August 23,2021- Friend Jupiter glows in the eastern night sky, encouraging me to dream big. Friend Venus shimmers in the west, telling me that to love is celestial. These orbs will trade sky spots, as summer moves into winter, by way of autumn. Venus will, additionally, become a “morning star”. The abundance of heat and water will shift southward, and we in the north will enter into a modicum of rest.
It occurred to me, this morning, that I am most in my element when in the company of those who have youthful energy and vision, yet are fairly self-sufficient and can contribute mightily to the mix of ideas. This does not mean exclusively those who are chronologically young. Such people can be as young as three and as advanced in age as 100. The prime loci of these individuals are middle schools, high schools and institutions of higher learning.
Maybe that’s why I continue to work on special assignments in school settings or in places where people are both loving and fierce. It’s also the prime reason why I am both comfortable here in my Home Base of Prescott and am prone to visit other places where ideas and achievements are happening. It is why I devote the sharing of my resources as I do. It is why I continue to grow as a person and as a soul. It’s why my cup is ever at least half full.
August 19, 2021- The woman I trust as Cosmic Advisor correctly stated that this week would bring events, fast and furious, which would underscore the powerlessness of those who hold stature. The forces of nature, of baseness and of frenzy have combined to show us that the only real power is that of the Spirit.
I have made a good effort to keep order and help advance learning, in a place I’ve long felt at home. I have not sought, nor have I held, power at an official level. No matter; in any school, the real power is held by those who lead their students to believe in themselves and in one another. Tomorrow, I will spend the day with First Graders, fulfilling a promise made at the beginning of this academic year, and imparting self-confidence to people who are at a very basic level.
I left the high school today, reviewing those things I will ever do, consistently and those things I will NEVER do. One might say, “Never say never”, but I have held, for seventy years, that:
I will ever strive to stand behind anyone acting from a place of truth-so long as that truth is not twisted or distorted, in a way that hurts others.
I will ever trust in the Spirit, that which speaks to me in moments of quiet solitude, and at times when I must decide a course of action.
I will ever hold that there is no nation or ethnicity that is inherently inferior to any other, and that the strength of Woman, however different in the way it is manifested from that of Man, is equal to that masculinity.
I will ever hold to the sanctity of life and that to oppose abortion, but then readily abandon the right to life of people, at any of its later stages, is a false narrative.
I will never join in an attack on a person or group of people who are different from me, in countenance, thought, or mode of living.
I will never seek to deceive even the meanest of creatures. My big mouth will always speak with integrity.
I will never again walk past a person who is injured or fallen, without seeking to offer or obtain help. (This last was a lesson I learned fifty years ago, and my shame stayed with me for a long time.)
Many years ago, I was told never to marry a person of a different race, as society would make life miserable for any children who came from such a union. When it was my turn to take a stance on that matter, approving the marriage was the easiest decision I ever had to make, and the happiness of my child and his wife is an eternal reward. Their offspring, when they come into this life, will be blessed beyond measure.
I have learned that embracing others of varying belief systems does nothing to weaken my own dearly-held tenets.
August 11, 2021- The nimble little girl danced in the rain, barefoot, to the music inside her head, carefully prancing and pirouetting, along a fairly narrow wall between her alley and the parking lot of a nearby restaurant. S captured my heart several years ago, as a shy, grinning toddler, who proudly showed me how well she could ride her tricycle. She and her family are essential to our neighbourhood, alternately taking a leading role in keeping a sense of balance between an “Over 55” mentality and a street overrun with kids, and being, for a short period, the only child-centered family on the block. I don’t mind the street full of kids part at all, as that was the way it was in my childhood-we children were everywhere. I watched S dance, from my living room window, lest she had slipped and fallen-in which case, I’d have been across the street like a shot. Every child who lives in this block has my heart. As it is, they also have my admiration, especially when living out their dreams.
