Gold Watch

I.

“I can’t pay you with money, you can choose one of those two watches.”

He had just closed the accounting books for the watchmaker. After a short hesitation, he picked up gold watch from the black cloth on the table and then looked at the smaller one, lady’s golden watch of the Swiss watchmaker.

A moment of hesitation. He then put the man’s watch on his wrist.

“Good luck Izzy. Stay safe”  

They hugged and my grandfather left Izzy’s house and never saw him again. A few days later, all the Jews they were able to capture were made to board the trains at central train station.

II.

“I regret now, that I did not pick the lady’s watch and I did not give it to your grandma… “

I left his last phrase hanging there in the quiet afternoon. He was smiling. This was the moment of his grief that I witnessed and… a moment of relief.

After fourthly tree years of marriage, the last seven spent fighting together with her the cancer inside of her, she was now resting and he was sitting alone in the small room where he passed away fifteen years later.

III.

“Are you interested in the history of Freemasonry?”, the ad read.

I entered the Grand hall of my Alma mater in my black suite, wearing a black tie. The university professor who was delivering the speech and a small group of men in the front row were all dressed exactly like me. The only difference was that they all had black bow-ties instead of a tie.

Man, and women surrounded a short large, bald, elderly man after the speech. He was talking to them politely and competently with a slight accent. I waited patiently until he was alone. I approached him, extended my hand introduced myself.

“Hiram… Harry Eschua.”

“Please call me Harry.” the man smiled to me.

“I want to be one”, I said.

He nodded.

IV.

Harry was one of the Holocaust survivors who was able to escape and to reach Switzerland when he was fourteen. At fifteen, he arrived in Paris.

He worked at the slaughterhouse Grande Halle aux Boeufs in Paris as a boy and during his school and university years.

He sold his small antiquities shop on The Avenue des Champs-Élysées when he retired and, as a former Grand master of the Grand Orient of France, took on himself “the obligation and the privilege to re-light the light of The Lodge of Grand Orient” as he told me once, in our country of birth.

The Communist party outlawed Freemasonry and forty-five years later, Harry returned to his home country and he re-lit the light of the Lodge and I was one of the seven sitting on his South when this had happened.

V.

In his eighties and me in my thirties, we were saying good bye one day in September of 2000. I was immigrating and leaving my country of birth as he left it many years ago without knowing if he will ever come back.

Harry fished out of his pocket a something glimmering and opened his hand. It was an old pocket watch. He held it on his big hand and looked at it for a while.

“I sold almost everything that I had in my shop.”

“Here, I bought this Elgin many years ago.”, It was heavy and I could feel and hear it ticking.

I left his last phrase hanging there in the quiet afternoon. He was smiling. This was the moment of his grief that I witnessed. We hugged and I never saw him again.

IV.

A year ago, my daughter was tall enough to climb to a high shelf where I was keeping the Elgin. Sometimes, I would wind it up and hold it in my hand to feel and to listen listen to it clicking…

The shiny, gold pocket watch got dropped one day as little hands are clumsy. 

When I wind it up the next time, the Elgin was not clicking any more. I thought of Harry and, I said good bye to him again.

Aesop telling Charles Perrault's Cinderella

Intro

God assumed that Cinderella is an important story for humanity and when Charles Peraultt suddenly died while telling stories to children, God decided to bring Aesop from the past into the present so Cinderella can be created for the future generations to learn from this story.

For God past, present and future was simply one thing called time, so it was an easy thing to do.

Aesop's Cinderella

The stepmother is encouraging her daughter with gentle words in front of the family to try the shoe. The shoe is almost fitting. The mother takes some butter from the table and puts some on her daughter's foot. The shoe fits.

After trying the shoe, the mother tells her daughter that she is invited to the family table to have dinner and that she will be getting second serving from the desert this evening for the good effort.

Before trying the glass shoe, the step mother tells the step daughter that she has a choice to try the glass shoe or go to her room and think about asking for a chance to try the shoe.

The step daughter is choosing to try the shoe. It almost fits and, with a sock it could have fitted perfectly.

The step mother tells the step daughter with a smile that the step daughter has a choice now to stay for dinner and have fun with the rest of the family.

God talks to Aesop

God came by to see how Aesop was progressing. He read the unfinished story and got angry at His creation.

“I am disappointed with you Aesop” God said.

