The Tumble

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May 5, 2022- Hiking Buddy and I observed Cinco de Mayo by dining at Prescott’s sole Indian restaurant: Tai Mahal. The place has a good-sized dining room and a fair amount of South Asian decor. Its dishes trend towards North Indian, which is fine, as I favour dishes like tandoori and tikka masala. I also like vindaloo, from the west central city of Goa, so maybe next time…. We were among the first diners this evening, and for a while, it looked like the stampede to Mexican eateries, on this unofficial north of the border “holiday”, would impact Taj’s evening. Not so, though, as by the time we were ready to leave, the dining room was packed. Such is the allure of a quality establishment with a menu that is one-of-a-kind for the area.

Cinco de Mayo is a distant mirror of Ukraine’s struggle against a much larger foe. On May 5, 1862, the Mexican Army defeated the French Imperial Army, at Puebla. After some months, the French reoccupied Puebla and went on to occupy Ciudad Mexico. This only lasted three years, however, as once the American Civil War ended, President Andrew Johnson sent materiel aid to Mexico, and the resurgent Mexicans drove the French out. The French puppet Emperor, an Austrian named Maximilian, and his Mexican turncoat supporters, were captured and executed. We have no way of knowing how the present conflict will end, but esprit de corps goes a very long way towards building momentum. The mighty can tumble, as the United States itself has found.

After any tumble, however, comes humility and rebuilding. We’ve seen that with the spikes and crashes in the financial markets, in recent days. It’s the nature of wealth, however, to rebound and grow again-and if no artificial blocks come about, more people are brought into the aura of prosperity.

The same is true of peace. It will come back and be rebuilt, very likely on a more solid footing. All falls are stopped by a solid barrier, at some point.

The Whole Point of Love

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April 30, 2022- Browsing through a children’s book, entitled “The Huffy, Puffy Cloud” (by Max Kramer), in a few quiet moments this evening, I noted that the anthropomorphic characters , a rain cloud and the Sun, managed to establish their essential unity of purpose: Sustaining life, after the cloud bemoaned feeling friendless, as “everyone runs away when I come out and start raining.” The Sun wisely pointed out that animals and plants actually appreciate the work of the cloud, and besides, it, the Sun, was always right behind or alongside, so the cloud was never alone.

This is true, actually, of all of us. Even when we don’t see anyone around, in a moment of dismal funk or of self-doubt, there are people somewhere who are thinking of us and energy, both material and spiritual, being directed our way. We are creatures of the tangible, as well as of the spirit, so this is not always evident; but it is nonetheless a reality. Sometimes, it just takes a bit more effort at perception- the way one might have to look left, right, and left again, when proceeding from an intersection or to re-read something, in order to get a deeper understanding.

I was asked, this evening, by a trusted friend, whether I felt the need to “get out of Dodge” (the Prescott area), every so often. My feeling, at that moment, was how much I love this area that I call Home Base. I feel no inherent need to escape my surroundings. Travel, in which I do engage a lot, is more a means of connecting the dots, of physically networking, and has always been in my nature, from the time I learned to walk. I am as glad to see people visiting our salubrious area as I am to visit other places, and have encouraged friends and contacts from all walks of life to spend some time here. Even crowds being in a place, most of the time, seems to me a blessing. When I do need solitude, I know where to find it. It is love that underlies my travels, activities here, and everything else, for that matter.

The whole point of love is to foster and support life.

Out-Stubborning

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April 27, 2022- The fire found itself blocked, north and east. “Aha”, thought the conflagration, “I see the enemy is only concerned about property. Thus, I shall head west and south, and burn the campgrounds!” It also had visions of doubling back outflanking the firefighters, and burning the towns! “Ha, ha, silly humans! I was here, in the craters and pits, long before any other form of energy. There was no water, no solid land or rocks, just the molten lava and meeeee! Thus, shall it be in the end!!

The craven demagogue looks upon the masses and thinks, “How right Lenin was, with talk of useful idiots! I have them in the palms of my hands. All I need do is tell fanciful tales, demonize the other side and tell the crowds that only I truly understand them, and only I can get them what they need.

