Pauper v. Probate: How Will History Judge You? (Summation)

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Pauper v. Probate: How Will History Judge You? (Summation)

by Danny Tate

"Pauper"

Pauper v. Probate

(The Biggest Business in the World)

In the First Court of Public Opinion

Pauper Case No. : PD1 (Public Domain)

v.

Probate Court Filed: November 8, 2011

Judge "We, the People", presiding

How Will History Judge You?

Our days are numbered, whether you believe by destiny or happenstance, and with this in mind I'm compelled to write these words.

My Summation, or Closing Argument, must come in the middle of this trial, Pauper v. Probate, for tomorrow may never offer me the opportunity to ask you this question and answer it for myself.

How will History judge you?

Whether you are informed or uninformed as to this case, the insiders point of view, or the outsider who just walked in, these words are for both, for we should all answer to ourselves how History will sum up our lives, our actions, our deeds, but least of all our accomplishments.

Accomplishments are like trophies we set up in the foyer of our minds as landmarks of what was deemed important by worldly standards, but it's our deeds, truly indeed, that must be measured and weighed, for whether they amount to shame or glory, they both are intended to be kept in the secret closets of our souls. For if a deed is of shame, we would all tend to hide it in a closet, yet if a deed is for Glory, it too should be held secret in a closet, displayed only by the eyes of eternity and the greatness of knowing it was done for heaven's sake and not the admiration of man.

I've spent my prime creating music and authoring lyrics for public consumption, yet there was always spiritual guideposts in place, though judged by some to be music considered the devil's and the lyrics profane, while others have proclaimed some certain song their "all-time favorite". I'll let history sort that out.

Today, I am unable to consider either, for in effect, I've been exiled from music professionally for the last five years, but the radio stays on at all hours in my mind, and I've written almost a hundred hours of music, documented only on cassette tapes recorded on a cheap cassette recorder from Wal-Mart, composed as if it would never be heard, and it may never, but I consider it my Opus. And what makes it even more beautiful and important is that all of these cassettes drowned in the Nashville flood of 2010, and I truly have no idea if these compositions could or will ever be recreated. But to create music as if it would never be heard was like giving away an entire fortune to a pauper in the back alley while no one watched.

It was a year into this "creation" before I could bring myself to listen back, for I wondered if it was just the rantings and ramblings of a mad man, or truly the beauty it seemed as the stream of consciousness swept through.

Riding the train down the coast of California for the first time, I pulled out one of these cassettes from a bag I carried them, a cheap bag that offered no protection from the elements, put on some cheap earphones, and hit "play".

For the first time in my life, music that I created brought me to tears and moved my soul in a way that reminded me of walking the aisle at summer youth camp when I "surrendered" to the ministry at sixteen, yet more primal and physical even, and far more spiritual. It was glorious, and that moment, while no one else on the train had a clue, was the best concert I've ever been to…

and no one applauded,

but my soul shouted, "Bravo!".

I wish a moment like this in your life to every reader, for it defined what life is truly all about: whatever greatness lies within, do it without consideration of ever being considered, and watch the heavens open.

Unless something miraculous were to change, I will never be considered for any Hall of Fame. My musical career will most likely fade faster than green grass could grow over my grave. But if the lights were to go out tonight, and I'm hoping they don't, but if they did, I am at peace with my contribution to the world of music, and I won't pretend to blame it on God.

To the legal minds who come here looking for evidence or those that come for the spectacle, ask yourself how you'd live out your greatness if your greatness were never considered.

Answer to yourself, how will history judge you.

If the lights were to go out tonight, and if there were a god we all had to stand before while our lives were replayed on some panoramic screen, with the angels of heaven and hell observing, would you be proud, or at least content, with your contribution?

Did you give, or did you take? Were you talking the "high road" while walking the low?

Were you proclaiming justice while disclaiming your duty to your oath? When truth came calling, did you answer with a lie? When your higher self was screaming for attention, did you turn a deaf ear and a blind eye?

