October 14, 2025, Strasbourg- I took no photos of Strasbourg this time. Hotel Strasbourg-Monatagne Verte is lovely and the area around it is serene, almost bucolic. The quiet paths that lead, safely, across the bustling highway into older neighbourhoods of this economic hub of northeastern France are worthy of several shots.
I simply was not in the photographic frame of mind, no pun intended. My camera has a day to charge and I am giving myself time to sit and reflect. Tomorrow morning, I will go across to Laverie Valiwash and take care of my wardrobe. This evening, I will rest, as my message to friends here received no reply. A nice French dinner was my solace. The staff at Hotel Strasbourg are superb.
The trains from Frankfurt were a standard car to Offenburg, then a commuter train the rest of the way. Most of the people on the second leg were university students heading to one of the small German border towns that serve as suburbs to Strasbourg: Places like Kehl, where a team of German and French border police checked tickets and passports. Once the kids were gone, there were only a few of us going the rest of the way to Strasbourg. The trams and buses at Centre Gare (railway station) go towards the Cathedral, to the European Union facilities and other areas that are in the direction opposite where I was headed. Montagne-Verte is a fairly new area of town, and as was said earlier, has a rustic air to it, even with the apartment buildings and tourist hotels that are carefully interspersed within its greenery.
One of these years, I will set aside three days or so, to give justice to a visit to this bustling town. Tonight, though, I am just regrouping, getting ready for the last week or so of a fascinating journey that has had many aspects of whirlwind to it.
October 6, 2025, Sarajevo- Once again, I found myself looking at piles of children’s shoes, mounds of abandoned luggage, faces of frightened families being herded onto to trucks-instead of train cars, with the same promise of “a better life”. I looked into hundreds of pairs of eyes, of men of various ages; indeed, some of the “men” were only 14 or 15. Every last one of the more than 8,000 male human beings killed in July, 1995, in and around Srebrenica, Bosnia& Hercegovina was “guilty” of only one thing-being a Muslim in what their captors conceived to be a pure, Christian, Serbian nation of Yugoslavia.
The Srebrenica Memorial Center sits in what is styled the Republic of Srpska (Serp-ska), its existence and its mission protected by the overarching government of Bosnia i Hercegovina, under the Dayton Accords, which ended the war in Bosnia, in 1996. The Bosnian Serbs make no pretense of liking the message the Museum offers, but they abide its presence. In that sense, it is no different from, say, the Civil Rights Museum in Montgomery, AL or the Sand Creek Massacre National Monument, in southern Colorado. Those who view things only one way cannot easily accept even established fact, when it disrupts their world view.
Three of us were taken to this Museum, by a man named Adis. He is a veteran of the Bosnian War for Independence. He is also an accomplished de-mining technician, and has helped remove mines in over two dozen countries, since 1998. Adis is a Bosnian Muslim. He told us of the background of the horrors that nearly tore his country apart, in the years 1992-96. He told us, as did staff members at the Museum, of the unreliability of United Nations Peacekeepers, held back by the envoy of the U.N. to Yugoslavia and by their own commanders. These men told us what was the result of overemphasis on preserving the status quo. The Big Picture fell on top of the people who only wanted to live their lives in peace.
Here are some of the scenes presented us at the Museum, in Srebrenica itself and at the Memorial Cemetery, down the street from this powerful institution.
Srebrenica Memorial Center, Polocari, Bosnia i HercegovinaRijad Fejzic’s story
Riki was 18 when he died, probably alongside his father and most likely not when engaged in combat. He had no training, no weapon, only his faith and love for his family. Riki’s story is a recurring presence in the 26 rooms, in which the story of this conflict unfolds in the Memorial Center. His remains were only identified after the war had ended. His father’s have never been found. Riki was beaten to death.
Presentation at Memorial Center, Polocari
This man’s father was a Bosnian Army soldier. He himself has been a presenter at the Memorial Center, for almost fifteen years. He is showing the course of the attacks on Srebrenica, which had been deemed a protected zone of the United Nations. Bosnian Serb forces, aided by the Serbian regulars, decided to ignore the UN’s presence in the area, and marched on the town, on July 11, 1995. The UN’s troops, a Dutch battalion, were under-equipped and outnumbered. It could have been different, but those in control of the situation simply had other priorities.
A relative few of the abandoned shoes left by fleeing children, in July, 2011.A mother’s sorrowTaking a page from Nazi Germany, the Bosnian Serb and Serbian commanders overruled even the misgivings of their own rank and file soldiers, many of whom had known the Bosnian Muslims as neighbours- for decades.Some of the 8,000 men and boys killed in July, 2011.Survivors gathered at the site of a mass grave, in 1996.The city of Srebrenica is a shell of its old self, but its young people still hold it close.The city from a former healing spa, high above. The spires are those of two mosques.Peace Monument in the central square of Srebrenica.An estimate of the total number of Bosnian men and boys killed in July, 1995. Posted at Memorial Cemetery.Row upon row of Muslim graves, all from that fateful day in July, 1995.
