Expanding Home, Day 10: Sojourner’s Progress

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October 19, 2023, Paranaque, National Capital Region, PI- Richard, a tuk-tuk driver, taught me my first word of Tagalog: Salamat, which means “Thank you”. There is no more essential word or phrase to learn, in any language. Filipinos are fastidious in saying “Thank you so much”, and I have followed suit in that regard. Now, Salamat po, the same thing in Tagalog, may be offered, and I will learn other words and phrases, as the days go by.

Several of us who passed through security, at Naga Regional Airport, this morning, were screened twice-once upon entry to the terminal and again upstairs. This appears to be the Marcos Administration’s response to the terror attacks in Israel, and I am grateful to the government for not taking any chances. Furthermore, mobile food vendors have been moved out of the terminal and flights are cleared for boarding, as soon as all passengers are on board-regardless of whether the schedule calls for waiting until a prescribed time.

As a result, we got back to Aquino International Airport 27 minutes early. I was given special permission to take a shuttle bus from Terminal 4 to Terminal 1, as Manila Airport Hotel is “within the periphery” of the latter terminal. It pays to be known as respectful and cooperative, when the authorities are reasonable in their procedures. Once at terminal 1, I made the five-minute walk down the outside ramp, across the parking lots and over to the hotel. Check-in was immediate, and so was my shower.

Comparing this journey to my last solo trip across an ocean-to Europe, in 2014, I can say that the foibles and floops have both gone down, in frequency and severity. I have not done anything that left a bad impression, nor have acted like a bull in a china shop-this time. Most of this can be ascribed to the shedding of much grief that remained after Penny’s passing. It is also from having learned from mistakes made in Europe and taking care to be more measured and careful in my day-to-day interactions. Then again, nine years of life have had a maturing effect, in and of themselves. Even the brief, family-centered visit to South Korea, in 2019, had moments when I felt rushed, and had to slow myself down. I am just calmer now, in any event.

This trip is a dry run, to see if I am able to handle the thinking on one’s feet that come with travel in an emerging nation. So far, so good.

First Nations

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October 9, 2023- There once was a story, that when the People came across the ice and land bridge known as Beringia, they followed large, ferocious beasts, from mastodons and mammoths to smilodons (sabre-toothed cats) and short-faced bears. There was Megatherium, the larger, somewhat more irascible ancestor of today’s tree sloth. There were huge dire wolves and wild cattle, called aurochs. Some legends also say that the continent of North America was occupied by giant humans. There is evidence that some First Nations people also came by sea, from the western Pacific islands and from the Mediterranean region-and that even the Amazon Basin was peopled, before the Pacific Northwest.

Much of that lore remains to be proven. So, too, does much of the lore about who first settled what we call the Holy Land. The Old Testament recounts that the twelve tribes of Israel were led to the edge of that nation, and found Canaanites and Philistines already there. There was battle, and the Philistines were defeated. They went slightly north, became the Phoenicians , and contributed greatly to Western Civilization-as did the Jews.

People have always been on the move. Homo sapiens came out of Africa, spread throughout Eurasia, across the Pacific Islands, into Australia and to the Americas. Migrating peoples left the Eurasian steppes and Altai Mountains-some going east and becoming the Siberians and at least some of those we call First Nations peoples or Native Americans; others going west and becoming the Scythians, Kelts, Teutons, Slavs, Turks, Magyars (Huns) and Sami. Other migrating people left the Caucasus and became the Greeks, Etruscans, Latins and Illyrians of southern Europe, or, going eastward, the Persians and various peoples of north India.

African emigres sailed the Indian Ocean, and the eastern rim of Asia, to Australia, New Guinea and Melanesia. The true First Nations of the Philippines, Taiwan and Jeju (South Korea) were of African origin. In kind, Malays, who long ago left southern China and settled the Pacific Rim of southeast Asia-found their way westward, settling Madagascar, where they found and intermingled with Africans.

In Africa itself, the southern third of the continent was originally the domain of those who have been variously called Hottentots, Bushmen, Pygmies, or more recently by their own preferred name, San. Those known collectively as Bantu were migrants from western Africa, who spread across the continent, much as the First Nations peoples of the Americas spread through those continents.