The afternoon had brought a torrent of rain, on top of yesterday’s deluge. As I watched the sheets of precipitation pour down, I was reminded that it was ten years ago, today, that I wrote my first post on Word Press, after my previous blogsite, Xanga, became monetized. There are people I miss from Xanga, that I have not heard from since 2011. There are also those who turned on me, some for good reason, and others in fits of pique. For the most part, I am still in contact, either here or via other social media, with the Xanga friends who have stuck by me.
Many other changes have enveloped me, in this past ten years. Rage stemming form personal affronts now seems cheap and a waste of energy. I no longer harbour thoughts of long-distance thru-hikes of the Appalachian or Pacific Crest Trails, at least for the time being. There is simply too much to be done, with other people around, both here in Home Base and further afield. I am more contemplative, before speaking or acting. A Basal cell has been removed and my immune system has been largely built up.
is There are other ways in which life is the same. My best friends, locally, are for the most part almost a decade or more, younger than me. My contemporaries don’t understand me any better than they ever did. That’s fine; being someone who is humoured and sent on his way has been my lot, among my age-mates, for a very long time. The “kids”, from Gen X to the Alpha Generation, have come to know me better, as I worked with them day-to-day. I can talk with many of them for a long time, without their passing judgement or getting their socks in a knot over some real or imagined slight. There are exceptions, among the Baby Boomers-like my hiking buddy, but it is with those my junior that I am most in my element.
Ten year into Word Press, self-assuredness and recognition that I am a person of worth have grown-and all the journeys of mind and body have only gotten richer.
August 7, 2021- A firewall guards me, from mayhem both inside and out .
The above verse is a Lune, or “American haiku”. I have thought of several firewalls, which keep my once fearful self in safety.
There is the firewall of respect. It extends to all life, to the healthy relationships people have with one another, to the sanctity of marriage, of parent and child bonds, and to the right of human beings to make their own choices. It also extends to the hope that this respect will be a two-way street-that parents will respect their children, even those in the womb; that children respect their parents and grandparents-as well as one another; that people respect those whose opinions differ from their own, while measuring their own opinions, so that the resulting actions don’t hurt others.
There is the firewall of unconditional love. It, too, extends to all life, and starts with my unconditional love for self, as a child of the Creator. It does not mean I will give someone everything that is requested-especially if I can see that such giving will weaken either me, or the recipient, or both of us. It means that I love each person, where he/she is now. It means I care equally for the people around the beloved, as they are essential to the loved one’s well-being.
There is the firewall of logic and reason. It is dependent on rest, on proactive health and on inner peace, so that the mindfulness which brings it to the fore can flow untrammeled. Logic and reason allow for flexibility, for movement through changing circumstances. They allow for a climate of peace.
There is the firewall of obedience to natural law. It forewarns me of consequences for acting on untoward thoughts and makes me learn from my mistakes. It shows how to get through unexpected turns of events and how to plan for the next time a calamity may strike.
Firewalls have, all in all, kept me on track for what I must do in the short term, and how I might plan for further out. They also remind me that what I did wrongfully, in the past, simply present lessons, from which hopefully I will have learned.
August 6, 2021- I had the stitches in my left cheek removed this morning, and was able to shave the area of my scar, with no ill effects. This should eliminate some of the disdain, shown by some shop workers around town, when I next pop into their establishments.
I digress, however. I will find myself on special assignment, next week, as a longtime friend at a local high school is off duty. The protocols needed for effectively dealing with the nuisance named Delta are real, are serious and are not the stuff of government overreach. One of those protocols precludes hugging, in and around the school environment.
I am prone to hugging those I know, who are amenable to such a greeting. I do not go around hugging everyone in sight, nor have I kissed more than one or two people, besides my own mother, since Penny passed away-ten years ago. It is less likely to be an issue, in a high school setting, because Andrew Cuomo,70 and 14-18 retain a certain level of decorum, relative to one another.
