November 12, 2025- Someone I care about, here in town, mentioned recently that several health challenges lie ahead in the coming year. Having faced similar issues, within the past six years, I offered some recommendations and left it to friend to follow up. Caring has to be tempered with a respect for dignity.
I have learned, as a caretaker in the 2000s, and as a person in resilience in the 2010s and early part of this decade, that lack of attention to detail can very often come back to haunt-and at very unexpected times. Besides, being more present has helped relieve the level of autism that has gotten in my way. With less off-center behaviour, I also have less tendency to offer excuses for missteps-or to blame others for things that only I can control.
That is as true of physical ailments as it is of psychological issues. A lot of the progress I have made in both areas is also due to a greater focus on natural supplements. I have benefited greatly from do Terra products. Others use different companies’ fare, with results that work for them. The important thing is that a person knows self well enough to choose the right physiosocial regimen that meets her/his needs.
Each of us is important to the world, and the Universe, in some way. May details be seen as parts of a road map, and not as nuisances.
November 7, 2025- I went to a quiet place, this morning, instead of dropping in at the crowded, delightful and noisy jam fest that takes place each Friday morning.. As time moves on, I am finding that where I go, on a given day, matters little to anyone outside a small group. That’s probably how it’s always been, as in the verse of an old song, “Most folks just go their way, don’t pay me any mind.”
Sitting in Century Lounge, I drew cursory attention from a couple of small children. I smiled at each and went back to my writing, which was the main reason I wanted relative quiet this morning. The rest of the patrons were busily involved with business, politics or affairs of the heart.
As the day progressed, there were signs that the situation on the national level might be resolved, sort of, sometime next week. For now, though, the transportation piece of that situation leaves me little choice but to drive out and back, over Thanksgiving. I generally think that the right thing will happen. It just takes time to sort out all the egoism and perceived “need” that emanates from the human psyche.
Tonight, I spent some time on a Zoom call, from which I have been absent for several weeks. My presence was briefly acknowledged, then the regulars went about their business and I stayed on as an observer. It was a nice hour, though, as three wonderful children came on as participants, getting the support they deserved from the regulars.
Things that matter most in life are what usually end up transpiring.
November 5, 2025- Some things never seem to change. Two little girls decided to shut out their more officious row-mate, after she called attention to something they supposedly said. I have two thoughts on reporting vs. tattling. On the one hand, I thoroughly believe that children should be seen, heard and believed. The days when only adults were allowed to speak are, mercifully, long gone. On the other hand, not being naive, I know that children, being human, can also be wrong-in their assessment or even in their intentions. A child’s frame of reference is most likely limited by the brevity of their life experiences. Nevertheless, I listened carefully to her report, and equally carefully heard their side, not assessing blame or credit to either.
As it happened, we were starting what is called “Centers”, where students rotate among different activities in the classroom. So, the two girls went to one area and the third occupied herself in drawing and reading. They later were all collaborating on another activity, the earlier dispute seemingly set aside. The regular teacher returned shortly afterward, and I was on my merry way.
We can be very funny about hanging onto bad exchanges with others. I learned a long time ago that grudges are like dead weights. The kids who came across as bullies, in my younger days, were all different. Early on, I decided to look at them individually. The good-hearted boy who was always on my case about one thing or another became the man who was earnestly interested in my well-being. The troubled kid who was constantly trying to beat up others was, as I later witnessed, terrified by others who were stronger and meaner than he. The duo who harassed other kids, by riding up to them on their bikes and taking things, later became men who found themselves being targeted by more nefarious grifters. Holding grudges would have weighed me down. I’m glad to have moved on.
Hopefully, the very competent regular teacher will handle any ongoing tension between the three girls and their different personalities will find a way to mesh, over the years.
November 3, 2025- I revisited a small regular gathering today. One usually consistent attendee was conspicuously absent. It was explained to me that this person is on an inward journey and does not wish to be with anyone, for the time being. While this news is a bit disconcerting, I have to wish friend well.
