So many people are finding that all to which they became accustomed, took for granted and lived by, during the Age of Business-as-Usual, has been upended.
The novel pandemic has “broken every rule”, which those who are used to crises of no more than a month’s duration have formulated. The explosion of pent-up rage has not followed the course of times past-and even the occupied zone of Capitol Hill, Seattle, and the fluid night sweats of New York City and Portland, may not play out, by the rules of the two-week news cycle. Wild fires are hitting the Southwest, may well spread to other parts of the West ahead of “schedule”, and no one can predict the course of cyclones, in any of the world’s ocean cover.
This has been a year, a summer/winter, fall/spring, like no other in memory. The winter/summer, and probably spring/fall that are on the horizon, will bring ever more in the way of challenge. It will neither be a return to business-as-usual, nor will it be the decade of gloom that a certain morose writer in “Medium Magazine” conjures, nearly every other day.
It is an upside down, that calls for each of us to carefully tread our way along the horizon, to the point where we are upright again. We each must carefully thread the needle of safe haven and tie that tether to the tethers of others, that none is left hanging in space.
Some laugh at the term “Aquarius Rising’. All I can say is, wait be astonished and stay safe, in the meantime. Ther eis so much more to come.
One of the things that has gotten me into trouble, since I was small, is my not holding back when it comes time for the truth to be told-at least as I see it. Even when it has meant my losing something or having to take punishment, the truth comes out. Largely, this has been reinforced by the fact that, the few times I have been untruthful, in adolescence, it has also been a trainwreck. Fortunately, no one has been hurt.
Either way, I have taken the consequences and moved on. So, when I hear lies and obfuscation, by Alt-Right groups and some politicians on the Right-hand side; by the abortion lobby, and the architects of the Militarized Police, on the Left, my disgust is pretty much an equal opportunity emotion.
It’s actually quite simple: As I’ve said before, I value life-from conception, through childhood, adolescence and on into old age. I value humanness, across every conceivable ethnicity, sex (and sex construct),age, creed and line of work. Most of all, I value truth. Any person who comes from a place of the heart, has my ear. No one who shows that s(he) has a hidden agenda, will have have my support.
There is truth being told, all along the political spectrum and there is deceit, floating along beside it. I am not afraid to honour the one, or to call out the other.
I referenced traits,yesterday, in considering how people sometimes define who they are, by their external qualities or, unfortunately, how OTHERS see them.
We have also reached the point where many are judged, defined, by something they did, or said, years or even decades ago. There will always be those who look under rocks, to find fault with others. There will always be those who jump out from behind a bush, and scream: “I remember when YOU did this to ME!”
I am not referring to heinous crimes, like rape, molestation, gross physical assault, calumny or theft. Those need to be brought to justice, and there should be no statutes of limitation. I am referring to personal slights that are stored away and used like traps-often by mentally ill people, for whom treatment is a far better option than revenge.
Essentially, what I want to say here is: For those personal slights, those shortcomings that were not heinous, I will apologize, and I claim the right to live the changes I have made in my life. Everyone else who is in similar straits deserves the same right.
These are what define me: Unconditional love; commitment to the health and safety of children, adolescents, women and the elderly; commitment to equality and dignity for all, regardless of physical traits, level of development; sexuality or philosophical stances; the prevalence of humaneness over profit-motive or doctrine.
Each can find redemption. Each can make the change.
Today is Flag Day, when Americans pay respect to our national symbol of unity. It is Race Unity Day, when we, around the world, can honour and commit to following the practical aspects of achieving unity. It is, finally, the birthday of U.S.President Donald Trump. I give him that, and hope he has had a peaceful day of reflection and family time.
Having had a meaningful devotional and discussion, earlier this morning, on the Oneness of Mankind, and having watched a lovely two-hour presentation on Race Unity, I wish to consider how we might determine: What defines a person?
Does colour of skin define? It has certainly brought into being a unique culture, in a good many cases, over time. Is that not, however, largely because of segregation, as well the particulars of the place where people have found themselves? There are, however, people of every skin tone who do not adhere to the popular perception of the characteristics of their “racial ” group. Are they less than those who do fit that perception?
Does one’s sex define? There has been a dichotomy of roles, since the human race’s hunter-gatherer cultures. Men hunted,and women tended the home. There have, throughout history, been women who hunted and men who tended the hearth. Are either of these less than those who fit the mould?
