May 20, 2022-Saeyu is the Romanized spelling of the Korean word for shrimp or prawn. A shrimp, in the wild, has the appearance of looking down, its head almost permanently flopped below its neck.
Many times in life, people may resemble the shrimp, looking down either physically or figuratively. The most common instance, in this day and age, is looking down at a laptop, tablet or phone screen. Then, too, many of us have spent decades looking down at a book or at the paper on which we are writing. It takes constant practice to keep the head straight, or looking up.
There are plenty of ways people figuratively look down. One reason is out of sadness or depression, thus adopting a world view that sees only gloom and doom. Another is the notion that one is insignificant, so why bother looking at what is good about life? Yet another is the mindset that it is one’s bounden duty to obey others, whether or not they are legitimate holders of authority.
I am getting better at not being saeyu, in the physical sense. Again, it takes constant reminders. The same is largely true of the figurative state. My game plan is to keep forging ahead with what the spirit guides tell me, whether at Home Base or on the road; in my work or in avocational activities. My chiropractor, and others around me, appreciate this.
May 16, 2022, San Clemente- The drunken man, professing White Supremacy, yelled at me to “Get lost”, as I walked along El Camino Real, in this Orange County beach town. I guess the t-shirt I’m wearing, with its Baha’i logo, set him off. I kept walking and he drove off. Baha’u’llah does state that “Man is the supreme Talisman. Lack of a proper education, however, hath deprived him of that which he doth inherently possess.”- Gleanings from the Writings of Baha’u’llah, p. 259. Nowhere, of course, does He limit this bounty to any particular group of people.
Last night, at FOUND Hotel, in San Diego’s Little Italy, there were a few folks who were acting mighty lost, while saying they wished others-particularly the homeless who wanted to be let in, would get lost. No hostel, or residential hotel, is equipped to handle random homeless people wandering in off the streets. There has been progress made in sheltering, in many cities, but the task is looking Sisyphean. The number of units and condominia, catering to the uberwealthy are increasing at a rate outpacing those that provide for people in lower income brackets. Those who are experiencing homelessness, particularly in communities where housing costs are exorbitant-almost to an unconscionable level, are also finding their numbers increasing. Division Street, the nominal and actual social divider, of which Studs Terkel wrote in 1967, has become a metaphor for the country as a whole. Some hard decisions, regarding the accumulation of wealth, at the expense of a great many people, will need to be made in the not-too-distant future. Everyone will need to be at the table for this one.
I needed to change the channel in my head, after seeing so many people encamped in downtown San Diego, along Pacific Coast Highway and near Mission Beach. Revisiting Balboa Park’s Japanese Friendship Garden set the right tone. My focus was on the collection of bonsai, now at 18 and looking in on the koi, who were small when I was last there, in 2015.
Here are a few scenes from the Garden. The koi in the pond nearest the entrance have tripled in size, these past seven years.
Golden koiCrimson koi
Three types of bonsai: Pine, flowering and unflowered leafy are on display, in the Garden’s Bonsai Center.
Japanese Black PineCameliaShein Packer JuniperCalifornia Scrub Oak
My rejuvenation complete, it was an easy trip northward to Orange County, stopping briefly to complete some business at San Diego Baha’i Center, taking a detour to La Jolla’s sandy beach and another to La Cristianita Historic Site, in Camp Pendleton, which commemorates the first baptism in Alta California.
Tonight, I am comfortably at House of Trestles Hostel, amongst surfers and other lovers of the ocean. Here, everyone feels at home, even the dachshund-chihuahua mix.
April 30, 2022- Browsing through a children’s book, entitled “The Huffy, Puffy Cloud” (by Max Kramer), in a few quiet moments this evening, I noted that the anthropomorphic characters , a rain cloud and the Sun, managed to establish their essential unity of purpose: Sustaining life, after the cloud bemoaned feeling friendless, as “everyone runs away when I come out and start raining.” The Sun wisely pointed out that animals and plants actually appreciate the work of the cloud, and besides, it, the Sun, was always right behind or alongside, so the cloud was never alone.
