Vagaries

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February 6, 2022- As a switch, this evening, I put on a dark comedy about a woman who is recruited to be a Deputy U.S. Marshal, based on the true story of Francis Miller, an Oklahoma rancher, who DID become a peace officer. The antagonist in this film happened to be an Afrcian-American, who had himself owned slaves in Texas. Just how many such men there were in the South is debatable, but they did exist. This individual was presented as somewhat of a psychopath, who nonetheless served as a dispassionate observer of the hypocrisy exhibited by those who swore to uphold the law.

Antisocial people can frequently excel at pointing out the flaws of others, usually because it serves as a distraction-and helps them get the drop on those who are trying to bring them to justice. As happened, to a degree, in this film, so does it seem is unfolding on a wider scale, in the modern world. Autocrats love to turn the tables and claim what is wrong is actually right; what is dark is actually light; what is hateful is, in truth, loving kindness.

As it was for one Richard Andrews, in the film “Lady Lawman”, so it is for any number of would-be tyrants, who charm those living in uncertainty and self-loathing, building a loyal corps of defenders and toadies. How their particular stories play out, depends on the attention level of those seeking to bring justice to society, as well as to the integrity of those people. We’ve seen, in the past, how much fortitude and fastidiousness was required, in order for justice to prevail. Let us now again steel ourselves and not be either distracted or dissuaded by the difficulty presented by latter day miscreants, either at the local, national or international levels.

A Queen and Her Precipice

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February 5, 2022– It’s been a busy day, with a service project and two meetings to keep me honest, until mid-afternoon. This is all part of what Elizabeth Peru talks about, when discussing keeping the soul relevant and staying connected to the Oneness. Besides, I do things that I enjoy.

It is also bittersweet, as the morning paper brought an essay on Cheslie Kryst. The suicide of any young, highly intelligent, sassy, multi-talented and comely human being is a disaster, at both a deeply personal and a profoundly social level. I looked at the images of Cheslie and could only think, “God, I wish I had known her, could have intuited something was wrong and reached out. ” If I have been guilty of overkill in any area, it has been of a near obsession with the well-being of the younger generations.

Yet, I leave my son to forge his own destiny, while dropping everything when he calls. The thing is, he knows he CAN CALL, day or night, and I will drop everything else. I devote snippets of time, here and there, to those in my circle of friends, of all ages, whose issues are chronic, even seemingly intractable, with the understanding that I will get over to see them or at least talk with them, when I can. The bottom line is that each one continues to matter, and none need consign themselves to the scrap heap.

Cheslie Kryst had family who loved her dearly; friends and mentors who guided her, the best they knew how to guide. She had a loving group of well-wishers, who cheered her on, throughout her wonderful moments of triumph. There was also a chorus of dementors, who hounded her to end her life, and in that final, terrible end moment of dejection, that last group forced her hand.

Simply put, no one deserves the fate wished on them, by those whose own lives are miserable and who lack the courage to set those wrecked houses in order. No one deserves to feel so alone, even in the dark of night or early morning. If you read this, know that, in a moment of despair, you may reach out and I will find a way to send out a message of hope-that you may back away from that ledge of doom.

Is Life Formulaic?

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February 4, 2022- In the 2019 film, : “The Rising Hawk”, a small party of Ukrainians fends off both a much larger Mongolian force and their turncoat Ukrainian allies. This is reportedly based on an old Ukrainian legend, of a heroic fighter who lived into his nineties and his wife and helpmate, who in this telling is the daughter of the turncoats’ leader. It is a somewhat farfetched, and rather formulaic, action film, with people switching sides when convenient for the plot and brute strength displayed at exactly the right moments. It’s also a sign of the cinematic times that the film uses plot twists from at least three other films.

There are a few political movements, current in a few countries-including this one, that seem to be dependent on plot formulas turning in a certain direction, at just the right moment. It is no accident that the leaders of these movements have established their standing with a fair audience by borrowing shopworn tactics of demagogues past. There is a lot of wishful thinking on the part of those who believe that the world ought to unfold in a prescribed and orderly manner, as prescribed and ordered by a certain elite. Life, however, is not formulaic. There is an urban myth that Benito Mussolini made the trains in Italy run on time. Another credits Adolf Hitler with the humming of the German economy, by the late 1930s. Neither tale is true. Economies on a national scale have numerous moving parts, not credible to any one person-or clique. Effective strikes and slowdowns by labour movements can bring even the most hardheaded tactician down to size.