“I expected of you to write the story about Cinderella as this will be a lesson about hardship, perseverance in the face of hardships and about happy endings.”

Aesop opened his mouth, ready to explain that he did not know the context of the here and the now where Charles Perrault's just passed away before being able to create Cinderella and immortalize himself with another fairy tale that would become a classic in the future. But he did not speak. Instead he swallowed with an effort an emotion and looked down to his sandals that he was wearing in his time and space.

“That’s right”, God said. “I like that you know your place and did not speak back to me”.

Then God transported Aesop back to his own time and space and told him that he could continue to write his fables as that was what he was good at.

Before His departure Aesop asked with a quiet voice, “Did you teach me a lesson God?”

“I don know...”, God replayed and then He left.

End

One Hundred Dollars

I. Intro

'I will tell you the story about the one hundred bucks I have in my pocket. I will pay you with this hundred bucks after this session is over', I told my therapist when I started moving uncomfortably in the chair designated for clients.

“I will tell you the story how I made these hundred dollars” I added and smiled.

“Ok.” said my therapist and smiled back. 

“But what is the relationship of this story with you and me and the same space we are sharing together at this moment?”

“This will become clear at the end of the story”, I replied, finally settling for a relatively comfortable position in the” hot chair”.

II. First contact.

I am sitting on a high chair at a local cafe with unlimited Internet access and I am caching up on emails from customers accumulated from yesterday. I am thinking that I should probably buy a new laptop while waiting for the pages to load painfully slow. I think about this every day...

A tall woman with a sports hat approaches me and I meet her eyes hidden behind expensive looking bi-focal.

“Excuse me?”, she says looking me straight into the eyes,  “I am not trying to hit on you or anything..., but may I ask you for help”.

Slightly louder tone of voice that I am feeling comfortable with, I realize. A head from the table across turns towards my table and turns back.

Her eyes lost contact with mine for a moment but she quickly recovers. I take a moment and wait for her to say something else. She doesn't.

“Sure, how may I help you?”.

Her eyes don't let go of mine.

“I need to send an email with my resume but I don't know how to attach it”, she pauses, “Can you help me?”.

She looks like she is in her late forties, dressed as a jogger. The watch and the jewelry on her talk to me that she could buy a laptop plus the salesman. Both - as a combo deal.

I smile a bit, “Ok, bring your laptop. I will help you.”

She moves her shoulder slightly.

“It's ...at home.” Then a little faster, “Are you going to be here for a while? I can go get it. I live up the street two minutes away...”

“Sure, I will be here for a while. You can bring your laptop and I will help you”.

“Thank you!” she says to me and smiles with a visible feeling of relief on her face.  She starts walking towards the exit of the cafe and then she comes back to my table.

“I am not trying to hit on you! I see the ring on your left hand - I know you are married.”

Straight look in her eyes - locked firmly on my eyes. Her tone of voice, I feel, is within the borders of my comfortablility levels.

I smile. Then I say,

“Did it ever work when you did?”

“??”

“When you tried to hit on somebody at a cafe?” I elaborate, “Did it ever work?”

She chuckles and finally I feel that she feels comfortable talking to me.

“Never.”

II. Lessons

I am talking to a customer on the phone holding it in one hand and with the other typing notes about the conversation in a spreadsheet when she places her laptop next to mine and sits on the opposite side of the high table. I smile, I show “one moment” with my pointer and show the cell phone that I am holding as a pillow close to my year. She nodes.

I am done with the customer and I finish with the notes then I say,

“So?”, and I smile.

She asks me in a business-like tone of voice,

“How much you charge per hour?”

“??”

“How much you will charge me for your time to teach me how to send my email with an attachment and then show me basic Excel and Power Point” she says firmly.

“I never taught computers before...”, She caches me off guard. “...twenty dollars.”

She frowns. “Twenty is too little. I will pay you forty”.

I smile.

“Ok”.

Latest model laptop with an aluminium cover I notice with a little envy while she flips the beauty open. I see the latest software flexing muscles on the HD screen.

“Right” I say, “Lets first deal with your email.”

She is navigating clumsily with her fingers on the little square that is supposed to be the mouse, opens the email client and moves the laptop closer to me.

“Here, attach my resume to this email please.”

“No.”, I look her in the eyes and smile, “I am going to teach you how you can attach files to your emails so you can do it in the future by yourself.”