This is true, actually, of all of us. Even when we don’t see anyone around, in a moment of dismal funk or of self-doubt, there are people somewhere who are thinking of us and energy, both material and spiritual, being directed our way. We are creatures of the tangible, as well as of the spirit, so this is not always evident; but it is nonetheless a reality. Sometimes, it just takes a bit more effort at perception- the way one might have to look left, right, and left again, when proceeding from an intersection or to re-read something, in order to get a deeper understanding.
I was asked, this evening, by a trusted friend, whether I felt the need to “get out of Dodge” (the Prescott area), every so often. My feeling, at that moment, was how much I love this area that I call Home Base. I feel no inherent need to escape my surroundings. Travel, in which I do engage a lot, is more a means of connecting the dots, of physically networking, and has always been in my nature, from the time I learned to walk. I am as glad to see people visiting our salubrious area as I am to visit other places, and have encouraged friends and contacts from all walks of life to spend some time here. Even crowds being in a place, most of the time, seems to me a blessing. When I do need solitude, I know where to find it. It is love that underlies my travels, activities here, and everything else, for that matter.
The whole point of love is to foster and support life.
April 22, 2022- It’s been fifty-two years since environmental activists gathered, en masse, to protest the policies that contributed to the Santa Barbara oil spill, which happened less than a year earlier.
We have, as a species, gone back and forth on the environment vs. economics issue, over these past many years, and a relative handful of entrepreneurs have engaged in “greenwashing” practices, which look like they are contributing to the improvement of the environment, but do little or nothing to actually help things along. There is also the microplastics aspect, to say nothing of their larger refuse, which has considerable long-term validity, in that the residue of plastics does settle in the stomachs of people and animals, finding its way into the bloodstreams and tissue, of those who ingest it. We can be more discerning, in dealing with the former. The latter, by contrast, will take much more research, as to how to safely capture microscopic plastic residue, store it, reverse engineer it into a usable fuel, and so on.
In the meantime, we have many tasks ahead, in saving both the Earth and ourselves. Alternative sources of energy are in their relative childhood, as electric cars are still prohibitively expensive for a good many people, disposal of spent batteries for such vehicles needs to be addressed-as does the safe disposal of the rare metals that go into such batteries. Every innovation that helps relieve one problem has its drawbacks that need to be addressed, preferably before the innovation becomes a mass-produced item.
That said, there is no place for throwing up our hands and just continuing down the road that we’ve been bumping along, for the next century or more. Every energy-wasting practice needs to be evaluated, and either reformed or discarded, based on the availability of viable alternative practices. Thankfully, there are solutions, some yet not articulated or made practicable, which will go along way towards alleviating the distress of the planet once the bugs are worked out.
Tonight and tomorrow night, I will man a shelter for those fleeing a sizable wildfire, southeast of town. During the day tomorrow, it’ll be time to help man a couple of booths at the community’s Earth Day event. I will cat-nap my way around these and have time to rest afterward.
As a one-time psychedelic band advised in the late ’60s: “Wake up, it’s tomorrow.”
April 18, 2022, Sedona- The focus today was to be on Bell Rock, and it was, just not in the way my hiking buddy and I had thought. It was a harbinger earlier, when I turned right, on a green arrow, only to face the loud blaring by someone who had run a yellow and thought she had the right of way. Small potatoes, at the time, as I don’t pay any mind to people who make feeble attempts at pushing me around.
There is, though, the reality that there are few spaces in the trailhead lots closest to the actual landmark trails. This is a matter of both design and land allotment. The idea is to let fewer people use the trails, to minimize congestion. That’s a noble sentiment, but it doesn’t really work. We ended up going to a large parking area, across Hwy. 179 from Bell Rock, called Yavapai Vista Point. There are several short trails, each with amazing views of the great landmarks. Here are five such scenes.