The film itself, ironically, demonstrates the humanity of the tough Mongolian leader, seen crying at the death of his son. There is also enough brutality on both sides-or on all three, if you will, to once again show the futility of war-even as there is a nod to valour. Finally, there is a split-second switch of fealty, near the end.

Is life formulaic? No, as it happens. Free will most often seems to get in the way of the best plot lines.

Every Town Matters

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January 30, 2022, Douglas, AZ- The little boy, in the room next to mine, tried to open the door separating us. Of course, after a minute or so, his parents took him away from the door and there was no further attempt at a surprise visit. I would not have minded, if he had poked his head through the door, as long as Mom and Dad were close by.

I have also had a couple of “surprise visits” on the phone, from adult friends who thought they knew best how I might be spending my time. There is the usual “You’re out of town, so you must be on vacation” mindset and the “You’re in this area, so therefore you must go to….” prescription. Prescott is not a place I regard as a 24/7 work environment and while I appreciate suggestions or networking connections, when I am on the road, my schedule is basically set, most often with a good deal of forethought and inspiration.

I came to Douglas, and spent two days here, because I felt the urge to devote spiritual energy to this area and to the border. I had also wanted to connect with a Baha’i friend in Bisbee, not far away, but the person was not available. That much more time was thus spent on the former.

Douglas was founded as a railroad town, mainly as a place to load and haul copper and gold to points east and west. The rail depot is now the Police Station.

I walked from there to the border station, being careful to not enter any area that was within the actual processing district, to dissuade the few grifters and beggars who tried to make their case for “sharing” and to show kindness to those who were obviously leery of being accosted by anyone, so soon after having crossed the frontier.

Just before I got to the bench near the crossing, I spotted a white dove, resting on the branch of a tree, in Douglas’ west side park.

Douglas matters, for more than just its border crossing. A vibrant Mexican culture transcends the border here, as it does in many places, from Brownsville to San Ysidro. There is also a core group of regenerators, people who are either willing to invest in the infrastructure or are, as a small family of siblings and cousins at an innovative bakery and restaurant called Mana’, putting in serious hours to draw people TO Douglas, not to have them just pass THROUGH the town. Mana’ has an electronic menu, accessible only by phone or computer and it is one of the more extensive I’ve seen, for an establishment of its size, with over a dozen unusual omelet and Mexican scramble items. If the town can draw a music and arts scene, the way nearby Bisbee has, Douglas can again make its mark. In fact, I had three meals at Mexican restaurants here-and all were great. That can also be a draw- a culinary mecca!

Two Kinds of Walls

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January 29, 2022, Douglas, AZ- The wall stands high and firm, topped by barbed wire, and keeping Douglas separate from Agua Prieta-at least in theory. In reality, all that is happening is that the flow of people back and forth is slowed down and somewhat regulated. There are rules for entering the United States and rules for entering Mexico. Some come from one country, looking for work in the other-and occasionally the converse is true. Some seek work in both countries.

I will return to visit Mexico in earnest, at some point in the intermediate future. This weekend, though, my business is north of La Frontera. My sole journey to El Vecino del Sur today was gastronomic-a dinner of Enchilada Sonorense, a flat enchilada of maza harina (corn meal), mixed with beaten egg, then fried and topped with shredded cheese (queso blanco) and chopped onions, in a mild salsa.

I was the sole customer at El Alamo Restaurant, but it should not reflect on the quality of the food. The server, who seemed to be the owner’s son, spent most of his time in the kitchen, in between taking my order and bringing out the food. No matter; for a vegetarian Sonoran-style meal, this was very filling and tasty. I have yet to have a bad Mexican meal-at a Mama & Papi establishment, and this makes one more.

The day began with a few messages back and forth between our old friend, who I visited yesterday, and me. An hour or so was then spent on Zoom, with a group of friends from various countries, who meet each Saturday morning, in a Celebration of Unity. We mostly prayed for those suffering from Cyclone Ana, which hit the western Indian Ocean Basin and southeastern Africa, over the past several days-and for those in the northeast US, who are dealing with the “Bomb Cyclone” and an extra heavy snowfall.