She smiles back and says,

“Right,.”, “Teach me how please.”

III. How we share is how we are.

While I am explaining to her where to click, how do drag and drop files, how to save and delete, she is telling me bits and pieces of her life. She is a fifty-four. I was never good at telling women's age.

I tell her that I am forty-seven. She is recently divorced after a thirteen year of abusive marriage that disintegrated after her ex chocked her. She has 'two beautiful ten-year-old twin girls', I am telling her that I have a six years old girl.

She can now create a basic spreadsheet, save the file, attach it to an email and test-send it to herself.      

“It is so simple, its ridiculous”, “I am so stupid!”

She quickly recovering and is telling me,

“I was a stay home mom for ten years and I never liked technology”.

I smile and tell her,

“Are you starting to like it now when you see how simple it is?”

She's typing in the rows and hits Enter with passion.

“Yup...”, “It's so easy”.

Her husband is rich and his family is very rich. She signed a pre-nuptial agreement and was about to be left with nothing. Her ex agreed only to pay the minimum alimony for the kids.

The divorce judge decided that she and the kids get half of the proceeds from the sale of the house.

“Quite an ordeal” I say and I feel that I like her.

“She is a fearsome fighter and a survivor” I am thinking.

“I saved my kids and this is what matters”, she looks me in the eyes for a validation and I nod   gladly I give it to her.

She is now working on her first Power Point presentation adding an image and then the text. She is advancing quickly and she is enjoying the process of learning and trying new things on her laptop.

I notice that her laptop is working on battery only. Something that my old awkward looking, clunky ten years old machine is never going to do anymore. I am not buying a new battery as it costs more than a new machine. I realize that my laptop was born in the year when her daughters were born.

I share this with her and she laughs a little bit.

“I am feeling so comfortable with you.” she says, “I feel that I can tell you anything. What do you do for a living?”

“I am a risk adviser for start-up loan companies and I am studying for a psychotherapist.”

“Now I notice that most of the time you are asking me questions and that I am talking and talking”

“But, you can never be my psychotherapist”, she is looking me in the eyes.

I don’t ask the question she perhaps is expecting me to ask and she is not elaborating why I can never be her therapist. Her eyes go back to the screen.

IV. Two and a half hours later

She can now effortlessly create files, delete them, move them in different folders. She is sending emails with multiple attachments. It just started raining. She looks up and says,

“Oh, crap” and then focuses back on the task I gave you – import picture into a slide.

I am feeling like I know her for years.

“I am going to the washroom”, she declares. “Don't run away with my new laptop” and she smiles.

“I can't.” I say and smile back at her, “It's raining too hard”

She comes back and places a plate with a croissant in front of me.

“You must be hungry”, I smile, say nothing and start eating. She starts eating the croissant she brought from the cafe bar for herself.

“You know what?”, she tells me after she finishes her croissant, “I want to invite you, your wife and your kid to a tea party at my place”

I look her in the eyes.

“The kids will play; I will meet your wife and I will tell her that I want you to give me computer lessons. I am a lector at a college and I will have to learn how to work with technology. Until now my brother was helping me with my presentations. I want you to teach me but first, I want your wife to know and be Ok with this”

“Sure.” I say, “But you know that I am not a qualified teacher”

“I don't care, I learned so much from you”.

I nod my understanding.

VI. Finale

She closes the screen panel of her laptop. The lessons are given. The life stories – shared. When exchange personal emails. She is telling me that after the holidays she will send me an email to invite me and my family to her house.

She fishes up from her back-pocket banknotes, “Two and a half hours at $40.00 per hour”, she gives me one hundred dollars.

I say nothing and smile. Then, I put the money in my shirt pocket and say, “Thank you.”

“It's raining, do you want me to drive you with my car?”, she is asking me.

“No. I am close by”, I say.

“Are you sure?”

Am I feeling something. I am looking at her face expression, her eyes, body posture...

I am activating every possible antenna I have access to.

No. I don't feel anything other that a concern that I (and my old laptop) will get wet.

“I am sure.”

She is waiving at me, walking out from the south exit of the cafe and I am waiving back at her exiting from the north exit.

VI. The story about one hundred dollars

My therapist waited for me for a few moments after I finished my story to give me time to say anything else. I don't.

“It is a good story; you should probably write it”

“I will”, I told her.

“What is the relationship of this story with you and me and the same space we are sharing together at this moment?”.

