You Matter, Too

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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.

 

Whose Truth?

2

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.

Ever Evolving

2

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.)

 

Becky Fest

4

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).

“Until All Death Is Gone”

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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”.

 

 

Ides

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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.

 

Rubicon

5

August 14, 2016, Prescott- I remarked to some collaborators-in-faith, this morning, that I have scrapped plans for most travel outside North America, until at least 2021. (South Korea, where my son is to be stationed, next year, being an exception.) There were crickets in the room, so our discourse went on to things of more common interest.

Later today, I attended a gathering that was sponsored by Team Rubicon, the disaster recovery organization that is mostly made up of military veterans. The very allusion to making a decisive and irreversible choice defines this group, whose impact is as great, if not greater than that of the Red Cross. These are the people who remain behind, once the news cycle is over and the long-term work begins. They choose to walk the celestial path, with practical feet. (‘Abdu’l-Baha admonished us Baha’is to do just that, in several speeches, when he visited North America, in 1912.)

I have plenty to do around here, during the academic year, and with regard to both my Faith and the needs of the larger community. At 65 years, 8 months, it’s important to consider at least the seeds of legacy. I’m in fine health, and I do want to continue with a full, contributive life. Five years of gainful employment remain. I will insist on actively taking part in the well-being of the Prescott area, both inside and outside my worksite. Summers will still find me visiting friends and family, in various parts of this continent, starting with a second journey northwestward, next June. Christmas and New Year’s will still be marked by the presence of loved ones and good friends, both here and on the East Coast. June, 2021 will still be the beginning of an extended journey to many parts of the globe, the only caveats being the needs of my son, any family he might have by then, and our larger family.

I will remain working to educate people on the Oneness of Mankind, on the need for an inquiring mind, on the healing properties of Certified, Therapeutic Grade Essential Oils, and the imperative of wellness. My Rubicon was crossed, years ago, when Penny pointed me towards the mountain with a shimmering star above it.

 

Second Class

9

August 10, 2016, Prescott- I find the ongoing raising of the issue of gun ownership to be one of the simultaneously most ludicrous, and most dangerous, activities of the political season. The majority of firearms owners, which included my immediate family until 2011, and still includes my son, and several friends, are sober, careful people, who have had proper training in the care, use, maintenance and safeguarding of arms and ammunition.

I had my first class in firearms safety, in 1962, as an 11-year-old Boy Scout. That class was offered by a Certified Trainer, at a National Rifle Association facility. I subsequently had training in a variety of weapons, as part of my overall training, whilst a soldier in the U. S. Army. My son, in turn, had full certified training in the use of several firearms, prior to buying and properly owning a weapon of his own.

Although I no longer own a firearm, I believe people are within their rights to do so, for the purposes of hunting, self-defense and target shooting, if that is their fancy. Where I draw the line is at the notion that the Second Amendment to the United States Constitution suggests it is permissible to rise in insurrection against a freely-elected President.

It does not. The framers of our Constitution warned against tyranny- either of the elect, or by the electorate. There are many non-legislated rules and regulations, emanating from governments at all levels, with which I disagree. These have been promulgated by liberal and conservative elected officials alike. There are some rules of which I approve, while others loathe them. None of us, though, is so privileged as to kill or maim an elected official, or any law enforcement officer going about the day-to-day keeping of order. Likewise, no government official or law enforcement officer can be so obstreperous as to randomly, or systematically, engage in acts of oppression against ordinary citizens. There can be no second class citizenry.

There is a process, some parts of which are cumbersome, often tedious, for effecting change. Protest is a legitimate part of that change agency. Rebellion is not.  No person, therefore, can legitimately swear to uphold and defend the Constitution of the United States of America, if his/her intention is to cherry-pick its provisions. Our next President must be…..presidential. The people he/she defeats, must remain loyal to our government- and to our country.

Tales of the 2016 Road: Prairies Forever

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July 19-20, 2016, Hays, KS- Early alley-oop, on Wednesday morning, got me over to Country Cupboard, in Carterville, about five miles west of Marion. I wanted a simple breakfast, in a place favoured by locals- so there it was.

The conversation in the establishment was all about autistic children, and how they fare in the schools of southern Illinois. It seems a mixed bag. One mother found her child’s school to be minimally supportive. A grandmother expressed annoyance at how her grandchild was being received, day to day. This is an area which hosts a sizable public university. That, of course, in and of itself, does not guarantee equity in the treatment of special needs children. I read, just a few minutes ago, of a threat made against the parent of a special needs child, by a university professor in another state. Education does not guarantee either wisdom, or human decency. So, these ladies, and thousands like them, soldier on, fighting for their children- as only decent mothers can. We won’t concern ourselves with the indecent ones.

I headed northwest, then due west, passing through metro St. Louis, noting that the Mississippi and Missouri appear to be in good shape. I stopped , momentarily, at a Steak and Shake, in suburban St.Peter, and turned myself into a balloon with a delectable mint Oreo shake. The burger, sadly, was forgettable, but life goes on.