The firefighters look at the wind prognosis, and plan for the long run. One crew will work the north, another, the east. A third crew will focus on the west, a fourth team, the south. Then the aerial team will pound the fire from above. They will out-stubborn the force of doom. They will lead the way for rebirth and regrowth.

The voice of reason ponders all options. Freedom and the right to choose for oneself apply to everyone. This is a long, drawn-out process, he knows. His team knows this too, even those who dawdle and fret. All in the room are ready to out-stubborn the dark. All in the room are embracing the light.

The Struggles of Good Men

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April 25, 2022- A co-worker spoke of her husband’s having to wrestle with the uptick in rental rates, and the pressure it puts on those who, like himself, have genuine compassion for their clients who risk being put out on the street. Large scale rental agencies try to do their tasks efficiently, yet are more susceptible to macroeconomics than are individual, or small-scale, landlords, who can choose to cut their own costs or at least negotiate trade-offs with their tenants.

Masculinity matters, just as much as femininity. It hardly needs to come across as ungainly or overbearing, any more than femininity need appear as flighty or sappy. Both forms of energy are needed, in their time and from the same persons, both male and female. My father was tough when he had to be, and the epitome of gentleness and kindness, when those were in order. The same is so with my mother.

Pairings of males and females are essential to society, and even gay couples take their essential relationship cues from their heterosexual fellows. Everyone has a forceful element and a nurturing element. To ignore either one is to hobble in imbalance. Although I am doing well on my own, a keen interest in the well-being of both male and female friends and family is a very basic core of my being.

Long may good men overcome their challenges.

The Whole Package

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April 23, 2022- The strong woman winced, just a bit, as she recounted the story of her husband’s struggles. A few minutes later, fortuitously, he called and said that he was finally feeling symptom-free. I felt relieved for both of them, as she did a bit of Happy Dance.

It has been a long and not always comfortable struggle, but I have reached the point in my journey of growth, that the turmoil faced by those of even casual acquaintance is of deep concern to me. Listening with genuine, not just passing, interest has become a daily occurrence-and it strikes me as being high time. Once upon a time, it was my job, and one I did quite well. Now, generating healing energy is a feature of daily life.

It is a relief to me, that the people dearest to my female friends are, without exception, my friends, too. Recognizing that a person’s whole circle is deserving of unequivocal support is actually energizing, not debilitating-as I used to tell myself. So, I look out for the husbands and significant others, as well as the children, of my nearest and dearest; listen intently when an interesting stranger opens up about topics that I have only considered in passing; and ponder decisions that are run by me, a lot more deeply than I did, even six months ago.

Part of this may be due to age. It may also be that knowing more keenly that we are all part of the same team has become de rigeur, not just a personal goal or buzzword. I am comforted by this thought, while preparing for a second night of supervising a fire shelter. Even in crisis, life is sweet.

Everyone’s Earth

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April 22, 2022- It’s been fifty-two years since environmental activists gathered, en masse, to protest the policies that contributed to the Santa Barbara oil spill, which happened less than a year earlier.

We have, as a species, gone back and forth on the environment vs. economics issue, over these past many years, and a relative handful of entrepreneurs have engaged in “greenwashing” practices, which look like they are contributing to the improvement of the environment, but do little or nothing to actually help things along. There is also the microplastics aspect, to say nothing of their larger refuse, which has considerable long-term validity, in that the residue of plastics does settle in the stomachs of people and animals, finding its way into the bloodstreams and tissue, of those who ingest it. We can be more discerning, in dealing with the former. The latter, by contrast, will take much more research, as to how to safely capture microscopic plastic residue, store it, reverse engineer it into a usable fuel, and so on.

In the meantime, we have many tasks ahead, in saving both the Earth and ourselves. Alternative sources of energy are in their relative childhood, as electric cars are still prohibitively expensive for a good many people, disposal of spent batteries for such vehicles needs to be addressed-as does the safe disposal of the rare metals that go into such batteries. Every innovation that helps relieve one problem has its drawbacks that need to be addressed, preferably before the innovation becomes a mass-produced item.