The beat goes on-and still there is argument, as to who should be allowed to live where. Fighting over land is tantamount to self-defeatism. Untangling the ball of yarn will be a long, tortuous process, but can anyone really say the process of conflict and warfare is easier?

“The Earth is but one country, and Mankind its citizens”. – Baha’u’llah

Shani

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October 8, 2023- Her smiling countenance is what we have left of her, at least for the time being. It is a sweet smile, and yes, it’s framed by a scantily-clad physique-but so what? SO WHAT? If that is the “crime” that led grown men abduct her, throw her in a truck, strip her naked and have women spit at her, while she was either unconscious or dead, it speaks volumes about the nature of the individuals and groups who are manipulating the Arabs of Palestine-specifically the long-marginalized, “rats in a cage” Arabs of Gaza.

We all know what deprived animals do when they are trapped and cornered. How much worse it is, for human beings-and when their own neighbours, their own chosen leaders, are the ones primarily entrapping them-as a means of stoking hatred towards a selected enemy-who responds in kind. Thus a few women in an unknown village, somewhere in Gaza, spat at the body of a young woman-who was unconscious or dead. Thus were girls, not much younger than she, made to watch-and be put on notice by their elders-that this is what happens to those who disobey the ulama, the imams, the Supreme Leader.

I am slated to leave for another part of the world, in less than a week. Some of my loved ones have urged me to reconsider, given the current situation in Southwest Asia. It is a fair request, and I am keeping a close watch on the situation. This journey, like all my travels on public conveyances, is insured to the hilt. If the situation escalates-which it may, and those sympathetic to the terrorists strike in the part of the world where I am headed, then I am prepared to stay in bounds, spend a few days in San Diego and San Francisco, and come back to live the dream. If the situation stays as it is presently-which it also may, I will take one leg of the flight at a time, and check updates, while in San Diego, then in San Francisco, then in T’aipei, to say nothing of being constantly vigilant, while in the Philippines.

Back to the matter of Shani Louk: She was at a music festival, in the Negev Desert, when she was abducted, taken to Gaza, stripped bare and paraded around a village like a slab of meat. There is little difference between this act, and all the other abductions, killings-on both sides of the border and torture-on both sides of the border AND the brutal attacks at a concert in Manchester, England, in May, 2017-except in the degree of death and destruction. There is little difference in the intent of the terror-mongers in southwest Israel and that of the perpetrators of the September 11, 2001 attacks on the United States-except in the degree of death and destruction.

Like the girls who were made to watch someone, not much older than they, be rendered unconscious, stripped of her clothing and paraded around, in total deshabille, their mothers’ and aunts’ sputum dripping from her body, we can only wonder how the human race got into this mess. Like the survivors of the Holocaust of 1943-45, forced to watch as their family members were herded onto rail cars and sent to “the showers”, never to return, we can only recoil in horror, as it happens again-albeit to a smaller group-so far. Like the innocent people of Gaza, the West Bank and the State of Israel, whose sole crime is living among those who exist by inhaling the stench of neurotically-achieved power, we can only redouble our own resolve to bring those tottering remnants of Byzantine folly to their just retribution. Extremism has begotten extremism-and it’s high time the gauntlet came down.

May Shani Louk be brought home to her mother.

A View from The Cusp

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October 7, 2023- As we walked along, on the impromptu tour of Prescott College, this evening, one of the conversations drifted into the subject of zodiacal cusps-those periods just before the transition from one zodiac sign to another.

As the person who raised the issue was born just before Scorpio gives way to Sagittarius, the discussion revolved around which traits of the latter sign could be discerned in her make-up. There were 2 or 3, which I will not divulge, as the conversation was semi-private. She did, however, acknowledge that being born on the cusp of Sagittarius gave her a unique appreciation of both zodiacal realms. She went down the list of traits, and asked whether I had them: Free spirit-Check; Life-long learner- Check; Loyal- Check; Inveterate traveler-Check (The last one caused one of my dearest friends, walking nearby, to concur, with a mild sigh. )

One astrologer refers to a Sagittarian’s life as “a wild ride”. I am beginning to think that just about anyone’s life is a wild ride, these days-even if he or she is a homebody. Surely, though, if I have a quiet day at Home Base, it’s in preparation for something intense that’s about to break. My dull days have certainly been few and far between. The Scorpian cusper fairly said the same about her own life. She also said that she has less of a sense that things are out of control, on a frenetic day-and more along the lines of “This is what I am choosing”.