Does one’s job define him/her? What about refinement/coarseness of speech? Is where someone lives a determinant? How about his/her philosophy of life/voting record? Is the chosen Faith, or lack thereof, a factor? Is openness, or secrecy, a defining moment?
The truth is, it is all of these, taken together, and none of them, taken alone or in a piecemeal group. Skin tone, in and of itself, means nothing. Every shade of melanin is beautiful. Cultural background is a baseline for expressing personality, in a good many cases. For others, it is a baseline of struggle for self-acceptance. Sex, and its legal offshoot, gender, are not a defining factor, in terms of what a person is capable of achieving. One’s job determines several things-financial status, time spent working/at leisure, and sometimes,neighbourhood. Philosophy and political stance may affect how one sees the roles of government and social institutions in personal and community life.
There are plenty of White progressives and conservative People of Colour. There are open-minded people, in every point on the political spectrum and there are, similarly, dogmatic people alongside them. There are loving souls in every religion and creed, and there are their doctrinaire fellows in faith. There are both loving and hard-nosed men and women, alike.
What defines me, is my totality-and that is always subject to change. What defines you, is likewise. None of us can control the other. It is the illusion of control that has allowed stereotyping, fear and the sense of “other” to take such deep root and to wreak such havoc.
Every so often, someone will raise the issue of one aspect or another, pertaining to the wall being built, in segments, along the U.S.-Mexico border. There are certainly very legitimate concerns about wildlife corridors and ecosystems, the desecration of Native American ancestral gravesites and sacred places. There is also no guarantee that this wall will succeed in achieving its goal of establishing law and order along the frontier, in perpetuity.
Of equal, or greater, concern to me, however, are the mental walls that have risen up, long before the physical barrier began taking hold. People, within our borders, have taken the stance of refusing to associate with anyone who expresses a viewpoint that is counter to one’s own. It does not take a genius to figure out that the underlying issue is one of personal insecurity. Too many have drawn the conclusion that, if the “other side” gets in power, that all their cherished values will be smashed to smithereens. The group in power draws the same notions about the potential replacement.
At the risk of being misinterpreted, which I will own, if that comes to pass, I can say that there are indeed good people, all along the political spectrum. Those who loudly fulminate against such an observation are, along with the violent and unsettled, on both sides, part of the problem. I have met fine white people in the rural South, who are curious as to why I show kindness to Black folks, and vice versa. That they are willing to hear someone who doesn’t share their fears, is a step in the right direction. The same has happened with people here in the West, who are wary of Native Americans and/or Hispanics.
Living without a need for walls has been a labour of love for me, and there was a time when I had little mental walls constructed in my psyche. Taking them down, one by one, has only made life better. I don’t know of anyone who expanded their heart, because someone came at them, swinging a hammer.
I have had more energy, in the past three months, than in the previous ten years. It is likely a combination of things: Essential oil-based supplements, better sleep, being more present in the moment, paying more attention to celestial connections. COVID19 restrictions have kept me mostly around Home Base, but my activity levels have not dropped, appreciably.
Just a few other thoughts, about what I was taught as a kid, and how it has never mattered more than now.
I was taught to look beyond a person’s outer frame-and focus on his/her character.
I was taught that every person matters, ESPECIALLY if other people treat that person as if (s)he doesn’t.
I was taught to be kind to animals, and how much more to other people.
I was taught to stand up to bullies, try to understand their deeper message, make any changes in my behaviour that are warranted and accept a former adversary as a friend, once the tormenting behaviour has been outgrown.
I was taught to honour other people’s lifestyles and traditions, but not encourage those things that demean other people.
I was taught to respect my elders, but not to abide their foolishness.
I was taught to plan ahead.
Most of all, I was taught to love, unconditionally.
Had I not been taught these things, and held them close, I would not be alive today.
Today was a good day. I got to visit Raven Cafe, and while I wore a mask into the establishment, and while ordering and paying afterwards, I found the al fresco dining experience both comforting and free of any worries about COVID19. The young ladies who work there, like all those I encounter during this Twilight Zone of a year, are worthy of no less than the utmost care that each of us who patronize the place can muster.
I finally have restored all the photos that I eliminated from my 2012 posts, whilst still in the limited storage space of Word Press’s free account. Writing means more to me now, so maintaining a Pro Account, with its unlimited storage, has made such restoration possible-and with better quality versions of the older photographs.