That said, there is no place for throwing up our hands and just continuing down the road that we’ve been bumping along, for the next century or more. Every energy-wasting practice needs to be evaluated, and either reformed or discarded, based on the availability of viable alternative practices. Thankfully, there are solutions, some yet not articulated or made practicable, which will go along way towards alleviating the distress of the planet once the bugs are worked out.

Tonight and tomorrow night, I will man a shelter for those fleeing a sizable wildfire, southeast of town. During the day tomorrow, it’ll be time to help man a couple of booths at the community’s Earth Day event. I will cat-nap my way around these and have time to rest afterward.

As a one-time psychedelic band advised in the late ’60s: “Wake up, it’s tomorrow.”

The Paschal Feast

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April 17, 2022- I begin this post with a song by the contemporary Christian duo Cassandra Star and Callahan, who are sisters.

Certainly, a worthy sequel to Kaylee Rodgers’ 2018 Christmas version of the Leonard Cohen classic.

All told, I’m certain that there were millions of households where families and friends gathered in a feast to commemorate the Resurrection of Christ, which many regard as having occurred literally and others regard in a symbolic sense. Millions more will do the same, in two weeks or so, when Orthodox Christians mark the Pasch. The most important thing, to me, is that Christ was showing humanity that the Supreme Being does not forget His Creatures, especially not those who are conceived in His image and likeness- in terms of spiritual qualities. As Jesus was given spiritual renewal, so are we able to receive it, not through entitlement or deserving, but through Divine Grace. It has always been thus, and has ever been disregarded by humanity as a whole. Therefore, God the Patient offers us the Example of His Messenger, time after time.

I joined with Christian friends, this afternoon, to mark this splendid event. Baha’u’llah, too, suffered enormously that we might not endure the rotting fruits of our fecklessness and waywardness. “God hath forgiven what is past.” is what He tells us in Kitab-i-Aqdas, or Book of Laws. As Creation is eternal, so too is the learning process. Yet, little by little, day by day, I believe we are getting there. Our Creator is waiting, patiently waiting.

Incorrect

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April 12, 2022- Gilbert Gottfried died today, at age 67. His was a classic New York voice, brash and direct, thinly masking a huge heart that cared for many of the same people he was “trashing”. My encounters with his work were relatively few: There was Iago the Parrot, in the animated “Aladdin” movies of the 1990s; an occasional Groucho Marx or Jerry Seinfeld imitation, on a talk show seen in a doctor’s office waiting room and there were his appearances on various celebrity roasts-each mirroring the work of his role model and mentor: Don Rickles (who he also would tear apart, on certain routines). The word is, Gilbert could take it as well as dish it out, in the Noo Yawk style. There is no one left who is quite like him, on the stage of comedy. He traded in political “incorrectness”, to remind us all that no one is perfect.

I have personally evolved into maintaining a modicum of “political correctness”, primarily out of common courtesy. Certain words, especially racial or gender epithets, have never been in my repertoire; others, when I felt forced by peers, in young adulthood, came chokingly out of my mouth-in private conversation. I felt sick afterwards, and those pejoratives were soon gone from my very consciousness. Then again, my sense of humour is dry, situational. I would not be one who could pack the house-or clear it, when deemed necessary. Gilbert Gottfried could do both.

For most of us, the ebb and flow of courtesy towards others is a balancing act-between offering the respect that human beings inherently deserve and the admonitions that are frequently needed. It helps to be generally nonjudgmental, as well as to have the moral compass that offers judgement when it serves a purpose.

Gilbert Gottfried lived by making that distinction.

Always A Fiesta

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April 7, 2022, Abilene, TX- The tiny dancer showed me all of her gymnastic moves-including the one where she “split in two”. That, of course, was the split, a mainstay of young girls’ gymnastic shows, as far back as I can remember. She and her mother were going to San Antonio, to take part in Fiesta, the city’s signature event, since 1891. It started on March 31 and will end on April 10. They showed me their fiesta gowns, as elaborate as any Quinceanera or bridal attire.

