Charting Own Course

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November 9, 2024- Everyone deserves to chart their own course.

It turns out that the recent messages I received have little to do with me, at all. At some point in the not too distant future, the woman I love most in this world will be looking to find a position in a very sacred place. It is her long cherished dream to do this, so the last thing I ever want to do is be an impediment.

At this point in my life, the joy that would come from holding her or just being close to her is as nothing, when compared to the satisfaction of seeing my beloved K achieve this goal. Too often, even now, the dreams of one person, usually a woman, are subordinated to those of one, usually a man, who assumes a dominant role.

The thing I’d like to see more men, more people, embrace and foster the dreams of those they claim to love. Kathy will do so much good in any position she may take, at this most sublimely holy of spots, in service at a material level. Seeing her do this is dearer to my heart than any conventional relationship, as exhilarating as that would be. Seeing her reach any of her goals means the world to me.

My own course, at this point, will be determined largely by the needs of my little family and of this most cherished woman. I have lived a full and satisfying life, thus far, and accomplished many of my goals. Now, it is time to cheer on my loved ones, whether at their side or from afar.

Things That Need to Be Over and Stay Gone

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November 7, 2024- This is just a list, of those social constructs and practices that I think should be relegated to the scrap heap, and stay gone.

Slavery; sex trafficking; spouse beating; child beating (not mild spanking, beating); beating of animals; coerced sex; drug trafficking; less-than-living wages; intentional spewing of heavy motor vehicle exhaust; intentional littering and illegal dumping; nuisance litigation,especially by the wealthy against the poor; intentional poisoning of soil and water; individual possession of military-grade weapons and ordnance; denigration of any country, ethnic group or organized community; parentally-induced sexual transition of anyone under the age of 18; persecution of any bona fide community of faith in the Divine.

A few of these are bound to rankle some and irritate others. So be it. Some of these are bound to remain within the scope of individual choice. So be it. I just think that, all in all, we will have a much better world without these examples of inhumanity, or of people living through others.

A Level Field

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November 4, 2024- I went down to the Solid Rock Fellowship’s Monday night Soup Kitchen, and took my place on the serving line, dispensing green salad. Next to me, dispensing Cole slaw, was the Superintendent of Prescott Unified School District. I’ve known him for about twelve years, when he was an Assistant Principal, then a Principal, then a member of the District’s Governing Board, before stepping down to take the Superintendency.

A few tongues wagged: “What’s he running for?” My take: Clark is Clark, a genuinely nice man and he’s not running for anything. He wanted to help and so he showed up, the same as me. I would not be surprised if, schedule permitting, he becomes a regular.

This is the town in which I have thrived, for fourteen years. I will likely be giving up my residence, next year, to be with a very special woman, in another special place. That will not diminish the importance in my life, of this city with a level playing field. Self-important people, by and large, do not fare well here, at the local level. A state office seeker, or two, may prevail, by dint of their party affiliation, and it’s likely that a prominent self-important figure will carry the day, here, in a national race, but for the most part, self-promotion does not impress the Prescottonian.

We tend to be there for one another-be it in feeding and sheltering the destitute, working across all manner of ideological lines to look out for our neighbours and turning out at city and town council meetings, to make our voices heard. More often than one thinks, the clamouring of the citizenry has led grifters and gougers to give up on their plans, and even to leave town.

It has been a genuine comfort to feel ever welcome here. The community in the Philippines, where I recently spent six weeks, seems similar-The friends there are rallying around a mentally ill person, tying family members together with appropriate resources. No one deserves to fall through the cracks.

The Difference Made

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November 3, 2024- On February 24, 1981, I called my mother and told her that I had become a member of the Baha’i Faith, letting her know the basics of the then-138-year-old religion. The most important of these, to her, was that use of mind-altering substances, including alcohol, was prohibited. Baha’u’llah teaches that presence of mind is essential and that anything which interferes with such mindfulness is to be avoided.

He was born Husayn Ali, to Mirza Abbas-i-Nuri (Mirza Buzurg) and Khadijih Khanum, on November 12, 1817, in Teheran. Despite being a member of a noble family, Husayn Ali eschewed a life of privilege, and became associated with a new religious movement, based on the teachings of al-Bab, which taught that “One greater than Myself” would appear and unveil teachings that would in turn unite mankind. When al-Bab was imprisoned, and subsequently executed in 1850, Husayn Ali became a leader of the inchoate Babi movement and was Himself incarcerated in a dungeon known as Siyah Chal (“Black Pit”). While there, shackled among a hundred or so others, many of whom were violent criminals, and with no personal space, Mirza Husayn Ali had a vision. A maiden-like presence appeared to Him and revealed that it was He to Whom al-Bab was referring. The title Baha’u’llah was conferred on Him, in that moment.