Now, to the title subject. As is my wont, I have engaged in reading and listening to both sides, or all sides actually, of the various debates on both COVID19 and the episodes of violence towards individuals, the vast majority of whom have been African-American. I have engaged, as well, in discourse with people who bring up seemingly minor details of these matters, both by way of expressing their concern with the matters at hand and by way of denying such problems exist. There are also those who don’t want to hear what is being said, and interject-sometimes, but not always, with pejoratives and catcalling.
Into this cacophony, have come Black Conservatives-loudly, almost tearfully, denying there is systemic racism extant in this country. The “you low life cousins of mine are bringing it on yourselves” take on the issues MAY have SOME ring of truth, in SOME situations. What it tells me, more immediately, is that these are people who have either lived more comfortable lives than many others of their skin tone or they are just hard-wired to tough out life, without thinking much of misfortunes.
I have never had to endure the day-to-day ignominies faced by, say, Appalachian whites, or trailer dwellers who work day labour, in many small cities and towns across the continent. That doesn’t mean I look down on them. I am hard-wired to tough out misfortunes, but those who aren’t, are deserving of a leg up, along with encouragement to build up their emotional immunity, so that life is not an endless cycle of tears and self-loathing,
On the edges of the cacophony, and often in the middle of it, stands our nation’s 45th President. I have to say this- I do not think he is a well man. I don’t think he’s an evil man, but he is not acting like a well person. It would be far better for all concerned, if he were to step aside, preferably at the end of his current term, as our nation’s 36th President did. Lyndon Johnson was also not well, and did what he could to save himself and the country.
If the voters of this nation want to stay the course of conservatism, there are plenty of others, men and women, who could take the reins. If, as current polls indicate, the electorate is shifting leftward, there are plenty of competent men and women who could serve, from that political stance, as well. (I am far from sold on the current presumptive alternative to Mr. Trump).
The cacophony, however, is unlikely to let up until a critical mass of one end of the spectrum either sees, or experiences, the legitimate concerns of the other. There is far too much urination, to put it indelicately, that is being sold the public as “rain”. Only independent investigation of truth can bring this to an end.
I got back to Home Base at 10:30, this morning, after a restful night in Flagstaff (keeping obedient to our lingering statewide curfew) and a pleasant breakfast of smoked trout and gouda omelet, at a lovely little place called Downtown Diner. Never let it be said that our rising generations are without a work ethic. Every one of the teens and twenty-somethings who served us, this weekend, was working nonstop.
Now, to the title of today’s post. I read, this evening, of the murder of a Santa Cruz County sheriff’s deputy, in the line of duty. It had nothing to do with a protest, of any kind-and was apparently done by a mentally ill man, who had easy access to firearms. For sharing this news, I found myself painted as spreading “an Alt-Right trope”, as the phrase, “All Lives Matter” was part of the article (as was “Black Lives Matter”, in a sympathetic way).
There is a cost to denying others their humanity. For centuries, it has been the purview of an elite which has prided itself on the maintenance of power, wealth and “tradition”, to the detriment of those regarded as the “lower classes”. The deaths of peasants, and later, of slaves, were viewed by the high and mighty as mere trifles.
Those lower classes learned this lesson, all too well. The miasma of bloodletting, during the French and Russian Revolutions, was the natural consequence of those centuries of rule by feudal mindset. The rulers would point to St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans, and the peasantry were cowed, for a time. When things became too much to bear, the cherry-picked passages from the Bible no longer held currency. Unleashed, the long-suffering masses lashed out, in every direction.
The same is true today. Decades, if not centuries, of being told to find one’s place, and stay in it, have worn those who have heard such drivel, to a frazzle. There has been progress, and there will be more, in the area of building a just society. The trick, however, is to not, as Pete Townshend warned us, in his song, “Won’t Get Fooled Again”, let “the parting on the left” become “parting on the right”.
There is elitism among conservatives, and there is elitism among progressives. There are people living in deprivation, on both sides, as well. If there is to be genuine progress, the recognition of the enemy being our mindsets, our egos, has to be kept front and center. Otherwise, those at whom one looks down one’s nose will bring about changes that will serve to keep the cycle of disparity going.
Of all things that get done in life, none exceed in value the homage paid to those who have gone before. As giving, to those in need, results in getting more of what oneself could use, so does paying respects, to those who have transitioned, bring more honour to the one paying the respects.