I walk the road before me, and it has led me through the valley of the shadow of death, but I truly fear no evil, not anymore. I have faced the gun, more than once, and often wished the bullet had been dispensed in lieu of the life of exile wrought from being "conserved", for I would wish these years of conservation on no one, except for those that perpetrated the crime.

Yet, my personal summation would never have occurred so gloriously without these years of darkness, and for that, I thank my persecutors, but know that I will continue to prosecute until justice is served, and in the hope this never happens to any person again.

I do not fight this fight for myself. I fight it for the father of my children. And though I have committed the last few pages to exposing the instigator of this evil, I must also acknowledge that this same evil wrought the greatest love of my human life, my daughters.

It would be hypocritical to pronounce that I am free of despise and resentment, but I'm almost there, and I've reached almost a point of pity for my persecutors, for I now know what Christ meant when He put forth from the cross, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do".

I regret my first cigarette at eight years old more than my last hit of "crack" at 8 a.m., and history will prove this "conservatorship cum criminal" prosecution along the lines of the holocaust, truly. The patients have taken over the asylum. The crooks and liars are wearing black robes and populating democracies' benches. It's beyond absurd, its absolute tyranny times ten thousand.

The mother of my children, to her credit, tries very hard to be a good mother, though many of her efforts are misguided, and many to the point of pure evil, but I also pity her for she did not have a great father like I did, though I wonder if her hatred for her own father was embedded in her by her mother, as she tries to embed hatred for me in our daughters, but my love for my daughters is undeniable, and anyone that has witnessed our love will testify. And as the mother of my children, I must say thank you, but as the perpetrator of evil, I can only do what my conscience requires.

In the psychotic world of psychotherapy, there was also a golden fleece, when one of the "crazies" who practices psychotherapy told me, "Your daughters need to know you fought for them", and fight for them I do. It's the only way I know and I will never stop fighting for their lives and love, and seeking to protect them.

Even though I continue to despise their mother for perpetrating this egregious chapter of my life, for the love of my children, I do not want them to wake up one day hating their mother, the same way their mother attempts to make them hate me, the same way she hates her father, the same way her mother must have attempted to make her hate her father; and it is for that I pity her. At the same time, I revere her for giving me the greatest loves of my life, my daughters.

In closing, do you think I would ask for this? Do you think I would commit my life to creating music, just to leave the world known as a "crack-head" and a "pauper"?

Hell, no!

But this is the battle I've been involuntarily thrust into, and to walk away defeated, to walk away letting the bad guys win, to turn my back on those that suffer without a voice, it's just not in me. I'm wired to win. I'm wired to fight for those who are too weak to fight for themselves.

We, as Americans, as civilians of the planet Earth, are at a place and time in history like no other. Tyranny has arisen within democracy, and "we, the people…" are shut out, locked out, snuffed out of consideration in the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness.

While there is breath in me, I will fight the good fight, I will run the race, I will finish the course, and I will….

…keep the faith.

Danny Tate
November 30, 2011 at 2:13 am

Tags: Adam Dread, Attorney General of Tennessee, Chief Justice, Child Support Services, Christina Norris, COJ, Congressman Mike Turner, Conservatorship, Cornielia Clark, Crooks and Liars, Danny Tate, Daphne Davidson (Houck), David Callahan III, David E. Tate/Signet Pen and T-Shirts, Depart of Child Services, Dr. Peter Martin, Fifth Third Bank Probate Co-Conspirators, Governor Phil Bredesen, Guardian Abu se, Guardians, Jeannan Stuart, Judge Randy Kennedy, Michael Castellarin, Nashville, Probate Court, Robert E. Cooper, Senator Mae Beavers, Tennessee Attorney General, Tennessee Governor Haslam, Tennessee Supreme Court of the Judiciary, The Board of Professional Responsibility, The Nashville Bar, The Nashville Scene, The State of Tennessee, Tim Discenza, TN, TN Supreme Court, Vanderbilt Psychiatric Hospital, WSMV/Channel 4/Nashville
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