There is certainly much to be said for that view of life. If one recognizes freedom of choice, then it is easier to take responsibility for what happens. That has been, intermittently, a weak spot of mine, corrected in recent years by self-discipline.

This unanticipated stock-taking happened to follow a brief, but temporarily unsettling conflict, earlier in the day. Thankfully, another of the Sag traits with which I’m saddled is not holding onto grudges. Every human deserves a second chance, and the person with whom I had a run-in thought things over and was more respectful towards me, within an hour. Life is too short for anything less.

Smoke, Scheming and Fatigue

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October 3, 2023- More than one child said they were just plain tired- of the smoke from “prescribed burns”, of someone else getting the “last” of a lunch item, or choosing a book they wanted, ahead of them.

More than one adult said they were just plain tired- of the smoke from “prescribed burns”, of people, with agendas contrary to the best interests of children, holding sway.

I am just plain tired- not so much of the smoke from “prescribed burns” (late autumn wildfires are far worse), as from the all-too-transparent schemes of those who think they know exactly how to create a perfect society-just quash the dreams of the common people, and of the rising generations and make everyone toe the line. If people start to catch on, the wire pullers have a plan for that, too-just blame the “other side”.

We, at the ground level are beginning to see that there is no other side-save the puppet masters; indeed, some of us have seen this, for a good long time. My third and fourth grade teachers taught us to reduce fractions to lowest terms. A professor in Graduate School taught us to resolve matters at the lowest possible level. “Keep it simple” ( I will dispense with the odious term ‘stupid’) was something I only mastered late in life, but I’m there now. The more someone tries to complicate things, the more likely it is that a nefarious agenda is afoot. The more someone tries to deflect attention away from themselves, the more likely it is that there is a serious offense being hidden.

Keep an eye on those who are taking advantage of chaos-they may very well be the ones creating it, in the first place.

Wildness and Woolery

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September 30, 2023- The duo paid no mind to the wind that, off and on, gusted through the patio and blew a paper, a napkin or a ball cap away from its owner. The Bourbon Knights, at least the two remaining members, were too busy cranking out solid, vintage rock, to pay attention to such a mundane phenom as wind.

Their preference was playing the classic tunes of The Who, and when they got into the late riffs on “Baba O’Riley”, I half expected to see one of them break into an imitation of Pete Townshend’s Kazotsky kick. Alas, too much of their signature drink had found its way down their gullets, and they were content with their musical offerings, which remained solid. They also ranged from Stevie Nicks to Tom Petty.

This was the wild part of the evening at Rafter Eleven, where I went to close out the bittersweet month of September. Today would have been Penny’s 69th birthday, and true to form, not only one, but two Baha’i events got my attention, back to back. The Worldwide Celebration of Unity, of which I have written before, has taken its place in my Saturday morning routine. Only when I am not in a place where WiFi is accessible, do I beg off the task of co-hosting. The other event, which followed straightaway, was the annual Unit Convention, where Baha’is living in a designated area meet to elect a delegate to the National Convention, set for the following Spring, and consult about issues of import to the region and to the national community. I feel fortunate that the first event was able to be held at the Convention site, courtesy of the electoral tellers, who let me use their meeting room. Penny’s spirit, and my other ethereal guides, see to it that what needs to be done, finds a way.

A woolery is a place where the heavy cloth may be spun, carded and woven into the heavy cloth that is so comforting in cold weather. Our spiritual woolery is the Source of the guidance that comes from following those Spiritual Teachings that afford us protection, in the cold of challenges, tests and setbacks that are so commonly experienced in this life. So it was, both physically and emotionally chilly, at different times today, giving me reason to wear a woolen jacket, given me as a thank-you, by a once homeless man, who I helped for a time, nine years ago-and to seek solace in the Teachings of Baha’u’llah, when feeling the annoyance of people I normally help on Saturdays, who were left on their own today.

