October 1, 2016, Flagstaff-
A Jill of all trades has been
working tirelessly,
for nearly a decade,
to keep her children on track.
A long-lost friend
surfaced today, to give
a scholarly presentation.
He and I will be
at another location,
tomorrow.
Feast or famine,
with certain friends.
What seemed like
a rivalry between
two institutions
for which I care deeply,
is more a matter
of systemic transition.
These are things I learned, today.
September 19, 2016, Prescott-
The child had had enough.
He stood and told off a surreptitious bully,
who of course denied having said,
what I heard him say,
under his breath,
from across the room.
The intended target of abuse
does not have to suffer,
for the colour of his hair.
I think red, to be a fine hue
for a coiffure.
All colours of hair are good.
A certain public figure
voiced the opinion
that some, who hold views
contrary to hers,
are deplorable.
Have we not had enough
of tossing human beings
into one scrap heap,
or another.
Outmoded or disreputable viewpoints
can be deplorable.
People are not;
regardless of their opinions,
or their physical attributes,
or their life experiences.
People are worthy of being treated
with dignity,
even when they don’t carry themselves so.
Children are always worthy of dignity,
because they are still works in progress.
September 11, 2016, Yarnell- I read, in this morning’s paper, about a Port Authority policeman, his experiences on September 11, 2001 and his wrenching aftermath- a life no one should have to live. He spoke of being knocked to the ground, after the second plane hit, the tower fell, and “souls passed through me.”
I believe the last part, having experienced my wife’s soul filling our bedroom, as she prepared to leave for the next life, 5 1/2 years ago. I know much of the rest: The buildings were physically hit by two airplanes; implosion devices, already in place since the towers were repaired after 1993, were triggered and brought the towers straight down; dozens of people jumped to their deaths, to avoid being immolated; there are over a thousand for whom there has never been any identification or accounting, as to their fates.
Fifteen years does not erase the horror anyone felt that day. Most, like me, watched incredulously, on television, as the engineers’ devices went off, automatically, saving tens of thousands more people from dying- as would have happened, had the buildings EXPLODED outward. Just as those who were alive during the attack on Pearl Harbor still have nightmares, on occasion; just as walking through Gettysburg, Auschwitz, Valley Forge in winter, can still give the average soul and eerie feeling, so I was off to a shaky start, just from reading a post by a friend who was in the first (1993) World Trade Center bombing.
My resolution was to go to this serene town, 25 miles southwest of Prescott, and itself the scene of one of our state’s worst nightmares, on June 30, 2013, when 19 wildland firefighters died in the Yarnell Hill Fire. I went to St. Joseph’s Mission and Retreat, and walked up the Stations of the Cross trail, revisiting another of history’s greatest horrors- the Martyrdom of Jesus the Christ. This place brings peace, because the love I feel for Christ, and for His Father, is primally soothing. As always, the walk brought me to a centered place, as I recited some Baha’i prayers, words which Jesus Himself would have given His followers, had they been ready to receive.
Terrible things will ever plague humanity, in a harsh world. Nonetheless, the Sacred Teachers are with us, and having felt Their presence, along this replica of Via Dolorosa, I am able to return to Prescott, and later, to Chino Valley- observing the birthday of a good friend.
September 8, 2016, Prescott- I have been contributing heavily to the classroom’s instructional day- basically running the Social Studies lesson, in a pinch. Next week, I will be in training for two days, so hopefully the others will not run out of their own ideas.
Random thoughts- Has anyone read Jerzy Kosinski’s “Being There”? It is a tale of a novice running for President, and being elected. Sound familiar? My preferred candidate asked a news analyst, “What’s Aleppo?” I am disappointed. I knew what Aleppo was, and where it was, when I was 11. This candidate needs a crash course in geography. We must not be content to “all go into the garden.”
The people who thought that another candidate would be the poster child for the resurgence of ignorance, are finding out that he senses an actual chance of winning the Presidency, and is thus refining his efforts. Whether this will work for him is anyone’s guess. Many feel that a leopard does not change its spots.
I am opposed to people acting out of ignorance. When I have so lapsed, the reaction has been swift and brutal. Take the time to enlighten yourself, before, as Abraham Lincoln once said, “opening your mouth, and removing all doubt” ,(about being thought a fool).
August 30-31, 2016, Prescott- Tomorrow, my Facebook page will have “Blue Lives Matter”, in the profile pic. This does NOT mean that I have suddenly discarded my conviction that Black Lives Matter, Vivas Latinas Importan, or that the world needs Native Americans.
My life has always mattered- to me, to my family, to my core group of friends from adolescence and to countless others met along the way, ever since. I can’t remember ever really feeling unloved, even in fleeting moments of self-pity. Worshiping Boous Hoous wouldn’t have gotten me very far, anyway. I also can’t remember a time when I was truly destitute, in terms of quality human friendships.