Bell Rock, at 10:40 A.M.Sandstone Bench, Coconino Trail, SedonaSeven Warriors, from Slim Shady Trail, SedonaCloseup of Seven WarriorsHedgehog Cacti in bloom, Made in the Shade Trail, Sedona
The hordes did not obstruct the day, at least for us. We later had a marvelous lunch at Pago’s, a fine Italian eatery in Oak Creek Village. There was one waitress serving over 50 people, of whom we were among the last ones, for this point in the lunch rush. A second wave was coming in, as we left. Hats off, and a hearty tip, to the lady who was obviously tired, but keeping a brave face!
One last reminder: To brighten the photos, just click on them.
April 4, 2022, Atlanta- I set out in mid-afternoon, to pay respects to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., on the 54th anniversary of his assassination. I was not able to reach the actual memorial site, but that is just part of the overall wholeness of this day.
I started out by returning the vehicle that had taken me so many places, in three states, over the past fifteen days. Driving a nearly state-of-the-art automobile was a fine new experience-even with the shrill noise, when another car was in the lane to which I wanted to turn(very useful) or when the car in front stopped short(even more useful). All that was missing was EV status-but someday….
Metro Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority (MARTA) has a very full system of stations, from Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, in the south to Doraville in the northeast and Sandy Springs in the northwest. There is also an east-west line, branching in each direction, from downtown Atlanta. This system took me from the airport to North Avenue, from which I walked up Peachtree, to this gem of a coffee house.
Land of a Thousand Hills Coffee House, midtown AtlantaMission Statement of Land of A Thousand Hills Coffee House
From there, it was a clean walk, across midtown, to Georgia Institute of Technology. One of my nephews is an alumnus of this vibrant, expanding school. It’s grown a lot since Nick was here, as have a good many colleges and universities. One place that has stayed the same is The Biltmore. Once one of a chain of deluxe hotels, it is now a luxury apartment complex.
The Biltmore, midtown Atlanta
Technology Square is the heart of GIT. It extends for three or four city blocks.
The Heart of Georgia TechThe Language Institute and Administration Building, GIT’s equivalent of Old MainDogwoods in bloom, midtown Atlanta
It wouldn’t be spring in Georgia, without the dogwood flowers.
Wimbish House, aka Atlanta Woman’s Club
My afternoon walk, in the Peachtree area, yielded a few gems. Walter Downing built this masterpiece, Wimbish House,in 1922. Women from across Atlanta meet here, to launch projects aimed at civic improvement, in several areas of community life. Not far down the street is the Federal Reserve Bank of Atlanta.
Federal Reserve Bank of Atlanta“Let Me Share The Sky With You”, by Amanda Phingbodhipakkiya
It struck me that this is exactly the sort of scene that Dr. King would have loved to have seen, had he lived into his seniority. It is fairly easy to pronounce Amanda’s family name, if one takes the time to look at it and absorb the power of her work.
I found the GPS on my phone was not enamoured of giving directions to someone willing to walk 1.5 miles from Peachtree to the King Memorial. It is definitely a vehicle-oriented system, even in this day and age. I headed back to my hotel, in plenty of time to join my brother for an evening at a Basque-style tapas restaurant, Cooks and Soldiers. San Sebastian, in Spain’s Basque region, is widely-known as a gastronomic paradise. The presentation of exquisite pintxos (Basque for “tapas”), was one item at a time, allowing us to savour each dish. We ended with a hot beverage and a shared piece of Orange Pie. As our conversation dealt with spiritual matters, this heavenly meal was apropos.
It has been a truly rewarding, and hopefully productive journey, in terms of small acts of service and kind energy put forth, for the most part. Tomorrow, the train leaves for a brief stop in New Orleans, then back to the Southwest.
March 27, 2022, Naples. FL– Not long ago, I made contact with a man who has the same first and last name as me. This Gary Boivin is Assistant Director of Naples Botanical Garden. The emphasis in this exquisite facility is on the sights and smells of tropical plants from all corners of the globe.