I have rarely, if ever, ensconced myself in seclusion for very long. There was a period of time, after Penny passed (2011), when I kept a lot to myself, but there were always other people in the house and I never really felt like I was cocooning. In truth, though, old habits and ways of viewing the world, some of which I had held since adolescence, were being shed. Wrapped up in contemplation, I came out of that period, towards the end of 2014. During those three years, there were a few adventures and a couple of colossal missteps, that might have wrecked my life, and those of a few other people, but for the Grace of the Almighty.
We are each ever in a state of flux, with changing circumstances that could either propel us forward, or upend everything we know and cherish. Sometimes, life brings us a little of both. I see that this might be happening to said friend, and can only be a well-wisher. My own life, in the next six weeks, will see the conclusion of one great chapter and the beginning of another, perhaps grander. I will not be cocooning, though.
November 2, 2025- The meeting, held unusually on a Sunday, was going like clockwork. Out of the blue came a rash of cursing and threatening language. Those involved knew fully well that they were disrupting the meeting next door. They made it clear that they didn’t care-and further, that no one was going to tell them to stop arguing and leave the building.
The right to use foul language and disrupt business, however, seems to end three feet from one’s neighbour’s face. In a privately-owned facility, moreover, a person may be compelled to leave, at the discretion of the building’s owner, or her/his lawful representatives. This is what ended up happening today. The person responsible for keeping order in the meeting, aided by two other officers, escorted the four disquiet people out of the building. There was some discussion outside, but the four went their separate ways, apparently understanding that attracting the attention of the police was not in their best interests.
This is my own main argument for not letting alcohol, or any mind-altering substance, affect one’s ability to carry on with life. I was, at one time, a terrible drunk, and I will leave it at that. I seldom, if ever, though, threw my weight around. On the few occasions that I did so, I was readily called to account, and there are those in my past who are all too happy to remind me of that time when…. So be it. Life is a series of mishaps and, hopefully, of lessons learned.
As a society, though, we still have drug allusions that are used to extol the virtues of a legitimate food or beverage-i.e. “It’s better than crack”. Oh? How do you know about crack? The fact that such a horrible substance is seen in a positive light gives me the willies. Disquietude can be found in any nook and cranny of society. Dealing with it, rooting it out, takes fortitude-and persistent effort-the kind that does not allow for a positive view of an addicting substance.
November 1, 2025- One of the things that appeals to me most about Home Base I is that not a whole lot changes, on occasions when I am away-even for almost two months. A restaurant closed, with the promise of re-opening in another location, “soon”. Taking its place was a high-priced establishment that serves dinner only, five nights a week. No other changes are evident, though.
I dropped in at one favourite stop, and found the owner, a friend, uncharacteristically angry. It turned out that someone reneged on a promised gig, for the flimsiest of excuses. I would have been furious. I think my friend handled it rather well, considering.
Today was All Saints Day, mostly celebrated heartily in predominately Roman Catholic countries. It is a national holiday in the Philippines and in several Latin American nations. In Mexico, it dovetails with Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead), which is more prominent in Mexican culture. I was present for the holiday in Manila, in 2022, even if I was merely wending my way to Aquino International Airport. It was still a day when many Filipinos were on the move, both domestically and internationally. To me, sainthood is relative. Only a few souls have neared perfection, in this mortal life, and even fewer have attained it.
I have a long way to go, but that’s okay. I am giving life my best shot.
October 28, 2025- I am back at Home Base I. The story of how I got back, after seven weeks on the continent of most of my forebears, is a reflection on our times.
Up early, and bidding farewell to Apple Guest House, I walked to Harlington Village and found Premier Laundry. The kind proprietor took in my dirty clothes and said he needed two hours to get the job done. It was 9 a.m., so I spent time in the village park, doing devotions and reflecting on the journey now coming to a close. Breakfast then came, at The Flying Egg Cafe, a “breakfast all day” establishment that is popular with locals. The owners, from Pakistan, did a fabulous job with my “Airport Breakfast”, a lighter version of such full English offerings as “Lumberjack” and “Builders” breakfasts. I relaxed for about 1 1/4 hours there. By the time I got back to Premier, the clothes were ready, and I took time to repack my backpack, in th estore’s foyer.
