Light Time

4

May 24, 2018, Prescott-

Corruption is a terrible thing,

alluring and insidious.

It breathes noxious fumes

into our psyches,

and holds them in place,

through a constant appeal

to our sense of “What If?”

The root of this allure

is disquiet,

the feeling that

just maybe,

THIS will be something better;

just maybe,

THIS will relieve insecurity,

once and for all.

The only thing,

however,

that will relieve

insecurity,

pain,

the ongoing lack,

is faith in action.

This is the message

of the life of

a divine Herald,

Siyyid Ali Muhammad,

known to posterity

as al-Bab (The Gate),

Whose Declaration of Mission

we Baha’is celebrate today,

on Its 164th Anniversary.

Like every Messenger/Prophet

before Him,

al-Bab lived His days

in service and in courage,

giving His earthly life,

for our sake,

killed by the agents

of corruption and ignorance,

some six years after

the Declaration we honour today.

 

Exeter Carr

8

May 22, 2018, Prescott-

No, he is not a future character

on “The Black List”.

Exeter Carr was a character

in a dream I had,

thirty-five years ago.

He was caustic,

knowledgeable,

sometimes articulate,

sometimes ridiculously

profane,

but always on point.

He took me to task,

for things I overlooked.

He resembled a young

Denzel Washington,

before the world knew

Denzel existed.

Exeter has surfaced,

in real time.

Deja vu,

with some timely messages,

albeit going by

a different name.

Welcome home,

Exeter Carr.

No Habitant, He

8

May 14, 2018, Prescott-

(This is Segment 4 of the Antonio Ribeiro saga.)

Antonio found his way to one of the few remaining public phones in Valleyfield.  He had made it away from the Palmieris. for the time being, by jumping on the back of a flatbed truck and staying prone, so quiet that the distracted operator of the vehicle didn’t know of his extra passenger until he drove into the small city, south of Montreal.

“Sacre Bleu!”, the discomfited truck farmer sputtered, once he did find a wayward Acoreno on his premises.  “Voulez-vous un grand battement, EH?”  Tony kind of, sort of, put the message together in his head and bolted down the street-not looking back at the still raging driver, who was now on the phone to the Provincial Police.  It took a good ten minutes of bobbing and weaving around the alleys, before he figured he had a shot at getting to Montreal.

So he rested in the shadows of a dumpster, before noticing about three Canadian dollars worth of coins, lying near a phone booth.  “God rules all!”, the former florist told himself, deciding to call the number that his late cousin had given him.

“Allo?”, Astrid Conejos answered, whilst lounging outside on her patio.

“Hey, my name is Tony R., from Massachusetts. I need to speak with Toro.”

“Voulez parler avec Arturo?”

“Yeah, ……I mean oui”, Tony said, using one of the five French words he actually retained from his high school class.

“Un moment”, the teenager sniffed, before bounding up to find her brother.

Arturo Conejos had come to New Bedford from Vigo, a Spanish city with a fair amount of traffic with Portugal.  He therefore fit in with the Azoreans, quite nicely.  The family moved to Montreal, after Toro had been arrested for drug trafficking, a few too many times.  They had kept a low profile, until Arturo came of age.  His sister had been born two years after the move, and mainly spoke French.

Arturo was a baggage handler, at Pierre Trudeau International Airport.  He would be an integral part of Antonio Ribeiro’s next move.  Toro was, at the moment, a bit tired. He was awake enough, though, to switch to the King’s English, once he got on the phone.

“Ya sumbitch, why call me here?  You come alla da way to Montreal, for what, exactly?”

Tony was flustered, but held his composure.  “Listen, Toro, there was a shootout, near the border.  My cousin, you remember him-the blond, blue-eyed Guanche?  He got blown away.  The border patrol nailed the Palmieri goons, but I took off.  The Italians, they don’t know where I am.”

“So, this involves me, how, exactly?”, the still-irritated Galician snapped.

“I got a card, a Visa, from my uncle.  Cuz gave it to me.  I need to get a flight out.  Please just get me to the airport.”

“A shootout, chaos, and you still have a Visa card?  Whattabout da passport?”

“I have that, too.  I just don’t have much cash, maybe two bucks, American though.”

“I didn’t think you were carrying Cuban pesos, El Tonto!”

“So, can you do this?”

“Yeah, and you get to experience life in a duffel bag, for the next seven hours.  Don’t worry, it’s cotton, it breeeeathes!”

“Hey, you mean I’m gonna be luggage?  I told you I have a Visa card.”

“That’s right, and you pay ME, instead of the airline.  C$ 300.00, all the way to Barcelona.”

“Aaaargh!”

“Antonio, take it or leave it.”

” Okay, I’ll do it.  But if the Catalunes flush a stiff from underneath the plane, guess who gets a visit from New Bedford.”

“No worries, I got this worked out.  Here’s my address.  I’m calling you a cab, right now.”

Two hours later, Arturo Conejos was putting a heavy duffel bag on an Iberian Airlines flight to Barcelona.

I Know…

13

May 9, 2018, Prescott-

I know that I made the best decision of my life,

when I married her

and stayed faithful.

I know that I could have done better,

dealing with the winsome faces,

especially once she left.

I know that

I never cheated.

I know that now,

as I blaze my own trail onward,

there are she and other spirits,

telling me  that it’s okay

to really love another.

I know that one will come to me,

as a dear sister told me,

a few days ago.

I know that time is

never rushed,

that people need

to figure it out,

for themselves.

