What the Questions Are For Me?

A very long time ago I took a Philosophy class and one of the ideas that made a great impression on me was this: It's not as important to know all the answers to all the questions of life but more important to know what the questions were for YOU.

Here's a living list of questions I've claimed for myself that I will add to as I go along. Your questions may or may not not be the same but maybe this will get you to thinking about them. If not, who cares? Oops! That's one of my questions! Please just ignore that for now. LOL!

 I pray that Cyndi Lauper said it best when she spoke of being able to see the true colors of a person. If there is a Creator God of this planet then my earnest prayer is that my true colors can be seen by whatever and whoever the Creator God is.

 And if there is a Creator God then I believe he is the Greatest God and the Only God who this planet should believe in. And, IMHO we should know this Creator God by name.

 Here we go:

 What am I?

 Who am I?

 Do I believe that I think, therefore I AM?

 What is my real name?

 Where did my real name come from?

 Who named me?

 Should I answer someone that wants to talk to me when they don't use my name or a new name I made up for myself and have told them to use or a name that was given to me by my Father or Mother?

 Does my name mean anything?

 Does it matter if my name means anything?
Is there a God?

 Does God have a name?

 Is it important for me to know God's name?

 Is God's name YHWH or Allah or Manoe or Zeus or Buddah or Jesus or Mohammed or one of a million other names I believe man has claimed for the creator of this planet?

 What, if any name, did the Creator God actually GIVE to anyone to use in addressing him?

 Were there any efforts throughout the ages to prevent mankind from being aware of it's importance?

 Do I really believe that at one time all peoples were gathered in one place under the direction of Nymrod and were building a tower with the intent of breaking into the vault of heaven?

 Do I believe the story that a Creator God confused the speach of these peoples and then they wandered away from their blasphemous endeavor, each group taking a little bit of the truth of our creation and spreading it all over the globe?

 Since I do believe that YHWH IS the greatest vocalization representing in the most sincere fashion my creator's name but that he has other sheep in other folds and it is not my place to question him, what is my duty as a believer towards them?

 Is my reality real?

 Is my reality accidental or planned?

 Do I create my own reality in any way or is there another creator separate from or even part of me making things happen also?

 If I'm the only creator of my reality then why can't I create for myself whatever I want whenever I want it?

 Why is it that when I look at nature and the world around me I realize that I didn't put that there and wonder who did?

 If there is a creator also creating my reality then Who or what is it?

Since I do believe there is a creator is this creator God?

 Were the twelve major world religions of Baha'i, Buddhism, Christianity, Confucianism, Hinduism, Islam, Jainism, Judaism, Shinto, Sikhism, Taoism, and Zoroastrianism all inspired upon this planet by the same God?

 Since I do believe all mankind was at one time under the evil sway of Nymrod who was attempting to break into the vault of heaven at the Tower of Babel until the confusion of language caused all work to stop, do I believe my creator would ever allow such nonsense again?

 Since I believe there is a creator should I fear them in any way?

 Do I know the creator personally?

 Does the creator care about me at all?

 Would the creator sacrifice anything for me?

 Should I sacrifice anything for my creator?

 Would I sacrifice anything for my creator?

 What would I sacrifice for my creator?

 IS there anything I wouldn't sacrifice for my creator?

 Did we ever meet?

 Can we ever meet?

 Will we ever meet?

 Does my creator have a name?

 Does my creator have any children?

 IF my creator has any children, how many children do they have?

 Am I one of my creators' children?

 Can I ever become like one of my creator's children?

 Should I listen to someone who tells me that my creator has only ONE unique Son?

 What does the creator look like?

 What might the creator's children look like?

Does the creator look like me or other people I believe I see around me?

 When I read "Let us make Man in "our" image, why do I feel like more than one entity is involved in making it happen?"

 Is the creator a Spirit or do they have a physical body?

 Do I believe that you have to be a true believer to know your creator and to ever meet them?

 Am I a true Believer?

 What do I really believe in?

 Is what I believe in the truth or is it what I or my Creator WANTS me to believe at the moment?

 What good does it do for me to believe anyway?

 Is there life after death?

 If ghosts are real does that mean I don't need to worry about being a believer because If I die tragically enough I can always come back and scare people without having to believe in a Creator God with the power to resurrect me?