No one should condemn the Serbian people for what happened, any more than one could condemn the German nation for the Nazi reign of terror or the average Southern white male for the horrors of slavery and Jim Crow, or the majority of Hutu farmers for the slaughter of the Tutsi, in Rwanda. Adis put it clearly: “Most people just want to live their lives in peace and provide for their families. It’s as true of the Serbs around us as it is of we Bosniaks.”
The lesson of Srebrenica, of Auschwitz-Birkenau, of Rwanda, of Cambodia, of the oppression of Indigenous peoples the world over, is that the people of any given community cannot just leave the affairs of a community, state/province or nation to the ambitious and those with an agenda. Each of us has a say in what goes on around us. This is one of the keys to peace-It starts within and radiates outward, lest it die on its own vine.
October 1, 2025, Vienna- Up early enough, I got to Oscwiecim’s small train station and caught the train back to Krakow, only to boomerang right back past the station, as we made our way down to Vienna. I had a seat, clear to the Austrian capital, going through southern Poland and the Czech Republic. It was a long ride, though, as you can imagine, and I was ready for the mattress by the time we crossed the Danube and got into town. Somehow, I read, and re-read, the message from my lodging, and saw one too many codes for that hour of night. It also indicated that it was past time for check-in (“Office closes at 8 p.m.”, and it was 10:15.)
These things happen a lot, and yes, the train was delayed for about forty minutes. Still, I was frustrated at not getting to the Baha’i National Centre in Vienna, this evening, and at what seemed to be one too many Internet-centric snags, in connecting with the lodging. Besides, they didn’t answer their phone, which is supposedly on 24/7. End of rant.
I got a briefing on Vienna’s excellent public transportation system and found my way to Radisson Red Vienna. I am usually not partial to high-end hotels, but I was exhausted and besides, this was Vienna. So, the welcoming desk clerks got a guest with no reservation, and I got a very refreshing place at which to not have to enter codes.
A gowned angel watched over me, at Radisson Red, Vienna
September 18, 2025, Visby, Gotland- When I was in sixth grade, in 1961-62, our Social Studies focus was on “The Old World”. The class studied certain aspects of each time period, from the beginning of civilization to the Medieval Period. Somehow, the walled city of Visby, on the Swedish island of Gotland, has always stayed in my mind.
When the time came to plan a visit with a long-time friend, who lives in the port of Nynashamn, near Stockholm, I noted that Nynashamn is the mainland ferry connection to Visby, and Gotland. So, a short visit to the walled city was in order. In between days spent with my friend, her husband and children, here I am in the walled, old section of Visby, which is also a modern port and the site of a Swedish military facility.
It took three hours and ten minutes to get here, on generally calm waters-not bad at all for the Baltic Sea, this time of year. A further bonus was that once I got into my room and got organized, the sun came out and the sky pretty much cleared. It was time to check out the walled sections of town.
Boende BnB is around the corner. (It is actually pronounced Bo-EN-dee.)
In the process, I came upon Wisby Hof, an elegant place built into the wall, and which had Schnitzel-“Gotland-style”, so having indulged in other faves, like pizza, tacos and baked fish already this week, Wisby Hof it was, for dinner.
Wisby Hof
After dinner, I looked to see whether there were any places at which one might walk along the top of the roof-as there are on similar structures in places like Old Manila, Luxembourg Ville, or Rennes, the capital if Brittany. The answer is “No”. Looking at the stone that is used to build the wall, I can understand why. It would be problematic to allow the numbers of tourists who come here each year to scale the wall. It also accents the purpose of the wall as a formidable defense, against both seaborne attackers and against Swedish opponents of the Duke of Gotland.
My after-dinner walk went back to the closest church to Boende.
Vardklockans KyrkaThe village that lay protectedEvery narrow street has its story.So does every other narrow street.
Let’s look at the wall itself!
Section of wall being refurbishedTwo of four towers on the wall’s east flankLarge section of wall, between eastern towersRuins of the Churches of St, Hans and St. Per. The towers of these churches were pulled down, in the 1530s, so that their stones could not be used as fodder to bombard Viborg Castle, in Russia. The destruction, however, only got so far. The site is now considered part of Swedish national heritage.Section of wall that protected the Churches of St. Hans and St. Per.