“My therapist is a therapist even when she is sleeping”, I thought and started.

“You are my teacher at the Institute, you are my therapist too. I undergo my own therapy with you but I also am learning from you”.

“Get out of your mind and go to your feelings.”

I start again, “I feel that with her, I was the therapist I wish to be one day in the future”

“Better” my therapist told me.

“Sitting here with you, I am feeling that I connect with you the teacher and the therapist as I connected with this woman yesterday”.

My therapist nodded.

“I am feeling curious about you as I am curious about her. I also kept my boundaries. I refused to go with her in her car.”

“How do you feel about her now?”

“I am still curious about her”, I responded.

“Do you feel that she was hitting on you?”

“I feel that she was.” I said, “A little bit...”

My therapist took a pause. I stayed in the pause, examining my feelings in the moment with my therapist in her space where therapy goes about a woman I met yesterday. A woman that I made a contact with.

A Valid Explanation

I read postings on popular internet websites as a way to learn about people and how they experience the world and interpret it in their postings. I seldom reply to postings. I did today to one.

(The original post with small redaction - to preserve the anonymity of the person who posted)

A Valid Explanation 

I feel as though I have to explain why I am posting an ad to meet straight, white man if I am a gay male. We always need to explain everything in great detail and go through long hoops to accomplish small goals. Being gay I do not have an opportunity to socialize with straight, white men. People say [REDACTED] is not homophobic but trust me it is still quite homophobic. I do not rub my sexuality into the faces of people. I hardly ever go to gay events but if a man thinks I am gay I will be isolated. I will have to live with this stereotype for the rest of my life. All I am asking is to meet a normal, white man to have some discussions about life over tea/coffee. Maybe we can watch a movie go to an event together and have fun. You can even bring along your girlfriend or wife. Just because we have cold weather in [REDACTED] it does not mean that straight, white men should punish me for the rest of my life for being gay. My sexuality is just only one part of me. If you think you are man enough to respond send me a message. I will not send a picture to a stranger over the internet. I am serious about meeting but find it frustrating if a stranger ask me for photos. We can chat on the phone before I meet with you. I have missed out on opportunities simply because I am gay.

(My response to him)

One Possible Explanation

Good morning. 

I might be able to provide a valid explanation. About me first. I am a a straight, white man. I am married and I have a kid. I am a psychotherapist in training and I am struggling currently with a gender neutral colleague. 

As a minority in the group, my colleague desires a recognition, acceptance and equal status. To achieve this, they (this is the correct way to address my colleague) use every opportunity to make a political statement, "catch" a real or perceived omission of recognition of their queerness and assign blame on members of the group who addressed them or spoke to them in a way that was in recognition of their different sexuality. A female member of our group discussed in the group with them that due to the political stance, the personal - human part of them is hidden and inaccessible to her and to the group.The response of this future therapist was shocking to me.  They said that there is no "other" part. "To me everything is political" they said.

When I was a younger man, I met at my university a stand up man who was smart, with a great sense of humor and very good looking. We became friends and  we are still today. One day, he had a few drinks more than usual and shared with me that he was gay. "I have a great lover." he said. "He is smart, funny and wealthy."

Then he added "We have a lot of fun with him" and gulped another shot and smiled at me. He did not ask me how I was feeling about that. Nor he needed my permit or validation. We continued to see each other as friends and never spoke about his or my sexual orientation. I was chasing girls and he was having fun in his own ways.

One day, many years later, he was one of the most popular anchors in the country, with his own show on TV. He (and several other popular gay TV and radio personalities) got severely beaten simultaneously at the same night on the street. The next morning my friend opened his morning TV show with a swollen face and apologized to the public for the way he looked. 

"I got beaten last night. I am in pain but I like what I do. So, I decided to do the show this morning." 

If you feel that I provided a valid explanation, please let me know and we could continue this conversation.

Lessons

Mise en scène

It’s time for P to play the game “I’ll teach you a lesson”. P positions me in front of the mirror and instructs me to take my clothes off. I am starting to do it. Not hurriedly, nor too slowly. Behind my back P urges me “the day’s beard is growing”. “Yeah, yeah…I know…” in my mind…

I'm naked. My clothes are on the floor around me in disarray. P takes the belt off the pants with a swift movement that produces a hissing sound. I know the next move of the game as well. P likes to fold the belt in two, bring both hands close and then quickly pull both ends of the belt apart to produce a slapping sound. 