 If ghosts aren't real then what are all these paranormal activities all over the globe about?

 Are evil or unclean spirits real?

 If evil and unclean spirits are real, then could they be trying to trick mankind into believing that there is a form of life after death without the need of a Creator God?

 Since I do believe that there is no resurrection of any spirit or person without the power of the creator making it happen, Should I argue about belief with non-believers or just share my beliefs and leave the rest to their creator?

 Why am I tempted? 

Why am I chastised? 

Why am I afflicted?

 Why are my secret prayers to my creator spoken only as if I AM his unique son answered?

 What, if anything, would a creator want from their creation?

 Would my creator want me to lay down my life for my friends?

 Can I liken my creator to a potter who create's many clay pots, all bound for the kiln but some to be placed where all can see to glorify him and others exposed and used only for ignoble purposes until their offensive stench forces the creator to destroy them?

 Can anyone tell the potter I liken my creator to, what to do with his clay pots?

 Does my creator have any enemies?

 Are my creator's enemies MY enemies?

 Does my creator's enemies have any children?

 What is my creator's enemies name?

 Are there children of light and children of darkness?

 Am I a child of light or a child of darkness?

 Am I supposed to love my enemies or hate them?

 Am I my brother's or sister's keeper?

 How many times do I turn the other cheek?

 Is everyone on this planet my brother or sister?

 Do I do to others as I would want them to do to me?

 Do I love myself?

 Does anyone besides my creator love me?

 Do I consider my creator my God?

 If my creator is my God, then does my creator want me to have any other God's?

 If my creator is my God, then does my creator want me make or worship any graven images? 

What is a graven image?

 Could the electrically stimulated pixels which create graphics on a computer screen or an LED television be considered graven images?

 Are photographs graven images?

 If my creator is my God then does he want me to take whatever name he has given me to call upon him in vain?

 If my creator is my God and I do take whatever name he has given me to call upon him in vain will I be held guiltless?

 If my creator is my God, then does my creator have any special times he wants me to observe or keep holy?

 If my creator is my God and has any enemies did those enemies ever think to change any of my creator's special times or laws my creator has always had since the beginning of creation?

 If my creator is my God then does my creator want me to honor my father and mother?

 If my creator is my God, then does my creator want me to kill especially if it is in the name of furthering my beliefs?

 If my creator is my God, then does my creator want me to commit adultery?

 If my creator is my God, then does my creator want me to steal?

 If my creator is my God, then does my creator want me to bear false witness to anything?

 If my creator is my God, then does my creator want me to covet?

 Do I like girls who grow up to be women more?

 Do I like boys who grow up to be men more?

 Does liking boys more when you are a boy or liking girls more when you are a girl, really matter one way or the other?

What does it mean when it says that "it will be more tolerable for Sodom & Gomorrah?"

 What were the protestants protesting?

 Did the protest work?

 Am I a protestant?

 If so, what am I protesting?

 How do I go about protesting what the original protestants were protesting?

 What if protestandism failed and carried with it many false doctrines and teachings that they were trying to protest?

 What if the changing colors of the rider's of the apocalypse denote the progression of these false doctrine's and teachings entering into the recognized eclesiastical body of "Christians" throughout time?

 When DID the white horse turn to Red and then Black and finally Pale and lifeless?

 Is there really a hell or is the lake of fire known as Gehenna the only thing I don't have to worry about anymore?

 Is hell really a German word for Hades which was a mythilogical place but the word was used for Sheol, which means "A dark, shadowy place.?"

 Has anyone besides the unique Son of God, the creator, risen from the dead and ascended to sit at the right hand of the creator?

 Should I worship my mother?

 If my creator is God and my creator has a mother and I believe mother's are greater than their children, then I would be believing she must be GREATER than my creator, AND I would be praying to her instead of the Father, is THAT right?

 If she is only the creator of the Son, who is NOT the creator, but who was born FLESH, lived, ministered, died, was resurrected and ascended then his mother wouldn't require any worship right now since she is dead, right?

 What happens if I reject the trinity which is a catholic doctrine forced upon the world by the Nicene Creed (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicene_Creed) and instead believe that my creator, since I do believe he is my God, is not the unique Son who I actually speak to The Father as in my prayers, but that they are co-existent separate beings? (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arianism)

 If I believe God is my creator then I do I really believe he IS, and If I really believe He IS then do I really believe I AM?