Over time, through three exiles, the last of which brought Baha’u’llah and His family to Akka, in what is now Israel, and through the ministries of His eldest son, ‘Abdu’l-Baha, and of His eldest great grandson, Shoghi Effendi, the Baha’i Faith grew to several million people, spread over all six inhabited continents. When Shoghi Effendi died in 1957, without leaving an heir, the Faith was briefly led by a council of stewards, known as the Hands of the Cause of God, until a nine-member Universal House of Justice was elected in 1963. This last was in accordance with the terms of Baha’u’llah’s Will and Testament, also known as Kitab-i-Ahd. The Universal House of Justice has been elected by the members of Baha’i national assemblies every five years since 1963. It remains the Head of the Faith.

Getting back to my own situation: In 1981, I was at the tail-end of a long personal struggle. Baha’i teachings have gradually guided me to shed lots of personal baggage. It has not been a walk in the park. Change involves a lot of work-physical, emotional and spiritual. As with any transformative effort, there are successes and there are setbacks. I was blessed with the love of a good Baha’i woman, until her passing in 2011. I am blessed with a son who has grown into a strong, well-balanced man. I am also blessed with many friends, across the United States and around the globe, including a woman who has captured my heart. I am, most of all, blessed with the transformative power of a Messenger’s Teachings that have given me the strength to shed baggage that has bedeviled me since childhood.

I have taken ‘the road less traveled and that has made all the difference’. (apologies to Robert Frost)

Emergencies Ascending

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November 2, 2024- The appeal came, as I was preparing to help break down the Farmers Market operation, just after noon. There was an urgent need for someone to supervise a shelter in Roswell, twelve hours away by car and about six hours away, by a combination of air and road vehicles. I had a week, no more, to assist, and even that involved reneging on prior commitments closer to Home Base. After a fair amount of discussion, back and forth, between the decision makers, someone else stepped up, and offered two weeks of volunteering. I am grateful to that person, as I’m sure the people of Roswell will be.

Across the Pacific, in the Bicol region of eastern Luzon, thousands suffered from the wrath of Typhoon Kristine, late last month. I was in Manila, at that time, and maintained contact with a friend who had been helpful to me, when I was navigating between Naga and Daet, in October, 2023. She lost everything in the typhoon’s wake, so I will help with two essential aspects of her recovery. For the bulk of the regeneration, though, the community must rise up and help one another.

That is the way it will need to be, worldwide, over the next many decades-both for the rest of my earthly life and well beyond (like 2050, or 2060 to 2100.) Each of us, no matter how young or old, has a role to play in facing emergencies. My dearest wrote me, this morning, about an emergency she is helping to mitigate. These can be large or small, but will be faced by a heart connection and judicious pooling of resources-financial, material, physical and social. Backing all of that is spiritual energy. When things seemed direst, with regard to the disaster in Roswell (flooding and its aftermath), spiritual pleas went up and the volunteer was found, who could serve as needed. Collective prayer can alleviate the effects of pending disaster, and help gather forces to deal with turmoil that is unanticipated.

Let us work together, unceasingly, to tame the whirlwind.

Intensity

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October 30, 2024-I dreamed of Manila, and of Kathy, most of the night. Maybe those are just residuals from the visit just ended, or maybe they’re a harbinger. When I got up, it was time to focus on getting back into the swing of things here at Home Base, so I walked, happily, downtown and sat for a while in Wild Iris, then came back and briefly discussed a few matters with my landlord. I have told him my time here is getting shorter, and he thinks I need to follow my heart. At dinner this evening, with another long-time friend, I got the same message.

I’ve been in Prescott for 13.5 years, continuously, and 15 years all told, more than any place other than Saugus (20 years, all told). I could easily call this Home Base for the rest of my life; the Southwest is a place of endless beauty and opportunities. There are two other factors, however-My little family, now in Texas, who will be the prime foci of my time in the U.S., should they bring forth children of their own and the second great love of my life, who, as I keep saying lately, is the prime focus of my time and energy, overall.

I’ve sometimes been told that I am far too intense for my own good-and perhaps that is true. I love deeply, which won’t change, for the simple reason is that I don’t see enough love in the world. My friends and family understand this. Kathy is coming to understand it more, just as I am coming to understand her need to show her love in subtle, sometimes opaque, ways. Intense love, however, is needed to deflect and counteract intense hate. Subtlety, on the other hand, is a soothing balm for those times when intensity rubs things raw-and a healing period of rest is needed. It also helps ward off dementia-(just an aside).

