoing in these parts- from the amount of disgruntled folks there. In which case a fat Irishman is no longer useful.

If you want a land where every inch of your potential may be extracted from your being by necessity, western Ma is a great place for that. If you are useless you don’t eat. You are cold. You are outcast. Having an inner German is helpful when you are teetering on the edge of being cold, lonely, and hungry.

We don’t speak German much in my family. But, we have our language. Similar to Lyle’s “Roooaaarrrr!” Our language is “RRRRRRRRRRRR.” Its an inner energy, frustration, or power that emerges (I would say) from my viking ancestors’ will to live- to survive in the face of impossible circumstances.

Imagine Viking existence- a colder climate, more dangerous, and no Walmart for creature comforts like fuzzy robes and slippers. No aspirin, no TP??

The only creature comforts my ancestors possessed were fir suits they carved off a dangerous predator after wresting and pounding it to death. So it wouldn’t eat their children. Killing a beast provided a three-fold advantage: You get to live! You get to eat! And you get warm fur suit. Rrrrrrrrrrrr

RRRRRRRRRRR is primal. It’s an expression that says: “I am a human being for God’s sake- struggling like an animal to survive- but for some reason its necessary and I am frustrated because I don’t know why.”

These are hard lessons. Useful lessons. My southern neighbors also possess a kind of inner Rrrrrrrrr. They’re much more lively though. They seem to relish the fight. They don’t perform human sacrifices to the fertility god, either. Perhaps that is one benefit of southern neighbors’ Methodism or Episcopalianism OR, some -ism that proposed maybe killing people is barbaric.

There is nothing like a New England winter here or the Viking wilderness experience. (At least not yet). There’s the raw experience of being. But, there is a pleasure of being, too. And it’s warm. I like it!