In Columbia, I surprised a couple of old friends, who had moved there from Prescott, a couple of years ago, to be near family.

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The Fourcks, of Columbia, MO

We spent about two hours catching up on life events, and mutual friends, in the comfort of their living room and at a nearby Cracker Barrel. I bid farewell to Emil and Pam, as evening approached, and drove on through Missouri, stopping only to savour the preserved prairie, at a rest stop outside Boonville.

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Tall grass prairie, Boonville, MO

It seems to me that the more prairie we keep around, the more the soil will remain rich and productive. Monoculture, under whatever guise it is implemented, will only add to our food security problems, in the long term.

I skirted around Kansas City, took the toll road to Topeka, then got back on the freeway, as far as Salina, before stopping for the night. Super 8 offered a decent breakfast, the next morning- and I got a relatively early start, reaching this western Kansas university town, just before noon.

Hays is another quintessential prairie town, in some ways a blast from the past, though people here seem as informed and contemporary in style, as anywhere else. There is a mixed view of Donald Trump, much as I found in the conservative communities in which I found myself, in southern Missouri, Indiana, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Virginia and the Southeast.

Construction-wise, people here rely on stone.

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Ellis County Courthouse, Hays, KS

I was taken by the smoothed brick streets of downtown Hays. The mood was fairly quiet, but there were plenty of people out and about- just going on with life, despite the heat. It was 104 here, as I spent about twenty minutes poking about the north end of the city center.

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This stone gem looks like a church, but is now a law office.

The law office that looks like a church has this as a cross street neighbour.

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The Ten Commandments, St. Joseph’s Parish, Hays, KS

It occurred to me that there are a few, at the famous church back in Topeka, who could stand to learn a thing or two from the folks at St. Joseph’s Parish. Then again, there are many, liberal, conservative, and in-between, who could do the same.

Here are a few more scenes of St. Joseph’s Parish.

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Social Service Center, St.Joseph’s Parish, Hays, KS
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Church of St. Joseph, Hays, KS
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Chapel grotto, St. Joseph’s Parish, Hays, KS

The above is surely a place of restoration, on a busy day.

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This store is still active, in the days of WalMart.  I find that reassuring.  

Downtown Hays has a popular lunch counter, inside the stationery store. Northwestern Office Supply’s soda shoppe is the place to go for a full salad bar, freshly made (from scratch) soups and all the soda fountain treats one can imagine. I behaved, somewhat, opting for a Reuben with cole slaw, and iced tea. Had it not been so hot outside, soup would have been a magnificent thing.

There are other interesting towns in northwestern Kansas, such as Colby and Oakley, but I had this little agenda, of getting to the Denver area in time enough to skirt rush hour, so I say, “Another time.” Yes, those of my friends who travel in rarefied circles, there is value to visiting the Prairie. It has our roots.

 

Tales from the 2016 Road: Harrisonburg, of the Shenandoah

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July 14, 2016, Harrisonburg, VA- The Spine of Virginia is replete with picturesque cities and towns, of various sizes, from sprawling Roanoke and bustling Charlottesville, to compact places like Dublin and Damascus. I decided to stop for lunch, and a stretch, in Harrisonburg, a city about the size of Prescott, and whose civic life is also centered on the area around its courthouse. Court Square, west of James Madison University, has a variety of eateries and clothing shops. I was drawn to Artful Dodger Coffeehouse and Cocktail Lounge. Being a teetotaler, I was a curiosity to the couple who tend bar and manage the place. I enjoyed my iced tea and tuna sandwich, regardless. Jaqie and Rob couldn’t have been nicer. It was pointed out to me that, if I stuck around until Friday night, I could get free Salsa Dance lessons. There but for fortune, go I, towards Florida, but maybe on my next pass.

Here are some scenes both inside and outside of Dodger:

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The ethic of Artful Dodger, Harrisonburg, VA
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Party Time, Harrisonburg, VA

 

Once I parked my car, I passed by the town’s Welcome Center, on the way to lunch.

Inside Artful Dodger, Jaqie and Rob were chatting with the regulars- about something going on Friday night, and I busied myself with the accouterments of the house, whilst waiting for my meal.

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The sun shines within; Artful Dodger Coffeehouse, Harrisonburg

 

After a good forty-five minutes out of the heat, I set out for a brief exploration of Court Square.

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Rockingham County Court House, Harrisonburg, VA
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Fountains, in Court House Plaza, Harrisonburg
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Small garden, Court House Plaza, Harrisonburg
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Panels, Court House, Harrisonburg, VA
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Unnamed building, southeast corner of Court Square, Harrisonburg, VA

I will regard this little town as another link in the chain of homes I seem to be building, whilst continuing to connect with friends and family. It is always about expanding the network.

NEXT: The Road Back to Florida