I left Tucson, around 11 a.m. and drove to Bisbee. Finding a friend there to be absent, a brief stop at High Desert Market Cafe showed that it has grown in popularity, since my last Bisbee visit. The food remains delectable, and the menu has grown. All the seating is outside, but the sun was gracious today and I felt much at home. My main objective here being not fulfillable, this time around, I headed on towards Douglas.

This brings me to the second kind of wall: Lack of communication. I had made room reservations at a place that called itself Extended Stay America, Douglas. After last summer’s experience with the grifters at Quaker Inn, Uxbridge, MA, I did not pay in advance. This was fortunate, as I found ESA Douglas also closed and largely under renovation. No one was onsite , with whom I could discuss the matter-so I left, and found Motel 6 had left the light on. Cancelling the first reservation, with Expedia, was easy-as was filing my complaint.

I end the day, quite content, and ready for a day of serendipity, as Coronado National Monument, my second border area stop, will occupy my Monday morning-before it’s time to head back to Prescott. Sunday will unfold as it unfolds.

No Desolation

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January 27, 2022- The two boys were arguing over something that frequently seems to aggravate ten-year-old boys: A Pokemon card. My response was to make sure the card was returned to its proper owner-with a warning to him that such material is not exactly welcome at school. The reason is that the cards are too distracting-just as are any number of popular toys and fantasy items. The day, otherwise, went quite smoothly. Things seem to be settling down a bit, today, after a rather challenging month.

Much of the past few weeks has found people speaking of depression, many getting the latest subvariant of the latest variant of the ubiquitous coronavirus and a temporary downturn in the investment properties of several retirees. This all could easily spark a real time recounting of Bob Dylan’s “Desolation Row”.

I appreciate the great bard’s work, both fearsome warnings and rousing celebrations. I do not, however, take to heart the downturns and forecasts of doom that seem to permeate the landscape in this fledgling year. For one thing, there is a feminine, healing energy that is earnestly trying to break through to the surface. For another, the main source of the acrimony that is behind much of the ennui is a two-pronged culture of denial. The right prong denies events that are very much playing out, in real time. The left prong denies that there is any validity to some of the still relevant elements of cultural biology.

Yet, here we are: Mothers, by and large, still love their babies; fathers want to both love their mates and children-and work hard for the well-being of the family; people are, more often than not, willing to see those who present differently as humans, deserving of a shot at life; both society and history are moving in the direction of inclusivity, validating the best aspects of human beings and away from the dominance of elites. Of course, there will be setbacks; there always are-and the resilience that follows is always astonishing in its depth and breadth.

There are pockets of despair, yes, and some are running more recalcitrant than others. Altogether, though, desolation is not in the cards, long term.

Coming From Behind

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January 25, 2022- The tortoise, enjoying the scents of the flowers and the brightness of the Spring scenery, kept his steady pace. The hare, intent on reaching the destination, was overcome with the limits of his own body and, bored with the route he had covered countless times, decided he’d take a brief rest. Thus, did the lumbering reptile note his snoring rival, as he passed by, a short while later. So, the steady, appreciative creature was awarded the garland of flowers, to the abiding chagrin of the pompous lagomorph.

Aesop told the tale a bit differently, but the end is much the same-as is the moral. So often, people take current circumstances, or long-standing trends, and base their plans for the future on those. I noted how that did not work out, in this past weekend’s plethora of football games. I am also noting how self-assured politicians and political commentators are running into the buzz saw of uncertainty, as the people at large work the malleable clay of the country’s, and mankind’s, future. Few really saw the three-week-long financial correction coming, and neither do that many see the resilience that will happen, once the driftwood of ill-performing stocks is carted away.

We tend to see the present, no matter how well, or how poorly, things are going, as the wave of the future. Of course, some patterns endure for quite a while. Others, though, get swept away, almost instantaneously. Few people saw the election of 2016 turning out as it did. Equally few saw the subsequent presidential contest ending as it did. My guess is that this year’s contests, and those two years hence, will result in much the same.