This brings me to Andrew Cuomo. While few, if any, of his male critics can claim to be squeaky clean, in the #MeToo department, by and large, they have each had to own up to their indiscretions, at some level. I have certainly done so, and would continue to, were my present levels of self-discipline and heightened awareness to somehow go on a slow fade. We have not, to date, however seen this level of accountability from His Excellency, the Governor. Instead, we hear, “I’m Italian. It’s a cultural thing.” Yes, I know about the men in the Old Country who are legendary butt pinchers or leg/breast gropers. I would imagine that’s changing. Italian women aren’t exactly pushovers, from what I understand. Besides, in this country, Italian-American women are likely to kick a man’s butt, if theirs, or their daughters’. are pinched.
Hugging, or more intimate expressions of affection, are chancy in this country, in any era. Given the current public mood, though, with a 75/25 split as to the seriousness of Delta, I would advise knowing a person’s overall health status, before embracing.
August 3, 2021- That is what some have said to me, when what I have told them is not what they wanted to hear. Usually, it has come from someone who barely knew anything about me and was just projecting their own hopes and dreams onto what they thought should have been my actions.
I have used this phrase, myself, when coming to a conclusion about someone who offers only excuses, over time, for not achieving what is possible, given their abilities or skill sets. I have used it, in that vein, with myself, on occasion-and thus have begun a bounce back. It’s been my way to tell self not to give up.
For the fourth time in my life, I have cut someone off, who has consistently argued and rebutted my suggestions. I stuck with this individual for nearly four years, and now it is time for walking under his own power. I believe he will, even if after a period of rage towards me and of self-pity. The human spirit simply cannot abide such drivel, in perpetuity. If I did not believe this was so, I would not have tried to help him, in the first place.
“Oh, okay…” I say this, to those who believe only ONE political viewpoint or philosophy can suffice all human needs.
I say this, to those who claim that there needs to be a Ruling Class, to which all others must bow.
I say this, to those who maintain that the “White Race” owes the rest of humanity a bailout.
I say this, to anyone who believes that one nation or ethnic group is superior to all others, and therefore should either take on all responsibility for those others’ well-being or subject them to servitude.
I say this, to anyone who rejects the notion that it takes concerted group effort, free of ideology or partisanship, to fix any major problem that exists-anywhere.
In truth, these attitudes are NOT okay. Refusing to educate the children in one’s community, state or nation, unless high tuition is paid, is NOT okay. Refusing to re-negotiate with a potential ally in social progress, because of past indiscretions or disagreements, is NOT okay. Refusing to accept others, because of differences of opinion, is NOT okay. Refusing to take responsibility for one’s actions is NOT okay.
I hold myself to these points, so it is reasonable for me to hold others to them, as well.
August 1, 2021- This is normally the hottest month of the year, even here in Arizona, where people expect heat, much of the time. This year’s monsoon, though, is more active than those of the last three years and there has been rain reported here in Prescott, just about every day since Independence Day-so Mother Nature heeded the fireworks. I will go tomorrow, with my hiking buddy, to Watson Lake and see how much the water levels have been affected by the rather generous precipitation.
Rain often comes during this time, in fits and starts. It could be dry for as long as two weeks, then rainy for almost as many days, and back to dry. My energy level tends to be the same, varying with the heat index, as one would expect. With the added vigilance about sun exposure, especially safeguarding the “little bit of heaven” on the left side of my face, I will limit the hike and other outside activity to an hour or less at a time-and be well protected.
August is saddled with the sobriquet, “Dog Days”, as this is the time of year when dogs are especially either enervated or aggravated by the heat and humidity. School starts up tomorrow, but as I have said earlier, my presence there this year will be limited somewhat-with more of an emphasis on Red Cross activities-if the powers that be in the local organization see fit to have me along to help out.
July 12, 2021, Memphis- Over the years, I’ve been in places which have shaken my conscience and sense of justice: Wounded Knee, Silver Creek, Bosque Redondo, the Holocaust Museum of Jerusalem, Donjon de Jeanne d’Arc, the Concentration Camp at Berga. This morning’s visit to Greenwood District, on Tulsa’s North Side, had a very similar effect.