I could feel the first lash even before it comes in the real world. This also is one of the aspects of the game. Like it is the mirror, P uses to observe my facial expressions.

At first, naturally, it is the pain. A level, I am able to pass quickly. There are ways to train and enhance pain tolerance threshold. I don’t like pain. I take a pill when I smell pain. Long before it becomes hard to manage thunderstorm in my brain. 

But, can I take pain? Watch me if you can.

The humiliation of being naked is a piece of cake in comparison. This level is easy. After all, everyone is an exhibitionist when it comes to expressing feelings and emotions. Even the neighbours could hear. But, then again, we could hear the same from the neighbours.

The hardest level to pass is that there are no rules. No particular number of lashes. No particular outcome expected. No pattern in frequency or number of the lessons. Kids play games but they play by certain rules real or invented on-the-go. How one plays a game with no rules? More importantly, how does one win if there is no “price” to be won?
At least from P's perspective.

I learn to appreciate fragments and moments, so I could win  

What are the elements that repeat? There is me, a mirror, belt, pain, humiliation, no rules and P. of course. Which and how every element, from P’s perspective makes the most sense?

I compose elements by importance. There are number of statistical variations to compose the elements by priority and by possible outcomes. No combination works.

There are, of course, verbal clues like “to break and remake”, “I do it so one day you will realize how much I love you” and, “beating never helped only the china on the shelf” but they do not make too much sense to me at this age.

Then, I assign equal (highest) value to all elements. This does not work either. I finally assign zero importance to all elements in the equation. Out of frustration that is. 

I find gold. None of the elements are more important or less important.
They have zero value. 

The plan

There are no rules. I create them.

1.    Nothing in the game has importance, unless I decide to assign a value. I choose the level of importance to every game element if I wish to do so.  

2.    The outcome is always the same - No outcome.

3.    I enter the game the same, I am the same during the game, I exit the game still the same.  

My rules, I am in control. I can win the game.

The works

I enter to learn a lesson. I take a lesson. I exit.

No indication if I need a lesson. No indication if I care about the lesson.

No indication if I am learning during the lesson.

No indication if I have learned my lesson or not.

Is there a point of teaching a lesson to the trunk of a tree?

Game over!

The Published Writer

The noise of scrubbing the bathtub was drilling in his brain and the smell of the bathtub cleaner was making the headache behind his eyes even worse.

This morning, before leaving for work, his new girlfriend – the little red-headed daughter of the president chirped, “Hon, be a good boy. Please clean the bathtub.”

“Of course honey…Have a great day at work!” he remembered now replying. He suppressed an urge to vomit when he pooled her hair from the bathtub sink. 

She wasn't beautiful, she wasn't even “presentable”, as they say in these latitudes, but she was the grand-daughter president of the university where he was an assistant professor of creative writing.

When the bathtub finally looked…well, presentable, he washed thoroughly his hands while looking in the mirror.

His dark eyes, still alive and full of dreams, focused on his bushy hair of a young man that he was. He could now easily spot the first snow on the top of his head even without his glasses. “Thirty years on the planet… Twenty back home, ten in America”, he was thinking. “Still “the American dream” is far, far from reach.”

Sure – his first book was now a fact and it was now translated in 10 different languages. Still if it wasn't for that almost-a-joke on-line submission for that competition on the other side of the ocean, his manuscripts would have still been collecting dust on some big-ass publisher’s assistant desk here in the States.

But now, everything has changed. “I am signing my own book.” He was thinking, “People know me here and also back home.”

But things didn't really change. Did they? I was decided that the book will be selling for US $14 and the total print number was… well, presentable. But when the publisher, the agent and all the rest of the monkeys on the branch are factored in…

His bitterness wasn't young as he was. It was 1331 years old – like the country he came from ten years ago. “For $14 you get 240 dense pages or roughly 69,000 words. That’s 4,929 words for every dollar; a penny for every 50 words…”, “4.8 oz. 136 grams. 6 years of my life spent writing. For $14?”  

“Well, at least this is a good start, a possibility, a resume buster if nothing else. Also, I would love to see the face of Preacher when I hand him a signed copy of my book.”

“The preacher”… This was how he was calling his girlfriend’s grandpa - the church leader, turned University President. Or was it vice versa? In person of course he was calling him “Sir”. After all he was the president of the University with the presentable ranking number 574 where he was teaching the gun loving, bible reading youth how to write creatively in their own - mother tong language.