Too many, however, can’t say the same. Too many parents and spouses place conditions on their love. Too many children are taught that it is harshness and hardness which bring about success in life. Too many in positions of authority, from teachers to police officers, are taught that stridency is the way to bring about obedience, whilst humility is for wimps. Too many, in positions of trust, are deluded by programs and scripts that don’t serve anyone other than the executives of the corporations which dream up these programs and scripts. Too many vacillate between “Less (staff) is more” and “More (clientele per worker) is optimal.” Thus Child Protection Agencies, schools and counseling services are operating with insanely unwieldy worker/client ratios. Too many civil servants and elected officials are encouraged to place themselves above the needs of the people whom they represent.
The truth is, each of us matters- as much as the next. It has always been so, in the eyes of the Creator. Black lives matter, too. Vivas Latinas se importan, tambien. White lives have never been seen as not mattering. Native American lives deserve to be valued, a lot more than they seem to be, even today. Asians, Pacific Islanders, Australian Aboriginals, “Mixed Races” of all kinds matter, also.
One does NOT matter, to the exclusion of others. The misguided young man who told a Black girl in Buckeye, Arizona, two days ago, that her life and those of her fellows in BLM do not matter, is living in a deluded construct of the past, which can never be successfully revived.
The truth, inconvenient only to those whose own self-loathing is couched in racism, is that the world is showing us its true nature: There is but one human race, and we all need to get along. There is no going back, anymore than there is a successful outcome to driving in reverse on a freeway.
I support Blue Lives Matter, because too many decent, hard-working peace officers die on the job. I support Black Lives Matter because too many decent people of colour are dying young, often at the hands of those who look like them.
My life matters, so does yours.
August 28, 2016, Prescott- I attended a couple of spiritual gatherings, this weekend. Last night, several faith leaders and community activists gathered at Scottsdale Baha’i Center. The purpose was a delayed Race Unity Day. The weather has cooled, just a tad, from June’s more extreme temperatures, thus making a late August version of “Juneteenth” more palatable to many.
The array of speakers was far more concerned with solving the ongoing problem of race relations, than in any semblance of showmanship or exclusive claim to truth. The gathering of about 100 people were able to engage in well-balanced discourse, without resorting to recrimination.
This evening, I joined a much smaller group, at an observance of Janmashtami,(Krishna’s Birthday), one of the key Hindu religious observances. It had been 32 years since I last attended any kind of Hindu gathering. Prescott’s small community is made up of white Americans- an anomaly, with the South Asian community here seeming to be mainly Christian and Muslim. They are no less fervent, though, than the multitudes of India and Nepal.
The swami, who hails from Sedona, is, like me, a child of the 1960’s. His inspiration to become Hindu came from the Beatles and others who flocked to the feet of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. I must say, he has done a fair amount of homework on the body of Hindu Scripture. Anyone who can cite the data of the created Universe that is listed in such detail ,as it is in the Bhagavad Gita, is worthy of profound respect.
There is, though, a common thread woven through all the religious traditions, from time immemorial. Each does build on those before it, as Man becomes more conscious of, and in tune with, his unique station on this Earthly plane. Truth, to me, did not stop with Hinduism, Christianity or Islam. It has not stopped with the Baha’i Faith. There will be other Spiritual Teachers, Avatars, Buddhas or whichever name one sees fit to apply to a Divine Messenger, and They will come when mankind needs them.
Truth, though, remains One- and none can claim a corner on its entirety. I was gratified to see that the swami and his community has sensed this, and dispelled some misgivings I was about to have, about their faith and its possible trend towards fundamentalism. I will be able to maintain the same dialogue with the Hindu community that I am still working to establish with devout Christians.
It was a fine, useful weekend.
August 26, 2016, Prescott-
I saw the face of our Prescott hero.
She was looking out on us,
from the lead photo of a USA Today piece,
on a series of interviews with those who saw her there,
in that place of desolation, where she was the only source of love.
She loves her people, still.
I wear a message T-shirt,
honouring the fallen men of that day,
three years and two months ago.
They look out upon us,
from a crew photo taken after the Doce Fire,
two weeks before the Death Storm.
They love their families, still.
I look at the woman who loved me,
more than anyone.
She gazes out, with confidence,
from a photo of her teen life.
She gave us the best years of her life.
She loves me still.
I look upon my little ones,
imperfect, works in progress,
sometimes exhausting, at times frightful.
There are those times, though,
when they finish work, when they listen,
when they just know
that I love them still.
(To obviate the drumbeat of “Where’s The Book of Poetry?”, know that I will start compiling what I’ve written here and organizing it into a volume, during the next seven days. That volume of verse will hopefully be ready for self-publication by January, 2017.)
August 20, 2016, Prescott- The rain continued apace, today, though the lion’s share of it came towards evening. Two events coincided with the storm: A friend’s “End of Summer” gathering, which I attended for about an hour, and Becky Fest, organized by a local musician, Becky Dalke, for the purpose of empowering women in music. The first such gathering was on the tenth anniversary of the attacks on New York, September 11, 2011. That year, and for a few years subsequent, Becky Fest was held at a local bar, Coyote Joe’s.