For this post, I am going to let the pictures tell their own stories. Here are a dozen of the best.
Entryway to GardenBrazilian GardenLotus Pond, Brazilian GardenCaribbean GardenGround cover, Caribbean GardenShaving Brush, Caribbean GardenFrame from Mahabharata, Asian GardenMixed beds, Asian Garden“Lost City”, Asian GardenLayered Waterfalls, Asian GardenCaribbean GardenNesting Bald Eagle
Though I did not actually meet my eponym, I have to say this body of work, the efforts of nearly a hundred people, is well worth an extended visit by anyone who finds self in Southwest Florida.
March 26, 2022, Naples, Florida- The sweet-spirited young woman was glad as heck, that someone entered her family’s small cafe, just as she was opening the door to business. I felt like royalty, being welcomed as if I was the first soul in years to stop by. It didn’t hurt that she had a gorgeous smile and a barely concealed measure of confidence. When I ordered coffee and a piece of fry bread, (a staple among the Miccosukee, as well as among First Nations people around the United States and Canada-a testimony to the creative use of worm-shot flour, back in the Nineteenth Century.), J placed the order for the bread and turned to her uncle and me, admitting that she only knew how to use a Keurig. Uncle D was nonplussed, and calmly showed his teenaged niece how to make coffee using a drip system. Her coffee was superb, as was her mother’s fry bread.
These are the extended family of my late Aunt Grace, who left Big Cypress after World War II, and never returned, even after leaving her husband. Gracie was content to raise her five children and work as a waitress at a discount department store’s lunch counter, until she died a few years back, at age 90. She was pleased when I went to work with other First Nations people, though. She was quiet. but firm in her assessment of things- much like young J.
The Miccosukee are a southern branch of the Seminole, who came to central and southern Florida in the 1700s, and are the branch of Seminole who managed to elude Andrew Jackson’s forces, when he was appointed military governor of Florida, in 1821. Today, they live along the Tamiami Trail and in sections of the Everglades and Big Cypress natural preserves. No sane United States official, today, would recommend moving these careful stewards from the Federal lands. South Florida is rightly viewed as a proving ground for our species’ commitment to conserving water and all other living natural resources.
I spent about an hour in Osceola Panther, as Uncle D’s small village and store are called. Here are some of the scenes from the store and along the Tamiami Canal outside.
Traditional Miccosukee Spirit MaskTraditional Miccosukee familyTamiami Canal, at Osceola PantherMiccosukee shade chickee
Another hour was spent, up the road, at Big Cypress National Preserve, which offers extensive programs to educate the public on the intertwining topographic areas of savanna and wetlands, which comprise most of southern and central Florida.
Here are a few scenes of everyone’s favourite swamp creature: The alligator.
Alligator feeding at Big Cypress National PreserveTwo alligators at rest.Juvenile alligator, looking for food
The heat became a bit enervating, after noon, when I found myself dealing with the hyper-energy of Naples, southwest Florida’s southern anchor community. Here, I found that I had returned to suburbia, intense high-speed traffic and people who had scant patience for one another. After a brief preliminary visit to Naples’ excellent Botanical Garden, I rested, took in a Baha’i planning session and rested more.
March 6, 2022- I was quite gratified this morning, to be given a complementary breakfast, in view of the two such meals which I had to speak out in order to receive, after paying in advance. Good will means a lot at the Legion, so when the servers mess up, the host steps up. After I was finished eating, one of our regular table mates who usually helps serve the other diners had just been given his own breakfast. So, I took a turn at service for a bit-and saw where some of the confusion may have arisen over the past few weeks. There is a tendency to write first names and family initials. There are four “Garys”, myself included and two of us have the last initial “B”. There are six “Steves”, five “Bobs” and three “Terris”. I called out the people’s names and got it done. The problem, thus, seems to be shy servers.