September 4, 2025- The juvenile doe gingerly approached the front yard of the home on Copper Basin Road, the penultimate southernmost road that is headed east to west, in Prescott. It was not unusual to see a deer, or even a predator, along this road. Deer are very social animals though, so seeing a loner was out of the ordinary. I wondered if she were orphaned, or just cut off from her herd. Maybe they were already in the back yard. Even the most social of animals can have stragglers. I can pretty much surmise, though, that the doe was not alone by conscious choice.
We humans are almost unique, in that we can isolate ourselves by placing excessive demands on our families, friends and associates. I have known people, a few of whom are still on the periphery of my social circle, who follow up a contingent demand with yet another. Most, if not all, of their relationships are conditional upon their being treated with deference-and usually at the expense of someone else-of whom they are jealous, or by whom they feel threatened.
I’ve said it before, though, and still maintain, that life is not a zero sum game. There has been, and remains, enough of me to share with several people about whom I care. So far, holding that stance has caused the more skittish ones to stop and thank me for what has been done on their behalf, at least for a few days. In my earlier years, I often kept to myself, only going to join other neighbourhood kids when they came by the house. So, I know a little of what the loners are feeling.
In middle childhood and in adolescence, being with others became more important, so I went to school dances, joined in games and sports, even if I was terrible at them and hung out with others at friends’ houses or went to their families’ camps. This probably kept me alive and reinforced the social skills that my parents bent over backwards, trying to instill earlier.
It also gave me the sense that, after losing my wife of 29 years, staying active in the community-first in Phoenix and then in Prescott- was what was going to guide me back to health and well-being. Community service then indirectly led me to do Terra supplements and a more healthy diet. It ended my status as lone deer- and brought first a wider social circle here in Prescott, then across Arizona and more widely-nationally and internationally.
I thought of these things even further, after offering similar advice to someone in another state, who recently retired and is looking for ways to build a new life. I hope this person will follow a path of self-discovery and self-realization. Each of us has gifts that are far beyond our understanding. Service and fellowship can bring those out.
September 2, 2025- Coming up to a ledge, on the trail between White Spar Mountain and Goldwater Lake, Hiking Buddy and I spotted nineteen American flags-the sign of a memorial to the 19 Wildland Firefighters, who died in 2013, at Yarnell Hill.
Other forms of death showed themselves nearby.
Beyond, though, are the many signs of life, for which these sacrifices have been made.
We made this short hike, as part of a run-up to my own seven-week absence from Home Base I, and from Arizona. I have had a good summer here, and now it is time to tie up loose ends. Connecting HB with an aficionado of her type of product was another result of today’s efforts. Finally getting through to a critic of local organic farming, earlier this morning, was another.
The rest of the week will see me on a worldwide prayer call, then up at Hopi for a brief visit with new arrivals in the Health Provider community and a Red Cross meeting here, on Thursday. Friday, I will continue my dry run of packing, as the weekend is full of special events, on which more, in a few days.
I have also carefully spoke my peace about other issues, and so far had little push back. Towards that end, I will not elaborate on my thoughts in this forum. We are all entitled to our own opinions, though not to our own facts.
No matter where I go, the sacrifices of those brave men commemorated above, and of others like them, will still figure large in my consciousness. They tied the loose strands of community, by giving their very lives.
August 29, 2025- The two-year-old boy spotted me from his place on his grandmother’s chaise lounge and told Nana to look up. His smile could light up Grand Central Station and his enthusiasm could carry a rocket to the Moon and back. His younger and quieter sister gave a slight smile and a nod, but she is more Nana’s girl. I was at the house to tend to a small business matter, which will help two parties, while I am away.
The day was largely spent in bringing some unfinished business to fruition. Sportage has a new oil pan, so no more drips. The trade-off is that there is a countdown to the next regular oil and lube. The Beast will be spending 7 weeks in carport, though, under the watchful eyes of my neighbours, so there is no great rush to get that done.
Then, there was the above-mentioned visit, concerned with relieving another family’s food insecurity. “Nana” is a local small farmer, so she can help with that. Lastly, there is a friend elsewhere who needs assistance in getting through a medical procedure, so that needs periodic contribution. Mostly, though, I am tending to my own needs, so as not to become “a destitute hero”, who would be no hero at all.
The upcoming journey involves reaching destinations and fulfilling promises that are anywhere from seven to fifteen years old. In meditation, the answer came back to focus on these, and there would be time down the road to fulfill more recent pledges. In the interim, I have commitments to my little family and to someone else I love most dearly. Those will take precedence over anything else.
Clear as mud? Things will be explained, as they happen. For now, it is a matter of redeeming old promises and deferring those of more recent vintage.