I began the morning in the Cathedral District, on the south side of Tulsa’s downtown. It is majestic, in a physical sense, with spires abounding-and not so much competing, as complementing one another. I present a few of these:
First United Methodist Church, TulsaHoly Family Cathedral, TulsaFirst Presbyterian Church, TulsaNo spires, but still impressive: Church of Christ, Scientist, Tulsa
One must eat and drink, so I looked a bit, in the Cathedral District, and found this gem:
Foolish Things Coffee House!
Interior of Foolish Things Coffee House
After giving downtown its due, I headed to the sacred area that drew me to Tulsa, in the first place: Greenwood Historic District.
The signature mural of Greenwood DistrictGreenwood Cultural Center
The whole point of Greenwood’s emergence, in the early Twentieth Century, was to promote the very self-sufficiency, among Black Americans, that capitalists claimed to want. Yet, Oklahoma Governor Robertson, and his minions, including the commander of the Oklahoma National Guard, were complicit in the plan to put an end to “Black Wall Street”. All they needed was a spark. On May 31, 1921, it was reported that a black shoe shine man had brushed up against a white elevator operator, leading to allegations of attempted rape. Further, the founder of the Greenwood Chamber of Commerce, seeing a chance to destroy his competition, accused the Mann Brothers, who operated a highly successful grocery store, of fomenting a riot, when a group of black businessmen went to the Courthouse, to seek the shoe shine man’s release. The allegations of D.W. Gurley led to a white mob’s attack on black-owned businesses. These allegations were later shown to be false, and Gurley fled to California. Ironically, the Mann family had come to Greenwood from Sherman, Texas, which later itself endured an assault on black-owned businesses. National Guard General Charles Barrett, as well as the editor-in-chief of the Tulsa Tribune, stoked white anger from behind the scenes. It is not verified, but there is circumstantial evidence that Barrett gave the go-ahead for the use of airplanes, which did fire on blacks who were trying to flee Greenwood.
Scene of Greenwood destruction, June 1, 1921
Dozens of Greenwood residents were killed, and most of the rest were rendered homeless, by the destruction. The bottom line, though, in all this is: Greenwood is coming back. The block which earned the title Black Wall Street is small, but vibrant.
Fountain, on grounds of Greenwood Cultural Center
The Vernon African Methodist Evangelical Church was a key gathering place in Greenwood, and is so again.
Mural, on south wall of Greenwood Open Air gathering space
Wanda J’s Restaurant is also a gathering place for the Greenwood community. It was closed for renovation today, but the sign says it’ll reopen tomorrow.
Mural on berm of overpass, Greenwood District
After walking around Greenwood District, I paused to watch several children who had climbed up the overpass berm, and were now helping each other down, flip-flops and all, under their father’s watchful eyes. When the kids had descended, I noted this mural, of jazz musicians.
Tulsa, and Greenwood, are still here and the city is making amends. Reparations for the families of the victims are actually being discussed. Reconciliation Park, and Street, are set aside, to remind everyone that, when one group prospers, all may prosper.
July 11, 20201, Tulsa- All good things come to a pause, to be continued later. After a leisurely breakfast and final survey of my items, I bid farewell to son and daughter-in-law, with the common knowledge that we are always welcome in one another’s homes-as it should be with family.
My first stop, north of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex, was in the city of Sherman, southern gateway to the Lake Texoma area. Sherman is important to me for two reasons: A riot of white tenant farmers and townspeople occurred on May 9, 1930-in reaction to a black labourer’s having attacked and raped the white wife of a man who owed him money. The labourer, one George Hughes, freely admitted his misdeeds and was initially subjected to due process of law. A mob soon gathered, and succeeded in breaching the Grayson County Courthouse, chasing everyone except Hughes out of the building and cutting into a vault, in which he was hiding, then killing the man and treating his corpse atrociously. https://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/entries/sherman-riot-of-1930
This occurred nine years after the Greenwood Massacre that took place in Tulsa (1921), and the Sherman rioters took a page from those in Tulsa, and burned the business district in Sherman’s Black neighbourhood to the ground. The Sherman case, however exacerbated by conditions resulting from the Great Depression, stained the good name of the town for several years. To be fair, it was only one of nearly two dozen such riots, in every part of the country-not just in the South. Modern Sherman has largely moved past the nightmare, but there are remnants of the past two centuries, including the Confederate Monument outside the present Grayson County Courthouse. My personal hope is that such monuments serve as reminders of where we went wrong, as a people, and that no person, of any racial or ethnic group, ever again seeks to circumvent the law-even in, or especially in, cases of personal injustice. Vengeance always claims a great deal of innocent lives.