It took two buses to get from Harlington to Heathrow Terminal 5, but I was there in short order. Check-n and security were easy, and I was in the cavernous area near the gates, by noon. Giraffe World Kitchen was too enticing to pass up, so I ordered chicken quesadillas, as today was a Tuesday, and that usually means Mexican food. (I knew British Airways would give us two meals, but there was no telling, at this point, how long it would take to even board the plane.)
Once the flight was posted, I made my way to the proper gate. Then, the first announcement came-“flight delayed by ten minutes”. It is never ten minutes. Any reason to set back a flight means that either there is a mechanical issue, a software problem or something is amiss on the other end of the flight. Two hours later, the boarding process began. The overly officious young man at the desk, who had taken to snipping at various passengers, was sent somewhere else and a group of young ladies processed us with fair dispatch. I later learned that there had been a back-and-forth between Heathrow and those responsible for air traffic control assignments in Washington-with our British hosts insisting on knowing for certain that the plane would not have to circle around Phoenix or be directed elsewhere, once the plane was near destination. That is what took two extra hours.
The flight itself was lovely. I got four hours of sleep, watched three films and enjoyed both meals. My seatmate, from France, has a home near Phoenix and told of his enjoyment of the Arizona desert. The first film, “The Salt Path”, with Jason Isaacs and Gillian Anderson, told the story of a chronically ill man and his wife who lose their home to speculators, then embark on a trek along England’s South West Coast Path, starting at Poole and eventually making their way to Penzance, Cornwall. It is a story of a terminally ill man’s triumph, through both the love of his wife and his gradual recognition that he had the strength within him to overcome the hardest adversity.
Next was an Indian film, “Bramayugam”, (The Age of Madness), which told the story of a folk singer who wanders into a mana (mansion) that is inhabited by a master, his cook and a “trapped” goblin. The “master” is fact the goblin, who has trapped the real master and has him in chains. The cook is in fact the true master’s illicit son. The story is classic good vs. evil, with a twist at the end.
The third film that came my way was “Doctor Sleep”, the sequel to “The Shining”. It tells the story of adult Danny Torrance, who has grown up struggling to hold down a job and even to live a normal life, following the death of his mother by natural causes, when he was 20. He continues to exhibit the “shining” (extreme intuition), and becomes connected to a young girl, who has an even stronger version of the shining. They are targeted by a group of vampires, who seek to dominate through gradually killing off anyone with such abilities. The story follows a predictable path, but not without a great deal of loss on both sides.
After “Doctor Sleep” came sleep of my own, then “dinner” (at 6 p.m., MST, over the plains of North Dakota and eastern Montana). We landed around 8 p.m., gathered luggage,then went through a surprisingly easy inspection by ICE and walked back to Terminal 4. I caught the 9:20 p.m. shuttle, having missed the van on which I was originally supposed to ride. As luck would have it, there was one seat left on the 9:20, and the person who reserved it was himself on a delayed flight. Thus, I rode back to Prescott and was at Home Base I by 11:45.
“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end”- Dan Wilson. “Closing Time”
October 25, 2025, Findhorn, Scotland- The gentle couple welcomed me into their home, the last of three cozy, warm cottages that greeted me upon my arrival in this ecological village, high on the North Sea. It is a place of learning, of adaptation and of unrelenting hope. Here, I will spend a peaceful night, knowing that the residents have endured gales and storms that are far worse than the mild chill that whispers outside.
I easily made my way from Travel Guest House to Waverley Train Station, and stopped to enjoy a Cornish pasty for breakfast. Looking at the nearby sign board, just two minutes before we were to board a train to Aberdeen, the ride was canceled. After finishing the pasty, I went to the Travel Centre and rebooked- this time for a train to Perth, which would be followed by a bus that would take us through Cairngorms National Park-the crown jewel of the eastern Highlands, thence to Inverness, where I would meet my friend Lisa and go on to Findhorn.
I walked up to platform 19, where the train to Perth was already waiting. Needless to say, there were a number of folks from just north of Aberdeen, who were irritated by the last-minute scrub, but they were making the best of it. In fairly short order, we were underway, and I was seeing a Scotland that was enjoying clear skies, after the cold rain of yesterday afternoon and evening.