There are many areas of life where fear rules-from the erratic weather patterns to the future of the world economy, but fear never takes human ingenuity, or the Hand of the Divine, into consideration. Our ability to handle, and transcend, the caprice of nature-and our own species’ flights of whimsy is almost unlimited.

Mankind is destined for a far brighter future than it often appears. We will, collectively, overcome our challenges, even coming from behind.

Right Up To The End

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January 23, 2022- Each of the semifinal games in the National Football League were decided at the tail end of the contest. Three of them had photo finish field goal-based victories. The last, a see-saw of a touchdown festival, went into overtime and one last touchdown decided the match.

It is taught to us Baha’is that staying true to one’s soul is vital-right up through the last breath a person takes. A person could very well live a life distinguished by meritorious deeds, only to collapse into moral turpitude in the last days of earthly life. Another, who has lived a degenerate existence, could conversely rise above past actions and finish mortal life in a flurry of penitential acts.

Having been told by some in our generation that this is the “fourth quarter” of life, I choose to examine my actions, day to day-and even hour to hour, with a view towards simply doing my level best, for self and others. This is not an end-game on my part, but is an acknowledgement that there remains much to be done-whether I have thirty years, or thirty days, left in this mortal frame. It actually behooves each person to proceed thusly, which would undoubtedly up the individual’s productivity and quality of life.

I also find that this makes getting up each morning, at a regular hour, much more satisfying-whether I have plans for the day, or not.

Sorry, Not Sorry

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January 22, 2022- In the latest episode of the TV series, “Blue Bloods”, the great Stacy Keach’s character, Archbishop Kevin Kearns, is conflicted between his duty as a citizen and his role in enforcing the confidentiality of canon law. Civil authorities opt to breach the latter, so that a killer may be brought to justice. This sets up a short-lived spate of anger and complaint from the archbishop, who ends up feeling mollified when the Commissioner of Police, who is also his friend, basically offers an apology-with the caveat that he’d do the same thing again, if criminal law requires it.

Mature adults can handle “Sorry, not sorry”, if it is clear that the offending person’s dignity is more important than a temporary “sock in a knot”. A key example is that of a woman made to feel like she should apologize for being assertive. I was raised by a woman who never backed down, when she felt the need to speak up, so the idea of a “demure damsel” never came to mind. Society, however, provided plenty of examples of such people, as I grew up and moved about on my own. My reaction has been to make every effort to build up the woman’s or girl’s sense of self- even at the risk of looking like an archaic knight errant, and, yes, even when my own sock ended up in knot.

I know that gender equity has made great strides, over the past five decades, but there remain those men who seek to dominate, and not be questioned. There are still those women who deem it their duty to submit to the patriarch. In my humble opinion, either we are partners across the gap, or we are going to gaze across that chasm, in bewilderment.

No girl should grow up thinking that it’s her duty to apologize for speaking out, when her God-given mind and heart tell her that it’s her right. That goes double for grown women, not to mention men.

Let us all speak our truth, as lovingly as possible-but not retreating into demurral.

Filling The Cup

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January 21, 2022- Everyone who seeks prolonged sustenance from the hands of other people is likely viewing life through a most simplistic lens.

Anyone older than ten has encountered at least one person whose demeanour is one of want and request. Most such people offer tokens to to others, in repayment, yet that reciprocation is quickly followed by even more requests-often higher in quantity and frequency.

Nothing arises from a vacuum. People who are constantly begging for money have either been individually deprived, and not really taught the skills needed for sustainability and self-reliance-or have grown up in a country that has been systematically robbed of its wealth, by other countries or by an elite within its boundaries, which has not seen fit to share.

I have been approached, a fair number of times, over the years, by those who have been debilitated by both sets of circumstances. My response has evolved into the slower, but ultimately more fruitful path of steering the seeker after alms to sources that can help build their self-reliance.

This was the path on which I myself was set, after a mercifully brief spate of flailing about and blaming others for my, and my family’s plight-in the mid-2000s. Now, even in the current period of setback and loss, it is clear to me what path must be followed-and what skills are needed to see the period through and to recover.

There is no call for anyone to accept a permanent state of the empty cup.