I was able to stay in a fine little cabin, a duplex, which I shared with a family of three, who kept to themselves. Jacob Lake Lodge has been built into a resort, of modest size, staying free from any ostentatiousness. It has a small, but quality, restaurant, where pandemic-based spacing is in effect, and of course, masks helped give a sense of health security, for both patrons and staff-when we weren’t eating or drinking, of course.
Cabin 10, where I stayed at Jacob Lake Inn.
After hiking a “warm-up” trail, in search of the actual Jacob Lake, I found only an RV Park, and so returned to the resort, in time for check-out. Then, it was off to the Canyon!
There is a plan being considered, that will result in a sizable amount of trees being cut, in Kaibab National Forest, along the road to North Rim. There is a huge amount of slash and burned-out trunks, left from previous fires and intense storms. To me, it would make the most sense to clear that mess, and probably would put a fair number of people to meaningful work, this month and next. As the trees under consideration are “old growth” forest, it is especially heart-rending to consider the unnecessary damage to the ecosystems.
After arriving at North Kaibab Trailhead, where the Elantra would rest, while I hiked, it took a short bit of checking the route, to make sure I din’t end up going down the North Kaibab Trail, itself. Ken Patrick Trail, a bit to the north of the steep big kahuna, would take me to Uncle Jim Trail. With the help of a thru-hiker doing the Arizona Trail, I was on my way, in short order. You can see from the sign, below, that Ken Patrick was dedicated to service with the National Parks.
About 500 feet along the trail, a large ponderosa pine had fallen across the path, so I went up and around the mess. Three other trees would lie across the trail, at different points.
The first set of overlooks lies about 1/4 mile along the Ken Patrick Trail. This view mirrored what I saw last October, from the Bright Angel Point trail.
The limestone columns remind me of horse heads.Here is a cross section of the Inner Basin.
Nature leaves her little jokes, even at the expense of damaged trees.
A guidepost, perhaps?
Sooner than I expected, it was time to take a hard right.
The trail junction.
The first segment of Uncle Jim Trail is four tenths of a mile. It is also the area with the most up and down inclines, and the only place where there are switchbacks, albeit mild ones. Two downed trees greeted us hikers, along this stretch, as well.
At 7/10 of a mile, along the western leg of Uncle Jim Trail’s 2.1-mile loop, I came to a series of fabulous canyon views.
This drop-off looks milder than it is.Who’s watching whom?
Finding a heart-shaped rock, I placed it carefully against a small set of wood shavings.
A little altar
This natural eroded bowl could serve as an amphitheater.
Looking at this “amphitheater”, I also saw a back country hiker looking over its edge.
I came upon an unofficial overlook, east of the main viewpoint, and appreciated the two “guardians”, looking back towards the rim.
Sandstone heads have this mesa to themselves.
Looking out from this vantage, at Uncle Jim Point, I have a tripod to help me focus.
Here’s a view towards the Inner Basin.
Heading out from this vantage point, I spotted a burnt ponderosa, which could serve as a memory pole, of sorts.
A woodpecker’s home and a place to mark memories.
I spent a few minutes sitting on the landing of a restroom building, writing in my journal. As I did, a fierce gust of wind came up and blew my sunglasses off the landing. I looke for the shades, for about ten minutes, but to no avail. If that is my offering to the forces of nature, so be it. I have a feeling that the wind took them all the way to the rim, and over.
Hearing happy voices, I followed the tral to the main viewpoint. There were four women, a couple and me, taking one another’s photographs. Thus, a pyramid could be envisioned: Four at the base, two in the middle and one on top.
Here I am, courtesy of the “better half” of the couple.
With Uncle Jim Point in the background, I fulfilled a promise to myself and to his family.
Uncle Jim Point juts out into the Inner Canyon.
With that, the two parties and I leapfrogged one another, on the way back, as each took rest breaks. We all missed the junction sign, going back on the Ken Patrick Trail by osmosis. I last saw the four women taking an extended photo shoot at the first overlook. The couple, it turns out, are from Santa Monica, and were enjoying their first venture out of town, since January.
So, my heart’s desire was fulfilled and I headed out of the Canyon, with a brief stop at North Country Market, for a well-earned salted caramel latte and a long, but smooth, drive to Flagstaff.