Crossing the Forth Bridge to RosythFirth of Forth, through the trees (above and below)Firth of Forth meets the North SeaBurntisland
From there, it was only another hour before we reached Perth, turning inland at Leven and passing through Cupar and Abernethy to the home of Scone Palace. We would not see the palace, though, as the bus took us through glorious highland scenes. I was, however, in a crowded vehicle, with no room to maneuver either a camera or phone, without being a nuisance to the patient grandmother to my right. Take my word for it, though, Caringorms is well worth a journey in itself.
A number of people got off the bus at Landmark Forest Adventure Park, and in another half hour, we were in Inverness. There was no view of Loch Ness- it’s another 20 miles to the southwest, but the city has Beauly Firth, Moray Firth and Clava Cairns to recommend it to a visitor, besides being the northern gateway to Cairngorms. Lisa, a friend from the Earth Rising internet group, which has been meeting once a month, for the past six years, was there to greet me and be my guide to Findhorn.
We headed straightaway to The Captain’s Table, the first warm, cozy cabin-like place of welcome. I “tucked in” to a hearty bowl of cullen skink- Scotland’s other signature dish, (no haggis was either offered or served on this visit). Cullen skink is fish chowder: Smoked haddock, potatoes and onions, usually in a broth of milk or cream. It was a wee bit o’ heaven!
With me fortified against the chill, we explored the small beach at the confluence of River Findhorn and Forres Cove.
Forres Cove Wharf at The Captain’s Table CafeA Scottish sunset (above and below)
Lisa finds the shades of grey things of beauty. Tonight, I agree with her.
Surf meets sedge Lonely walkers on an evening beach A neap tide-not as cold as it looks.
We drove back to the village, and stopped for a bit at Lisa’s house, the second cozy cabin. After a brief chat, it was time to head to the home of friends Alan and Pupak, my lodging for the night. We sat and discussed spiritual matters, and health protocols. Now, it is time for rest, so I bid all A’chiu va (aye chuh va)-good night, in Scottish Gaelic.
October 23, 2025, Dublin- The status of churches and cathedrals in Ireland, in terms of denomination, often needs a scorecard. Some great buildings are under the Church of Ireland. Others are under the Roman Catholic Church. One parish, St. Audoen’s, has one of each. (The Protestant building is under renovation.)
Into the morass of denominational turmoil, in the mid-19th Century, stepped the figures of al-Bab and Baha’ullah, Whose birthdays, close together on the Badi (Persian Lunar) calendar, we Baha’is celebrate in back-to-back Holy Days. The concept of Progressive Revelation explains the differences among the Faiths of the past and offers a way for those of all Faiths to reconcile.
Our observance of the Birth of Baha’ullah took place in the cafe of the National Gallery of Ireland. The arts are celebrated and honoured in the Baha’i traditions. So, in an environment of splendour, some 25 of us sat and discussed various topics of interest. Following the celebration, which of course included a slice of cake and beverage, of one’s choosing, some of us went to enjoy other rooms of the Gallery.
National Gallery of Ireland
The paintings I found of interest included John Lavery’s “Her First Communion”, Jan De Beer’s “The Flight Into Egypt”, Adam Pankraz Ferg’s “A Landscape with Figures and Horses”, Jack B. Yeats’ “Above the Fair”. None of these may be shown outside the Gallery, save on its website. Thus, there are no photos, even with watermarks.
Upon leaving the National Gallery, I headed to Dublinia, a museum dedicated to the interaction between Celts, Vikings and Norman French, over the centuries, in the development of the city.
Viking information, at Dublinia
As we learned in Reykjavik, and further in Stockholm, the word Viking most likely refers to one who lives near or comes from an area near, a vik– a bay or cove. Over time, it came to mean anyone who came to the British Isles or mainland Europe, from Scandinavia or Denmark.
Here is the basic truth about the founding of Dublin.
Origin of modern Dublin
The Vikings found two Celtic settlements in the area, one on each bank of the River Liffey.