 What if I AM and I believe the unique Son is a High Priest after the order of Melchizedech who sits at the right hand of my creator; who has an entirely different name; until all His enemies are made a footstool for him?

 Should I pray to anyone other than my creator, as if I AM his unique Son, if I believe my creator is my God and the Father of the unique Son who stated "Anything you ask of the Father in my name. He will give you?"

 If my creator, if he is God, made me a Saint out of a Sinner, then should I be praying to any other supposed Saints that I know about?

 If my creator is God and has enemies, wouldn't those enemies spend a lot of time trying to make a Sinner of a Saint?

 When I pray to my creator, since I believe my creator is my God, in the name of the unique Son of that creator; who the unique Son said was greater than He, but who will be honored by my creator, and at first placed by Him at His right hand and THEN finally, allow the unique Son to sit down WITH His Father in the END, am I praying right?

 Is the way I pray the reason that my prayers are answered?

 Why did the name Yehoshua in the Old Testament get translated into the name Joshua, but the EXACT same name in the New Testament when referring to the Son ended up being Jesus even though the OT Joshua's name appears in the New Testament also?

Why is It that most people who say the name, J E S U S, don't understand the small mark underneath the "s" denotes a different vocalization?

 What name did John the Baptist use when he baptized Yehoshua the Messiah of Nazareth which allowed the Spirit of God the creator to come down from the heavens as a dove and alight upon him?

 Since I've believed in my creator's unique Son's life, ministry, sacrifice, resurrection and ascension, and was baptized by immersion in my creator's name, and in the name of his Son, and have felt the Spirit of God upon me, are all things now lawful to me, but not all expedient?

 If so, does that also mean that some things that were once unlawful and are now lawful actually ARE expedient?

 Do I believe the Son came once as a lamb to the slaughter but shall return in the clouds with a sword?

Could those clouds be described as the false doctrines of men and the adversary of man and my creator designed and allowed by my creator to blind the world to certain truths until the end time?

What does the two edged sword proceeding out of the mouth of the returning Lion of Judah Stand for?

Since a two-edged sword cuts both ways can that mean that the WORDS of the Son of Man will be used in the end time to cut all uncertainty and disbelief in pieces?

If the current geopolitical entity and nation called Israel suddenly accepted their messiah from antiquity would that in effect constitute a renewed anointing and begin a millennial reign of the anointed?

 Did he who made the lamb, make me?

A Man Named Zed

To Whom It May Concern,  Come and Listen to a story bout a man named Zed, poor Texan mountaineer barely keeps his ex-wife fed.  And then one day while chasing love down like a fool.  He got down on his knees and asked his God to treat him like a tool.

Spiritual that is.  No cost. Debts paid.

Well the first thing you know 'ole Zed avoids adultery, get's baptized in The Name by old John's latest relativity, Sinful thought said Zed no need to get your butt in gear, So he loaded up his Suzuki and drove to a Sussex County.  Canada That Is.  Whiskey Tried.  Black Flies.

Well now it's time to say goodbye to Zed and all his sin, The Son would like to thank you folks for kindly dropping in.  You're all invited back again to Yehowah's locality, To have a heaping helping of Zed's musicality.

Ever I Call, He Says, that's when He calls 'em now, Nice folks! Y'all pray some now, ya hear?

     Happy 80th Birthday mom!  I can turn right around in this rolling computer chair which used to be hers and announce this to all that remains of her inside a plastic bag sealed with a silver metal tag #3117 inside a decorative wooden box sitting on the blue powered reclining chair which Sister Palmettia bought for her.  And that's what I would say to Mrs Xylia Couch if she were alive today.  But Xylia Couch, my mother, is still dead. 

      The last time I took the time out of my busy life to celebrate the day of my mother's birth with her was in 2007 when she turned 75 years old.  My young wife Miracle Tinker and I took a flight from San Diego and joined my two sisters in wishing her well on her special day.  Brother Church was in Iraq at that time and was unable to attend but Xylia ensured we set a place for a framed 8x11 picture of him anyway at the fancy Mexican restaurant table.  We video taped the whole event to capture every moment of our adoration for this woman.  In other words we made her wear silly hats and tied balloons around her like a clown for our own amusement.  She seemed to enjoy it though. 