After my weekly Zoom devotional, the day looked open-ended, and the Agua Fria River was calling, so I made a return hike along the Badger Springs Trail, this time focusing on the section that passes by two frames of petroglyphs. The glyphs are visible to the naked eye, but don’t photograph well in a casual manner. Could it be that the spirits are protecting them from casual photographers? We’ll have to see, on future visits.
The river itself is not so coy. It does seem to be down a bit, but since it is largely dependent on snow melt, the level may yet rise, over the next month or so.
Agua Fria River, at Badger SpringsAgua Fria River, at Badger Springs
Return visits to local natural scenes are increasingly important, if for no other reason than rootedness. They also figure in acts of completion. A few days ago, I finished hiking the Lime Kiln Trail, which runs between Cottonwood and Sedona. The final segment is but 1 1/2 miles, from one segment of the Red Rock State Park access road, over Scheuerman (SHOY-er man) Mountain Ridge, across a forested valley and on to the entrance to the state park. It was a fitting end to a segmented hike that had been in abeyance for over a year.
Beginning of Scheuerman Ridge segment, Lime Kiln TrailJunction with Scheuerman Mountain TrailView towards Cathedral Rock, from Scheuerman Ridge
So the cementing of returns dovetails with the strengthening that comes from new discoveries.
Finally, because we need it in the face of both real and imagined tyranny: A return to the most stirring song from Les Miserables (2012). Let us neither be deluded or complacent, in the weeks, months and possibly years ahead. Every nation, every people, deserve to be free of rule from without.
January 31, 2022- Carrie is another soul whom I could swear I’ve known for centuries. The young Park Ranger minds the Visitors’ Center at Coronado National Memorial, assisted by a small crew of Border Patrol agents who keep watch on the roads that intersect this National Park property, in southwest Cochise County. We talked, for about thirty minutes, about the effects of the border wall and barbed-wire fence on the movement of wildlife, especially large cats (jaguars and ocelots). She sees the barriers as a trade-off for security that definitely makes her own situation a lot safer-though she longs for the day when such blockades are unnecessary. The ease of our conversation reminded me of others, with whom I could walk in and begin speaking, as if we were resuming an interaction that had been interrupted by some strange event, a while back. Then, too, there was the group of mule deer, which visits her and watches through the large picture window. They are like members of her family.
The Monument, as its known hereabouts, commemorates the explorations of Juan Vazquez de Coronado and his party, who marched from Compostela, on the west coast of Mexico Proper, through the Sonoran Desert and the Sky Island country of what is now southern Arizona, clear past the Rocky Mountains of present-day New Mexico and Colorado, to an area of central Kansas, near Salina, which he called Quivira. The expedition was manned largely by indigenous Mexicans, with a few hundred Spaniards and a hundred or so Africans. Coronado’s legacy, like that of most European conquerors, is a mixed bag. He is no hero to the Puebloans, whose ancestors were slaughtered in the Tiguex War of the mid-Sixteenth Century, but is remembered more neutrally by the Apache and by the Plains nations, such as the Wichita and Arapaho.
Here are some views of Coronado National Memorial. Below is Ranger Carrie’s work space.
Visitors’ Center, Coronado National MemorialLimestone outcropping, along road to Coronado Peak Overlook
I dubbed these the Jaguar Watch.
Mule Mountains, seen from Coronado LookoutBorder Wall, in San Pedro Valley, east of Coronado RangeLandscape of Sonora, south of Coronado National MemorialCane cholla and yucca plants signal the transition zone between Sonoran and Chihuahuan Deserts
The southern terminus of the 800-mile Arizona Trail can be reached by hiking the steep, 3-mile round trip Yaqui Ridge Trail. This is a task for another visit, possibly in early March. As it was, the day was well-spent, and featured everything from a power outage, just before I checked out of Motel 6 in Douglas to a Zoom meeting that I joined from Casa Grande’s Public Library. In between was the rewarding time spent at “the Monument” .
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A Sagittarian Seeker 