Ath Cliath (u-thuh clee uh) and Duiblinn (dove-lin).Interior of a simple peasant hut, during Viking ruleA street scene, in 14th Century DublinLooking down from the steps to St. Michael’s Tower, Dublinia
Looking at my watch, it did not seem wise to go up the steps to St. Michael’s Tower, as I normally would. There was a meeting with an old Baha’i friend, at a hotel across town, in a relatively short time. Iveah Gardens Hotel was shown to me as being at a major intersection in central Dublin, except that the people who worked at that location had never heard of it. They directed me westward, towards “a big building, that you can’t miss”. In other words, they couldn’t find it on their GPS, either.
I eventually did find an Iveah Court, an apartment building. The guard there thought it was back towards where I had just been, “but in any case, just walk straight, no turns”. Two inquiries later, I came upon Iveah Garden Hotel. It is indeed an elegant place, but is discretely signed. The young lady for whom Penny and I were mentors, in the 2000s, had grown into an elegant and well-spoken teacher of the French language, the promulgation of which was one of her principal reasons for being in Dublin. We got to catch up on the course of our respective lives, for twenty minutes in the hotel tea shop and fifteen minutes walking towards her work site.
Bidding farewell to C, I headed down Cameron Street, towards Temple Bar. I found Ne Zha, an intriguing Asian tapas cafe, which normally requires reservations. The owner found a stool, on which I could sit by the kitchen and observe the chefs at work. It was a fabulous small dinner that ensued.
Tomorrow, I bid farewell to Dublin and to Ireland, with its cousin to the northeast on my radar screen.
October 7, 2025, Zagreb- The bus conductor pretended to be livid, shouting in Serbian: “Five minutes means five minutes!”, as I came back from seven minutes in a supermarket queue. Some things are more essential than others, and as he well knew, no one cuts in front of a mother and two children, with a modest basket of groceries. No one does that, anywhere in the world.
The driver shrugged his shoulders and made up the two lost minutes, once we were back on the highway. We didn’t stop again until the Croatian border. There, with two buses ahead of us, we sat for ten minutes. Then, we go out, and were exited by the Bosnian border police, got back on the bus, waited until our time to re-enter Croatia, and got back off the bus. We retrieved our luggage from the storage bins and fell in line again.
A pleasant, business-like young woman stamped everyone’s passport, checked to see that the bins were empty then joined her two colleagues in the baggage inspection room. We were especially selected for the spot check, because there were a few people on board from countries which were being watched by Europol. The U. S. is not among those countries, but I have nothing to hide, regardless. The passport stamper checked my bags, educating herself about American dietary supplements in the process. I was glad to oblige. I would proudly claim that woman as a daughter, the way she dove into her tasks and joined her teammates without being told.
The rest of the way was quiet, the conductor, who was now the driver, maneuvered his way through Zagreb’s rush hour traffic-hardly Los Angeles or Berlin, but a slowdown nonetheless. The first driver got off the bus at a truck stop and the rest of us went to the now familiar West Zagreb Terminal. From there, I caught a tram to near the Mickey Mouse Apartment-a variation on Alora-Heart of Zagreb, except the apartment was on the fourth floor, instead of in the basement. It was of similar size to Alora, and was across the hall from Mini-Suite, which had Madame Mouse on the front door. This start-up apartment business seems to be unique to Zagreb, but it’s a nice idea, even if it wouldn’t work for all travelers.
The day had started a bit less organized. Sarajevo is a larger city than one might think, and there is a world of difference between the Old Town and the modern downtown, which looks pretty standard. No one near the Miljacka River bank knew where the bus station was, but a bartender (open at 8:30 a.m.) said it was too far to walk. I caught a tram, advised by a university student, and a woman who had just taken her kids to school, that it was eight stops ahead. A young woman from Germany joined me in the luggage pile section, and we power-walked together to the bus terminal, doing a 10-minute walk in 7. She sat and waited for her bus, and I caught mine outside, leaving my Bosnian Mark coins with a destitute young man who stood, forlorn, on the platform.
Here are some scenes of the day.
Sacred Heart Cathedral, downtown Sarajevo Miljacka River, SarajevoOutside Visoko, BosniaBosna Bucha River, north of Visoko Bosna Bucha River, near Zenica (Zeneesa). That town had the supermarket at the bus station.
Safely in Mickey Mouse Apartment, I bid all a good night. Tomorrow, it’s off to Salzburg, probably via Slovenia.
A Sagittarian Seeker 