      And believe it or not, I was often hard pressed to know exactly how old my own mother actually was from year to year.  There was a private joke we shared ever since her 45th birthday or so where she would ask me how old she was and I would reply, "Aren't you about 42?"  This little fabrication seemed to give her a smile, but after awhile it ensured that I had NO idea how old she actually was without resort to a calendar and a calculator.  I found a Rocky Hats ball cap once with the year 1932 emblazoned on it which I wore when we came to see her in 2007.  I would refer to it quite often when asked how old my mother was, but not that day.  That day I knew the magic number was "75."

     Her husband Dillon Couch was also still alive at that time.   We all did our very best to help him enjoy the day as well, which with his advanced years was certainly no easy task.  I wish I knew more about Dillon Couch but I honestly don't.  If I did know more I probably would have written yesterday about his service in World War II, but I only read his obituary today out of morbid curiosity.  There's probably research I could do about the man my mother married in their twilight years....but I'm too lazy to do it.  Suffice it to say that Dillon would not see Xylia's 79th birthday.

     It is a matter of record that Dillon Couch passed away in a nursing home on MY birthday just 16 days after his own 90th birthday in March of 2011.  As an accomplished musician he left this world with perfect timing, just before his benefits ran out, without which Xylia would have been hard pressed to afford his care.  Sister Grace was there when he passed so it is a small comfort to know that he was not alone.  Before he married my mother he was a widower of a 43 year marriage but did not have any children from that union to mourn his passing.  I heard the news of it at the time but was unable or probably unwilling to do much about it.  It seems to me from that day Xylia Couch's health began to deteriorate ever rapidly culminating in her passing in November of the same year.

      Today would be Mrs Xylia Couch's 80th birthday but Xylia Couch, my mother, is dead.  Long live Xylia Couch!

    

    

     It's Memorial Day 2012 and my mother Xylia Couch is still dead.  My mother did not serve in the United States Armed Forces, but while she was the wife of Stormy Tinker, she no doubt supported the cold war effort.  When Stormy went to Vietnam, Xylia kept the home fires burning.  It's hard to remember how many Uncles I had back then.  Let's just say I had less of them when Stormy got back from overseas.

     Xylia Couch also retired from the Army & Air Force exchange services after a long and supportive career.  So I will still honor her memory this day, despite its rightfully sanctioned observance for those men and women who died while serving in the United States Armed Forces.   She and Stormy Tinker certainly motivated myself and my siblings to serve our country.  All of us did, or still do.  Luckily none of us have died doing it, yet.  Stormy was an Air Policeman with the United States Air Force and went to Vietnam but he didn't die.  Or maybe some part of him did, because he came back different.  That I do remember.

     Brother Church carries some physical and mental scars from his exemplary service in Iraq with the U.S. Army Reserves.  Sister Palmettia survived a cancer which may or may not have been caused by exposure to carcinogens while serving her country in the United States Air Force.  Sister Grace has a little diabetes now and a whole lot of very funny stories from her stint in the United States Air Force.  I retired from the United States Air Force after a colorful courts martial then a long fought and hard won appeal.  No scars though.

     Did you notice that Brother Church is the black sheep of the family?  As the youngest he was the most spoiled, next to Sister Grace.  He always had to do things his way which usually meant different.  Like using a summer vacation at 17 years old to join the U.S. Army Reserves.  Since he and his family are probably the most negatively affected by the "Tinker" military career track, I think it only right to give them all a long, slow, salute.  (I did it, honest I did.)

     Since Memorial Day is about "remembering" I find myself trying to.  My earliest memories of my mother Xylia Couch are of her bright red lipstick and strong perfume.  She would drop me, my Brother Church and Sister Palmettia off at a babysitter on her way to work or wherever.  Sometimes the babysitters were fun.  Sometimes they were evil.  It's hard to remember on Memorial Day.  It's hard to remember any day sometimes.  But that's because I've always been too heartless to pay attention to the details.  I only remember things in the broad strokes of how they affected ME.

     Since I'm self-centered and heartless I would probably have neglected to travel to any cemetery where my mother might have been interred.  It is quite fortuitous for me then that her ashes are still in that plastic bag sealed with a silver metal tag #3117 in the decorative box sitting nearby on the powered reclining chair Sister Palmettia bought for her.  I can just turn in this computer chair that used to be hers and wish her a Happy Memorial Day.  But she can't hear me because she's dead.