August 22, 2025- The girls were forthright in asking for help on their writing assignment, asking me to help, instead of one of the regular staff. They were crestfallen, when I told them I had to take care of other business on Monday-but that they would not be left alone. I trust that a caring soul will be on hand, and tend to their needs. I was able to meet those needs today, so it was a good day.
A friend shared memories of childhood; of witnessing lynchings-the sort described by Billie Holliday, in her song, “Strange Fruit”. This is something that no child should ever have to witness. Another friend shared the news that a young man had taken his own life, shattering her immediate community. This is something that no youth should ever need to contemplate. In my own work, keeping children safe from both external and internal trauma was a major focus of time and energy. It had to be done with regularity, and without judgment as to what the urgency level may have been.
I was not able to prevent all suicide. No one can know for certain what the turmoil is. inside another soul. The first friend has never spoken of what was seen, until now. The young man did not share his pain, even with his closest friends.
I am fortunate, in life here in Prescott and in the various places I have been honoured to visit, over the past fifteen years. Rarely has there been a closed door, and then only because of my own shortcomings or faux pas. With that good fortune has come a fair amount of responsibility. So, I don’t think of time spent anywhere as “vacation”, even though to those whose life commitment is to stay put and focus on one community or one neighbourhood, any time spent not working-or not spent “blooming where planted” is a lark.
So be it. I will wake each day, no matter where I find myself and make the same commitment to the well-being of those around me, as I did in schools and communities, across Arizona and in South Korea, for 46 years. Some of that will be in schools; other will be on the road or in communities where I might be expected to relax. It will be what appears to be needed.
August 11, 2025- After 46 years in education, I am still somewhat thrown off by questions about very technical issues. Nitpicky matters have just never really interested me, so my tendency has been to give them short shrift. There are times, though, when it’s necessary to get out the notebook and take careful stock of the particulars of things. Today was such a day.
Last night, I went through an online class on Red Cross pedagogy, of all things. Even though it’s better to look at anything academic in the light of day, I pursued it anyway. When it came time for assessment, the technical issues had not registered, and I decided to re-take the class-in the light of day.
So today, after Coffee Klatsch and some checking on the status of fires on the White Mountain Apache Nation, I went through the pedagogy class again, being more careful to take notes on the Course Manual segment. What is covered, and where, became more clear and I cleared the assessment with ease.
Since childhood, I have been hard-wired to primarily go forward, with goals and tasks. Letting self get stymied by technical issues or physical challenges has been an issue at times, but mostly it’s been “Forward, ho!” What is different now is that I am more inclined to plan things out more carefully; chalk that up to Hard Knocks University-and the grace of God. Ten or fifteen years ago, I might have put the re-take off for six months to a year-and it probably would have ended up on the Island of Lost Goals.
Now, I am getting satisfaction from each challenge met, no matter how great or small. Forward motion, more tempered by careful planning, remains among my greatest impetus.
August 7, 2025- In a well-appointed room, at a resort along a prosperous coast, a young man stretches and prepares to enjoy a summer’s day, on his break from University. He didn’t ask for good fortune, but it follows him. Perhaps he will someday go through equally unrequested heartbreak and suffering, but for now, all is well.
In a rock-strewn, hollowed out gulch, along a desolate, impoverished coast, a young girl tends to her two younger siblings, feeding them biscuits and a few leaves of spinach. They didn’t ask for this ill fortune, but it follows them. Perhaps they will someday see prosperity, as a now elusive peace settles on their homeland, but for now, survival is all that lies in front of them.
In a small Midwestern town, a father shops around for enough food to bring to his wife and four children. He stretches his dollars, as his father did before him, and Grandpa before that. None have asked for ongoing ups and downs of the local economy, but it has long settled among them. Perhaps someday there will be a return to locally grown food as a standard, rather than as a set of anomalies, but for now, he and they push forward, day to day.
On the roof of an apartment, in a hardscrabble Caribbean neighbourhood, three young men sit and discuss how they might respond to news of a wealthy man taking charge of their country. They didn’t choose him, and though he offers hope of stability, they have heard it all before-as have their parents and grandparents, going back eight generations. Perhaps someday, there will be a true and honest consultation among the people, but for now, the young men will follow whoever seems to have the power on the streets of their city.
I think of these people, and others, as I sit in an apartment which I chose, in the city where I gladly chose to live, eating food that I prepared myself, from ingredients also freely chosen. It hasn’t always been a life of choice, at least outwardly. Yet, the changes that have taken place in my life have been influenced by my preferences-even when those choices are small, limited and not the most optimal.
I hope and pray, for each person finding self in harrowing conditions, or in debilitatingly privileged states, to ponder the options that may be available-and take the ones that will bring beneficence, even if it starts out as a few more morsels, or a bit more conscientious self-restraint.
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A Sagittarian Seeker 