The day, and the month, ended well though. Even the country got a breather, from the political clashes that have played out, these past several weeks.

Here, for the curious, are The Who, and “Baba O’Riley”, though sans Kazotsky.

Sis

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September 29, 2023- A cheerful voice, when my early morning call was answered, reassured me that the birthday lady was already having a fine day. Her daughters were on their way to the dream home.

She was, as I’ve said before, my first friend and a parallel traveler, visiting many of the same places as I, though usually before or after-and very often in a more focused manner. Among our shared likes, in terms of places to visit: Bar Harbor/Acadia National Park; Hilton Head Island; Plattsburgh, NY. I will stop in the first one, on the way back from Atlantic Canada, next May-it’s been too long since my last Bar Harbor sojourn. One can never tell about Hilton Head, but it won’t be all that far in the future. Both she and I visited Grandma’s hometown of Plattsburgh, in separate trips, five years ago.

Sis has raised three daughters and a son to stand on their own feet. Eight grandchildren, each a success story in their own right, have their maternal grandparents to back them up,both directly, through their personal bonds and their having raised the kids’ parents in a consistent, loving manner.

She has, most importantly, survived and overcome each personal challenge-and there have been many. A keen native intelligence, a loving heart and a deep well of fortitude have kept my sister going. Her steadfast husband and intensely devoted family have added strength.

She inspires me, with every step she takes. May it long continue to be thus.

The Quiet Furies

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September 28, 2023-

A few affirmations, on this basically quiet day in Home Base:

When the choice is between a power structure and children/teens, I stand with the young ones.

When confronted with a disquiet, menacing presence, I will walk past him/her/it, not crossing the street in avoidance-but not giving in to any demands, either.

When people start to talk over one another, I will stand to one side, in silence, and not support either speaker.

When a public servant blathers about ideological purity, instead of tending to the public weal, I will look elsewhere for someone to act in public service.

When I am asked to complete documents, and submit them in a timely manner, I will regard “timely” as immediate and focus accordingly.

My condolences to the family of Senator Feinstein, who served until the end.

When I am excessively quiet, don’t mistake that for contentment. I may be simply figuring out how best to express my annoyance.

The Burning Sands

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September 27, 2023- The scientist looked earnestly at the veteran politician, and bared his soul. He fretted about the destruction to which his work had contributed. For this, he was castigated, and thrown out of the politician’s office.

Historically accurate or not, this was the depiction of the interchange between J. Robert Oppenheimer and Harry S. Truman, in the film “Oppenheimer”. I came away from the film, which was in its final showing this evening, thinking “Well, that was certainly vintage Truman; ‘The buck stops here’ and all that.” It may have been typical of Oppenheimer, as well. He held a dim view of “Give ‘Em Hell Harry”, largely for the difference in worldview between the two of them.

There was, however, a firsthand view of the first atomic explosion that occurred in White Sands, that Oppenheimer had and Truman did not. The President had to weigh a lot of factors, in deciding to attack Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Chief among them was ‘saving American lives’, with the damage to Japan being secondary. There were calculations, though, that far more Japanese lives would be lost in a conventional war, than from one or two nuclear strikes. It was, in my 20/20 hindsight (I was born in 1950), a Hobson’s choice.

War, and conflict in general, brings out the worst in people. Its “solution” certainly caused no end of heartache and grief to the people of Kyushu and western Honshu. It left Oppenheimer, a reluctant recipient of both civic honour and political humiliation, a veritable wreck of a man. The subsequent research into the hydrogen bomb left “downwinders” in southern Nevada and Utah, northern Arizona and much of New Mexico, poisoned, debilitated shells of their more robust selves. Neutron bombs, which “kill people, but leave buildings intact” are perhaps the most cynical extension of this element of modern warfare, save the use of armed drones, launched a long distance away from the target.

The events that were fictionalized in “Oppenheimer” only reinforced my revulsion. Harry Truman probably would have wanted to kick my buttocks.