On a greater scale, we will need intensity-of thought, of energy, of commitment and of meaningful action. I will say more on what I think is needed for the country to thrive, over the next few days.

Compressed

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October 21, 2024, Valencia, Negros- The word came early this morning: What had been a carefully-planned, manageable schedule of product deliveries and shipment, over a four-day period, was now to be done locally today, with the deliveries to the next island over to be done tomorrow.

I was given the choice, by my hosts, who are the company owners, to relax and maybe visit a few natural attractions nearby, or to go along with them for the day’s local deliveries. I chose the latter. I was raised with a work ethic, and spirit of service. If something in front of me needed doing, I was as good as anyone to do it.

We went first to the company’s production center and warehouse, where a bustling crew had packed over 100 boxes of product, and carefully labeled each box. There were six different places to which the product had to be delivered today, so correct labeling was essential. The crew did very well, in all aspects.

There were a few snags, owing to the suddenness of the changes in schedule, and to issues at the receiving venues themselves. By and large, however, it was a successful day. I got in a fine amount of exercise, the delivery man drove like a madman, and everything that was on the list to be done was accomplished. Point of information: This is a company that produces healing drink mix powders, with ginger and turmeric in several of the compounds. It is good for the products to be distributed with dispatch.

I am staying at the home of the owners, one of whom I have known for several years now. They are doing quite well, but I daresay they have earned every bit of good fortune.

View of Tanon Strait, from Valencia.
Rooftop view towards Cebu
View of Siquijor Island
Haka master, Ali, and his big family (Above and below)
So, with this nice dinner of chicken and “black” rice (it’s actually red), a very fruitful day came to a close.

A Growing Circle

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October 16, 2024, Manila- I stood at the entrance to Heritage Memorial Garden, after a service for a long-standing member of the Philippine Baha’i community, waiting as directed, for someone who would arrange a ride for me to return to the Regional Baha’i Center. It wasn’t hot, and the breeze was actually quite pleasant.

A vehicle stopped, and out came Kathy and her two sons. K told me that we would all ride together, in a GRAB taxi (the Philippine version of Uber). I assured her that I would pay for the group. We had a pleasant ride back to mid-town Makati, with minimal small talk, as none of us was much for yakking, after the lengthy funeral, in which Kathy and I each had speaking parts. She was also one of the main organizers of the event, having been close to the woman who passed on. I had not met the woman, but am impressed with her vitae. So, I read a message from our Universal House of Justice and a short prayer.

When it came time to pay the driver, K’s eldest son revealed that he already had covered it. This is no big deal to the members of my growing family. The young man had just met me, yet was perfectly glad to make sure of my well-being. Considering who his mother is, I ought not be surprised. It has not taken long for her to be one of the brightest lights in my sky.

A short while earlier, I had been introduced to K’s siblings, who took me to the gate of the Memorial Park, about a kilometer from the burial site. Two brothers and a sister, two pensive men of few words and a chatty lady, they are each nonetheless of pleasant mien. Thus, in a brief period, I came to be introduced to the family members of one of the most important people to enter my life, in the past ten years.

Maybe it had to do with the energy of the person who was being honoured. Martha Taylor was always bringing people together, herself being of Persian descent, married to an African-American and living in five Asian nations and the U.S. Territory of Guam, over the past fifty years. There was scant anonymity left, after any gathering she hosted-and she had friends in the highest and lowest places alike. I would have liked to have met her; yet in Kathy, I feel like I’ve met her mirror image.

At any rate, I have rarely experienced the expansion of my circle, in such a meaningful way and in such short order. I will take every other affirmation that comes, in the next 1 1/2 weeks, in every Facebook chat that she and I have during the next six months and in all that transpires here on out. My circle is not only growing; it’s getting deeper and stronger.

Nampo Garcia- A Street Kid Story

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October 9, 2024, Manila- (Any connection between the characters in this tale and real people is purely coincidental.)

I felt the blade at my back,as I retrieved the cash from the ATM. “Now, you will give me the due that you refused, back at the Light Rail station!”, snarled a voice at the other end of the knife. “Will I, now?”, I responded, in my best fake Irish brogue. I looked at the wad of bills, then glanced over at the small pair of hands to my right, cupped and ready.

I tossed the folded bills to a chuckling, triumphant street boy. The hapless beggar took off after Nampo, dropping his knife and momentarily forgetting about me. The boy, little more than 3’8” and 50 pounds soaking wet, ran around the floral planter that graced the front of my hostel, all the while holding the cash, in a teasing manner, as the half-addled thief continued to pursue him, like a cat chasing its own tail.