He closed the door of the tiny bathroom, now smelling offensively, behind his back and sat down behind his Mac. It was early morning and the huge, heavy Texan sun was already trying to burn this land full with sin as it was full with churches and pastors. He turned the power on and while waiting for his computer to boot, he directed his mind eye to the place now dark and cold.

In the place where he came from now was night and a freezing one too, as he learned from the on-line newspapers earlier this morning. It was the past of that place and his past too was where he was looking. 

He closed his eyes and quieted his mind, waiting for inspiration to come. 

Can I Go Back In Time Please?

Today our daughter misbehaved badly. She was running and screaming in the supermarket, getting the looks of disapproval of patrons who were diligently checking up the sale signs on the shelves.

When my wife finally caught her in her arms, my daughter slapped her and scratched her face with her little, razor-sharp fingernails.

Tonight, before going to sleep, my daughter was talking in bed with her mom. I overheard the following conversation.

My daughter: “Mummy, can I go tomorrow to the daycare?”

My wife: “Tomorrow’s Saturday honey, you don’t go to the daycare on Saturdays”.

My daughter: “But I want to! Please, please let me go back to the daycare.”

My wife:” Why would you like to go back?” 

My daughter: “I want to go back just for a while, so you can come and pick me up again before I hit you mummy.”

My daughter is 34 months old. She doesn't know yet that for good or for evil we all aren't allowed to go back in time to undo the bad things we inflicted on our loved ones.  

I was both deeply humbled by these simple words and also saddened at the same time. 

Soon enough she’ll learn the truth.

Killing Children

Just now on my computer screen a pop-up in red bold letters appeared.

“Breaking News!”

“Children, principal among the dead in Newtown, Connecticut elementary school shooting!”

I read the article, then I watch the short video. I don’t cry but my eyes get wet. I look at the picture of my daughter on my desk and then back on the screen my eyes go.

I know that by now, all the news agencies on the planet, TV, Internet, radio are abuzz and countless commentators, bloggers, and Internet commons will be sharing their feelings about this horror. 

On one of the photos I see children in line, walking, holding each other by their shoulders. Some of them are looking in the asphalt, some are crying. All children and adults on the picture are looking terrified. 

Reality fails me. Is this for real? Could there be anything worse than this?

Rapunzel and the Tower of Marzipan

(Not yore grandpas Grimm fairy tale)

The beautiful princess Rapunzel was living into exile. Banished into a tower made of sweet marzipan, the terms of the evil sorceress spell were slightly mad and strangely different from the classical fairy tale.

For the spell to be broken, a handsome and fearless prince was to come and eat the tower of marzipan, so Rapunzel could be set finally free.

After years of wait and desire for liberation, one day Rapunzel finally saw from the top of the tower a handsome brunet prince approaching on a sorrel white horse. 

Both the prince, when he arrived at the foot of the marzipan tower and the beautiful Rapunzel instantly felt that their hour of destiny was upon them. Both they knew in their very hearts, that right always overcomes wrong; beauty overpowers ugliness and good triumphs over evil in the end.

The prince started eating slowly the tower away. Gradually, approaching the moment when he would finally meet Rapunzel face to face, the prince (inevitably) morphed into an overweight memory of himself.

When the moment came, the beautiful princess was naturally displeased with his exterior appearance. She told him that after living into exile, into a prison made of marzipan, she needed some space and time for herself. Then she remembered that he was the one who liberated her and told him that it wasn't him it was her. She also added unconvincingly that he deserved better...

In the end she said nothing. She took away his armour and put it on herself. The prince was unable to use it anyway due to his size. She hopped on the horse slowly to dissolve away into the beautiful sunset, where the kingdom of beautiful people awaited.     

On “How life works” by Alex Williams

I recently have read an article in www.creation.com that saddened me after uplifting my spirits initially with its articulate and scientific – like style. The opening statement of How life works by Alex Williams is eloquent and bold. This is a material created by a scholar with many years of natural sciences and theological training and research experience. His belief in God and the wholly scriptures that prove His existence, His plan and the purpose of His design appear to be indestructible. 