     And I remember all the times I should have called her or written her or took the time to at least let her know that I was thinking of her.  But I've always been too heartless in a way that makes me ignore the ones I love and the few who love me.  She was one of the few who loved me I'm certain of that and since I'm so selfish it does pain me to know that number is dwindling.  It was reduced by one on 15 November 2011 which was the day Xylia Couch was carried away on that sweet chariot.

     It's Memorial Day 2012 and my mother Xylia Couch is still dead.  Long live Xylia Couch!

     The stories in this blog you may or may not ever read may or may not be true.  Some of the names and places have been changed to protect the guilty and because I truly just like to make stuff up. IMHO, there are no innocents in this world with the possible exception of children under the age of accountability and most herbivores.  There are reasons for everything and if you stumbled upon this blog by accident there's probably a reason for that and I would take the time to figure out what that is if I was you.  But I'm not. I'm me.  And I'm heartless to you.

     Happy Mother's Day 2012!  Unfortunately this day does not bring me as much joy as it should. You see I have at this very moment an extremely itchy infection in my right eye AND my mother Mrs Xylia Couch is dead.   She died just last November in this very room at 1371 Butterfly Way in San Diego, CA, where I'm typing this.   Her ashes are hidden in a decorative wooden box that rests comfortably upon a blue powered reclining chair that my Sister Palmettia bought for her.   We don't have a mantle for her just yet and probably never will.

     Inside a small window on the lid of her box is "An Irish Prayer For You: May your days be filled with laughter and the joy of many friends; May God bless you with His grace and peace that never ends."  Inside the box is a plastic bag sealed with a silver metal tag #3117 in which is all that remains of my mother.  "Ashes to ashes and dust to dust" is very real to me now.   It pains me to no end that of all the Mother's Days in the past where I might have felt too busy to share a kind word with this woman; today I don't have the actual ability to ignore her physical existence.  All that is left of her is with me.

     Of course my mother Mrs Couch did not ever go by that name.   Her maiden name was Lopez and even after marrying an age-old family friend Mr. Dillon Couch in a Las Vegas wedding chapel she kept the last name of her first husband who was a Tinker.   Stormy Tinker was ONE of the love's of her life and the only man besides Dillon that she had married.   Many men over the years of her life it seems were mesmerized by her exotic beauty, lilting laugh and disarming smile.

     The name of Xylia's "first" love is known to my eldest sister, who I'll call Sister Grace, because he is her biological father.  Sister Grace was firstborn to Xylia while our mother was a struggling lounge singer in Shreveport, Louisiana.  Sister Palmettia's father, whose name is known to her also, didn't come along till Sister Grace was good and spoiled.  Whether Sister Grace resented the birth of Sister Palmettia or not I do not know, but I do know that Xylia depended upon Sister Grace to help rear our Sister Palmettia as well as her subsequent offspring.

     From what I gather, my biological father Stormy Tinker came along in the early 1960's.  He was a skinny, corn-fed military man about 10 years Xylia's junior, although he allegedly was blissfully ignorant to that fact.   By the time I came along in 1962 Stormy & Xylia were married and he had legally adopted both of my sisters.  Their marital relationship was filled with violence and lengthy separations caused by the Vietnam war and Stormy's various unaccompanied military assignments. Our Brother Church, who is about three years my junior, was born to them while on an accompanied tour in the Aleutian Islands.

     Their marriage ended with a painful whimper in the late 1970's not long before Stormy was able to retire.  When I was a child I found some forgotten love letters written in Spanish that Stormy had sent to Xylia during one of their separations.  No matter what Stormy claims about that relationship today, IMHO the word "Amor" seemed to be repeated more times in those letters than was poetically necessary.   I will call Stormy today and wish him a Happy Mother's day.....for reasons that may be obvious to only those who know him.   Today is Mother's Day but my mother is dead.   Long live Xylia Couch!

Being Tin Man 2 U means I make no excuses nor have any qualms about what I'm doing.  Everything anyone does is usually for their own benefit one way or another and I am no exception.  I have no reason to believe that anything I say will do you any good, but, in the off-chance it does, I feel that I should be recompensed in some small Click Here way.  Don't you think?