Nampo knew the drill. He ran up to the hostel’s security guard and stood still, until I came up the steps. His meal depended on not running afoul of Steven Morales, who had often graciously provided the boy, and his little sister, with one of the hostel restaurant’s signature burgers or at least one of its ample rice bowls. Tonight, though, as Steven handcuffed the foolish beggar, I took Nampo inside the cafe, and for once, the Chinese owner did not wince and start fussing in Mandarin, about “a mouse being in the house”. Nampo had a full meal and was allowed to take an order to go, for his sister, who was waiting at their makeshift cardboard and plywood hut, off Dominga Street.

“Uncle Rama”, Nampo queried, as we ate, “do you have a friend like me, back in Bengaluru?” “Actually, I have several such friends, Nampo”, I responded. “You see, not so long ago, I too was sleeping under rattan and cardboard, frequently crying myself to sleep and keeping one eye open. The street bandits back in India are not so easy to elude, as the drugged up fiends here in Manila.”

“Not all the thieves here are drugged up”, answered Nampo, “in fact, the only reason I can leave Shakira alone is because we have Auntie Jinja looking after us. Her son, Raul, is also here, visiting his mother and taking her to see a doctor, for her diabetes. Raul said that if he needs to take his mother back to his house in Sucot, we will go with them-and he will make sure we go to school every day.”

I felt relieved at this news and as I walked Nampo back to his encampment, thought of how lucky this resourceful little boy was, to have found Jinja, and by extension, Raul, in the first place. Then again, it was Nampo’s heart energy, taking care of little Shakira, and his pluckiness at cultivating a security guard and a tourist as his friends, that most appealed to my own heart. As it happened, Raul had gone to the hardware, on P. Ocampo, and purchased a few folding chairs. His mother was sitting in one, and he, in another. The dutiful son beckoned me to sit for a while. “Would you care for a cup of iced tea?” “That would be heavenly”, I replied, taking the last empty chair, as Nampo sat down on a bean bag seat, which Raul had also purchased. Shakira was asleep on a small cot, covered with a clean sheet, again provided by the dutiful son.

This night would pass safely for the makeshift family, and soon the four of them would head past the Ninoy Aquino International Airport, through Paranaque to the seaside community of Sucot. I would be heading home to Karnataka, in a few days, and thought that I would make more of an effort to help the urchins in my home city, in honour of Nampo and Shakira.

(The street children of Manila are definitely winsome and engaging. It is their sheer number that prevents meaningful individual assistance, but there are a number of organizations, such as Children International, which I use as a vehicle to help two families, and Save the Children, that can provide assistance to destitute children and their families. Nampo and Shakira are fictional characters, but there are people who fit their description all over the streets of Metro Manila-and other Philippine cities.)

Navigating

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October 6,2024, Manila- The day started and ended with rain. Thus, the nice picnic devotional we had planned for late morning became an indoor affair. I brought chicken fillets, topped with dinakdakan sauce. Kathy and her male cousin contributed a rather good pizza. Others brought a regional variation on pancit- a generic Tagalog name for noodles. There was also a seaweed dish, brought by one of the young men. I have been a fan of seaweed since the days we lived in Jeju, Korea. It is a powerhouse of nutrients. I will describe dinakdakan, which I find tasty, upon request. (No, it is not made from insects).

The afternoon was spent in study of aspects of Huquq’u’llah, which I have discussed in earlier posts (see especially Sept. 16, 2024). It was not dry and intense-no Filipino would sit through such boredom for long, but it was done with attention and focus. Kathy knows what she’s doing, especially when it comes to academic presentation of financial matters. I was honoured to sit at her right-hand side and contribute a fair amount to the discussion. Much of it was in Tagalog, but I had everyone’s attention when offering thoughts in English.

Towards the end of the meeting, K’s cousin pressed me to extend my stay- “permanently”. She and I exchanged knowing glances, smiled and I said I would need to go back to the U.S., for six months. There are several things needing attention at Home Base, in Carson City and back East-not excluding the possibility of time in the Southeast, given this year’s sudden explosion of hurricane energy-shades of 2005. Brief visits to San Diego and Jalisco are likely in February, and I will want to get to Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, in April.

So, we have pretty much agreed on a May return. How “permanent” will be influenced by things like the birth of one or more grandchildren-still to be determined, BTW. Today, though, I learned that any mixed signals I may have sensed, over the past day or so, were mainly in my mind. This beautiful, compassionate, intelligent woman, whose friendship I am so privileged to secure, is for real.