This year found the gathering at Beastro, a crafts studio that supports animal welfare. Beastro’s owners are local poets, as well, so I have some familiarity with them. Their back yard served as the stage and audience pit. It was jam-packed when I got there, at 5, and the group due to perform, Kaileena and the Originals, was just setting up. Kaileena is a Prescott native, who has been performing as an indie musician, since 2006, being closely associated with the Austin music scene. The group did some kick-ass Blues, including a lengthy rendition of “Cry Me A River”.
Then, came the “headliners”, Stella and the Phins. Stella, attired in a frilly red dress, took the stage like a boss. I felt like I was seeing and hearing what Grace Slick would have done, had she stayed closer to her hard rock roots. Stella Lora Heiniemi has incredible range, from growling like Mama Bear to sizzling high notes. The ever-present harmonica, in the hands and mouth of Haz7maX, was always her back-up “vocal”, from where I sat. Guy and Caleb, the guitarists, had there own magic, with Caleb offering a sweet original song, devoted to his new wife. I was happy to be sitting directly behind a young couple, for this one, and noting their tenderness towards one another, as Caleb sang his story. Donna, the group’s percussionist, stayed in the background, but is second to none, on the drums.
Just before Stella and the gang got started, a group of us set up a canopy. This is how we do things in Prescott- one of the features of life that endears me to this town, as that’s how it always was back in Saugus: People cared for one another and worked as a team, on matters large and small.
The Fest was still going on, as I left to tend to a matter related to the “End of Summer” party. As it happened, two birthdays were celebrated: Judy’s (the E.O.S. hostess), belatedly and Becky’s (which is this weekend).
August 17, 2016, Prescott- The rain today, has been almost incessant, both at my workplace and around my neighbourhood. Some dry spots exist,though, among the microclimates of Prescott: The southwest forest, the grasslands around Glassford Hill and, at the far east end of our county, in Cordes Lakes. I pulled bus duty, after school, and had a fine time juggling a handheld stop sign, a large umbrella and my waterproof bag, containing the clipboard on which I was to record bus arrival times. All went smoothly, with parents, children and bus drivers following my instructions.
This evening, after our Wednesday evening devotional, I finished reading “The Shack”, a spiritually-themed novel by William P. Young, who tells the story of a man with a troubled past, whose youngest child is missing and presumed dead. The man returns to the place where a serial killer is believed to have brought his little girl, and has an intense encounter with God, as a Christian might imagine Him.
There is a moment, towards the end of the man’s Divine experience, when God reveals a song, which He says was written by the child. The song’s refrain is as follows:
“Come kiss me wind and take my breath
Till you and I are one
And we will dance among the tombs
Until all death is gone.”
This morning, I experienced a dream in which I was in a retail work situation. I was improperly dressed for the job, and somehow had driven my car into the store. When I got into the car, to go back home and change, the Customer Service lady, standing with a clipboard, gasped “You can’t get away with THAT!”
I woke, and my mind went back to every time in my life that I had made a serious error in judgment. Slowly getting dressed for the day, I took care to remind myself that things were slowly and carefully coming together in my life. There have been many fine experiences, greatly overshadowing any setbacks. The day went just fine, even with a few challenges, faced and overcome.
I mention these, as the main character in “The Shack”, one Mackenzie Allan “Mack” Phillips, was, like me, a person who spent much of his life focusing on his mistakes and on how deficient he was, compared with how he saw others. Thus, the course on which his life proceeded was meant to lead to his encounter with God- Who is presented as a Trinity: the stern, and occasionally derisive, Father; the loving Son, Jesus the Christ and the inspirational, ever-present Holy Spirit. Each added to Mack’s growth and presented a model of forgiveness and wholeness.
I think of my own relationship with God. He has shown me, through experiences both glorious and jarring, that I am a worthwhile child of His, no less capable of doing good in the world, than anyone else. Mack learned that his human icons were fallible; so have I. None of us is any less lovable, to our fellow humans or to the Celestial, for that fallibility.
So, it is my wish, hope and desire that each of us can see the Day, when we work to establish unity in the world, with a view towards the time when “all death is gone”.
August 15, 2016, Prescott- Today and tomorrow mark what medieval Europeans would have called the Ides (divides) of August. Most of us are aware of the concept of dividing months into fortnights (periods of two weeks), from Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar”. The Ides of March became associated with foreboding, associated with the death of Caesar.
Division, for me, is something we need to work hard at overcoming. I am in a new work environment. The three of us who staff the room are working to overcome differences in style, priority, and temperament, both among ourselves and with the 6-7 supervisory staff, who are in and out of the room during the day. Then, there are differences that arise with, and among, our charges- the students in our self-contained unit. Finally, there are the other staff at the school, who are united in their little groups, but have a ways to go in opening up to those perceived as “others”.
Division, at its most innocent, is a coping strategy for making sense of one’s world. At its most nefarious, it is a way of maintaining barriers. This is something we all tend to do, to one extent or another. My goal is to eliminate as many of “the Ides”, socially, as I can, without falling back into my former patterns of being pushy and insistent. Those only closed up the circles more quickly. This time, I will be more prone to careful listening and patience.
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