“Life is not a naturalistic phenomenon with unlimited evolutionary potential as Darwin proposed. It is intelligently designed, ruled by immutable laws, and survives only because it has a built-in facilitated variation mechanism for continually adapting to internal and external challenges and changes.” the author statement is and he attempts to prove it using Louis Pasteur’s law of biogenesis, Professor Michael Polanyi’s principle of life’s irreducible structure. He gives some credit to Charles Darwin who “was correct in proposing that the species we see around us today have arisen via the mechanism of natural selection of natural variation, but he was wrong in extrapolating it to all life”. “All life” is extraordinarily large and complex matter to grasp and formulate even for Charles Darwin’s book The Origin of Species. It is also an amazingly tough undertaking to do it in a single article. It is also insulting to God, the more sophisticated reader and it is manipulative to the less sophisticated one.

A week after reading the article something isn’t feeling right. So, I decided to write a comment. I am not a scholar, nor did I dedicate years of my life to research like Mr. Alex Williams. I am not an atheist, nor am I a true believer like him. My comments are entirely my own point of view on the topic and merely thoughts of a laic.

Per Mr. Williams, Louis Pasteur “formulated a law of biogenesis—that life comes from life—a universal principle that has stood the test of time.” He continues that “Origin-of-life researchers continue to look for means of abiogenesis (life from non-life) but without success.” I believe that it is an incorrect statement.

It isn’t odd that “origin-of-life researchers continue to look for means of abiogenesis but without success.” If law of biogenesis is a universal principle that has stood the test of time, inevitably there should be a law of abiogenesis if God Himself has used abiogenesis to bring Adam into existence. But, perhaps, the origin-of-life researchers continue to struggle for means of abiogenesis without success because the time isn’t right yet for God to reveal the knowledge about this form of creation. Or, perhaps, there is a simpler explanation - such principle doesn’t exist at all.

The Book of Genesis provides a proof that God has used biogenesis to create Adam. “And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth” Gen. 1.26 . Evidently God created the heaven and the earth, the fish of the sea, the fowl of the air, the cattle, and every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth prior to creating Adam.

Even the author of the article as a scientist will not be so ignorant to disagree that when God created Adam “out of earth”, that this same earth was not already been inhabited with recently created tiny forms of life. As Mr. Williams states that “life consists mostly of architecture and machinery made from long-chain molecules having a ‘backbone’ of carbon atoms tightly linked together, with hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, phosphorus and sulfur attached along the sides”. Initially God created these “long-chain molecules” and they were in the earth already before He created Adam. The creation of the microorganisms predates the creation of Adam as the Book of Genesis tells us. Adam was the last and the greatest creation of God.

Per Wikipedia “Microorganisms live in all parts of the biosphere where there is liquid water, including soil, hot springs, on the ocean floor, high in the atmosphere and deep inside rocks within the Earth's crust.” Therefore, as descendants of Adam and Eve we all must be “engineered” by using the same molecular structure and we must be following the same principles an intelligent designer imprinted as a coded information even in the simplest unicellular microorganisms found in the soil.  

In “Compartments, modules and signals” the author of the article is giving an example with a planarian flatworm - a free-living freshwater creature with two eyespots at one end and a feeding tube at the other end. When cut in half, each of the two halves normally regenerates a complete organism. However, when the beta-catenin signaling system is blocked, the head end regenerates another head and the tail end regenerates another tail.

The conclusion of the article is that “Despite life’s functional beauty, selection depletes gene pools and mutations degrade genomes, and extinction is coming on a time scale of only thousands, not billions, of years. Intelligent design plus rapid extinction point clearly to recent Creation and Fall, as the Bible tells us.”

What is insulting to the intelligence is the use of the argument “that the special structure of life’s machine-like components cannot be explained by (or reduced to) the properties of the atoms and molecules they are made of; something else is required.” The exertion until the whole the article, I realized by the end of it, is to prove the notion that because life is so complicated and follows certain laws to that day, the only possibility for it to exist is the intelligent design.

When watching the picture of the planarian flatworm cut in two in the article, I can’t really remove myself from the feeling that “all life” is a poorly designed experiment by a scientist with questionable ethics. Why would God create life and “program” it with a wrong code? Is it for all life to self-destruct? God should be wiser and greater that that. Perhaps all life has a reason beyond self-destruction or destruction by the Creator. If we exist by design, maybe we will understand the idea behind the design if we, as creators ourselves, are able to develop our own ethics to the level of Original designer’s ethics.