The comely Ukrainian woman and her lively daughter also taught me a good series of stretches, to go along with the calf stretches and twists that I customarily do, after a long period of sitting. N is a free spirit, who regularly travels with her daughter, whom she home schools, across the southern tier, from their home in New Orleans to San Antonio, Tucson and Atlanta.

The Fiesta now in its last days is an apt description of their lives, and may it remain so, as long as the world does not encroach too much. I know N is worried, frightened, about the events in her homeland. She has family there, and while they reassure her that the Russian occupiers of her home area are not destroying the place, reports from the ground tell a far more harrowing story.

I meet people like N, wherever I find myself-including at Home Base Prescott. Being of an open mind is in itself a magnet for the quirky, the unusual, but most of all for the truly beautiful in spirit. I am not sure what category I would put the forty-something cross-dressing man, clad in pink dress and red slippers, with a red sash tied around the waist. His beard indicates an interest in having a certain take on the best of both worlds. He seems a gentle soul, forlorn by the decrepit state of the restroom in the 7-11 where we stopped, here in this resurgent former cow town, that is showing signs of being a far exurbia to Dallas-Fort Worth. The clerk, an adult in his early twenties, is nonplussed by his flamboyant fellow citizen-almost in an “every town has one” manner.

There surely are different forms of Fiesta. In the meantime, the bus ride that replaced a ride on the Sunset Train, goes on into the wee hours of tomorrow.

Two City Walks and a Tapas-try

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April 4, 2022, Atlanta- I set out in mid-afternoon, to pay respects to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., on the 54th anniversary of his assassination. I was not able to reach the actual memorial site, but that is just part of the overall wholeness of this day.

I started out by returning the vehicle that had taken me so many places, in three states, over the past fifteen days. Driving a nearly state-of-the-art automobile was a fine new experience-even with the shrill noise, when another car was in the lane to which I wanted to turn(very useful) or when the car in front stopped short(even more useful). All that was missing was EV status-but someday….

Metro Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority (MARTA) has a very full system of stations, from Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, in the south to Doraville in the northeast and Sandy Springs in the northwest. There is also an east-west line, branching in each direction, from downtown Atlanta. This system took me from the airport to North Avenue, from which I walked up Peachtree, to this gem of a coffee house.

From there, it was a clean walk, across midtown, to Georgia Institute of Technology. One of my nephews is an alumnus of this vibrant, expanding school. It’s grown a lot since Nick was here, as have a good many colleges and universities. One place that has stayed the same is The Biltmore. Once one of a chain of deluxe hotels, it is now a luxury apartment complex.

Technology Square is the heart of GIT. It extends for three or four city blocks.

It wouldn’t be spring in Georgia, without the dogwood flowers.

My afternoon walk, in the Peachtree area, yielded a few gems. Walter Downing built this masterpiece, Wimbish House,in 1922. Women from across Atlanta meet here, to launch projects aimed at civic improvement, in several areas of community life. Not far down the street is the Federal Reserve Bank of Atlanta.

It struck me that this is exactly the sort of scene that Dr. King would have loved to have seen, had he lived into his seniority. It is fairly easy to pronounce Amanda’s family name, if one takes the time to look at it and absorb the power of her work.

I found the GPS on my phone was not enamoured of giving directions to someone willing to walk 1.5 miles from Peachtree to the King Memorial. It is definitely a vehicle-oriented system, even in this day and age. I headed back to my hotel, in plenty of time to join my brother for an evening at a Basque-style tapas restaurant, Cooks and Soldiers. San Sebastian, in Spain’s Basque region, is widely-known as a gastronomic paradise. The presentation of exquisite pintxos (Basque for “tapas”), was one item at a time, allowing us to savour each dish. We ended with a hot beverage and a shared piece of Orange Pie. As our conversation dealt with spiritual matters, this heavenly meal was apropos.

https://www.cooksandsoldiers.com/about

It has been a truly rewarding, and hopefully productive journey, in terms of small acts of service and kind energy put forth, for the most part. Tomorrow, the train leaves for a brief stop in New Orleans, then back to the Southwest.