Grayson County Courthouse, Sherman, TX
The second reason for my stopping in Sherman was that, ten years ago, a young woman from the town had moved to Prescott, and became a friend-whom I advised on several occasions, whilst she worked as a server in a couple of area restaurants. With encouragement from me and others, she moved to Tempe and entered Arizona State University. I have lost contact with Summer, but have never forgotten her gentle spirit and determined drive. In her honour, I stopped in for lunch, at Old Iron Post, which appears to be Sherman’s answer to Raven Cafe. The ambiance, and the fare, did not disappoint,
Old Iron Post Restaurant and Bar, Sherman, TX
There was one more stop for me, before leaving Texas: The Birthplace of Dwight D. Eisenhower, in Denison. The small, unassuming town, near the Oklahoma state line, helped form the character of one of America’s greatest generals, who became a fairly good president.
The building itself was closed, but as with the Birthplace of Harry S. Truman, in May, I was able to get a few photos of the exterior and the grounds.
Statue of Dwight D. Eisenhower, Denison, TXBirthplace of Dwight D. Eisenhower, Denison, TXMimosa trees, Eisenhower Birthplace State Monument, Denison, TX
That was it for meandering for the day. I continued on towards this fascinating, and often troubled, industrial and commercial center of northeast Oklahoma, and locus of the Greenwood Massacre of 1921. It is to Greenwood that my own focus will be drawn, tomorrow morning.
July 1, 2021- The first six months of this year have produced some rather significant changes in my world. Chief among them was Mother’s changing her residence-thankfully of her own accord-after 66 years in the same house. With all of us pitching in, the gargantuan task was broken into a hundred fairly manageable pieces. Now, Mom is happily ensconced in a small, comfortable apartment, with her basic security set.
The other changes are more internal. I have jettisoned a few personal demons that, while not interfering in my life very much, did cause a certain tension to arise, unnecessarily, between me and certain people in the wider community. I have already noticed how much more relaxed things are, when I am in my favourite places around town.
There were, as always, journeys during the period January-June. One was not planned-but going to Massachusetts in May was never in question. Going to Carson City was a year overdue- one of my best friends, and her blessed children and grandchildren are like family to me.
The second half of 2021 will be similar, with most of July being on the road-again largely making up for the lost contacts of the pandemic year. I’m not worried about a variant-the masks and hand sanitizer will be with me, and I have been fully vaccinated. Variants will be around for decades to come, as they are with Ebola-and influenza. Life cannot and should not stop. August and September will mostly find me here in Prescott, save for a memorial hike on the Navajo Nation, on August 16 and a four-day visit to southern California, September 17-21.
In mid-August, I will determine the prudence of going to Europe, for four weeks in October, and plan accordingly, Much depends on any lingering quarantines at that time. November and December will again be Southwest-centric, with my serving as host, around Thanksgiving, hopefully attending a resumed Grand Canyon Baha’i Conference, around Christmas, and making a journey to southern New Mexico for a few days thereafter.
There will also be visits, at least once a month, to the Baha’i friends living along the Colorado River, in western Arizona, and always an eye towards getting up to Navajo and Hopi, as those areas open back up. The Red Cross is also opening its programs and services to in-person situations and meetings, starting within a few weeks, and I will remain open to helping in the schools, for special substituting activities.
Thus, the second half of this year will mirror, and expand upon, the first.
A Sagittarian Seeker 