I know that I am

essentially good,

that dwelling on flaws

is a chimera.

I know that life

could turn on

a dime,

and probably will.

I know that the

best job I’ve had,

since the mid-1990’s,

may last three more years,

or it may only last

two more weeks.

I know that

I will land on my feet.

I know that I am loved.

Where I Need to Go

14

May 4, 2018, Prescott-

I went back onto a Facebook site, where I had been inexplicably trolled, about a week ago.  There are just too many good friends on that page, and the one troll is probably gone by now.

I went into work, a half-hour early, as is my practice, so as to set things in place for a successful day.  We had carnival, this afternoon, and one of the students spotted the rides, whilst we were on our daily walk.  That took us to carnival early.  It was no use trying to talk that student out of heading onto the carnival grounds, especially once she saw the Tilt-a-Whirl.  Three rides sufficed, though, especially when our weekly movie and popcorn were mentioned.  The needs of our students are relatively simple.

I am headed down to Tempe, tomorrow, as the Baha’i meeting planned earlier, will take the entire day.  The Prescott area is where I need to focus, most of the year, for the next three years.  Of course, emergencies could always happen elsewhere, and plans change.  Right now, though, I am fine with being here, eleven out of the twelve months.

My head and my heart are pretty much in sync, after all the fumbling and misinterpretations into which I have fallen, during my extended period of mourning.  I’m grateful for the large number of friends who have surfaced, from every corner of the world.  It’s said:  Quality, not quantity.  Well, I can testify that one does not negate the other.

I am letting necessity determine my locus and love light my path.

NEXT:  Catching up with Antonio

May, and I’m Not Away

4

May 1, 2018, Prescott-

There are 3 1/2 weeks left in our academic year.  I have two days off left- Tomorrow, for a Baha’i Holy Day- the Twelfth Day of Ridvan (more at that time) and a dental appointment, in two weeks’ time.  Otherwise, weekdays will find us finishing what we started, for our four remaining students.

I won’t leave the state of Arizona until Memorial Day weekend and another “Where’s Waldo?”month.  There is so much yet to do and to thoroughly enjoy, in the meantime, that I am hard put to make preliminary arrangements for June.  You know, though, that I’ll get ‘er done, in plenty of time.

I’ll be back in Tempe, on Saturday, for a daylong Baha’i conference.   Sunday will be spent reconnecting with a few long-lost friends, and honouring a very special young lady, on the cusp of her high school graduation.  Mother’s Day weekend means Prescott Valley’s 40th anniversary.  I may also head to Tucson, to see an ailing friend, if he’s up for a visit.  The third weekend will be mostly Baha’i business, planning and prepping for the summer months.

One of my friends here has posted about making a Vision Board.  I might try my hand at that, either next week or the following.  It’d be good to do this in the presence of our peer tutors in the classroom, as it might inspire them to do the same.

May is sweet, hot (at least after this coming Saturday) and a time of culmination.  I intend to truly savour the blessed days.

Radiance

12

April 22, 2018, Prescott-

While my laptop is, sadly, not able to upload photos from a SIM card, owing to a scratch either inside the port or on the adapter, I want to make mention of this weekend’s Chalk-it-Up.

We had live entertainment today.  A friend of mine was performing, as the lone male member of a group of ukulele players, doing spirited renditions of hits from the ’60’s and ’70’s.  They were accompanied by a very serious and limber little girl, dancing solo, with not a care for anyone watching.  She was a joy to behold, and the gleams in her grandparents’ eyes said it all.

Then came a radiant young hoop dancer, a woman of about 22, I’d say, also dancing her way into the hearts of all watching.  She reminded me of a dear young friend, who used to dance with both hoops and light sticks, before her untimely death in an auto accident, six years ago.  I thought of Jayme, whilst watching this dancer and her sharing of her hoops with several children in the audience.  My friend egged me on, to try a hoop myself, but I am awkward with such things and it would have been even more awkward being the only other adult jumping into the fray, alongside the winsome instructor- young enough to be my granddaughter.  Oh, well.

Chalk-it-Up is always a joyful event.  Here are some scenes of the more colourful drawings.  In their honour,  let’s take joy in the radiant beings around us.

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Observations on A Mid-April Morning

6

April 19, 2018, Prescott-

I appreciate the attention so many have paid to my reblog of the post on Bleach Enemas.  In what dimension anyone could think such a procedure is anywhere near good, I don’t know.  My blessed mother fought tooth and nail for our well-being, and would have clobbered anyone who even dared hint at something of this nature.  Dad loved us dearly, and would have had one thing to say to the suggestion of bleach enemas:  “Pig’s neck!” (His polite term for BS.)

Barbara Bush left a grand legacy of literacy promotion, continued by her daughter-in-law.  The gift of literacy is one key element, in the package of empowerment that loving people can offer to others.  Long may her legacy thrive!

Ridvan begins tomorrow evening, at sunset. It is the twelve day festival, commemorating Baha’u’llah’s Proclamation of His Mission to the world and His departure from Baghdad, towards Constantinople (Istanbul), on horseback and on foot, in April and May, 1863.  My Lord lived a life of exile, imprisonment and torture, yet, like unto Christ, never once turned His back on humanity.

Chalk-It-Up is Prescott’s annual art fair, at which a wide variety of chalk art is available for public view and on which viewers may vote.  I will be insanely busy on Saturday, but Sunday will find me taking in the wonders of human imagination, in that temporary gallery.

Arizona’s educators are winding up a vote, as to whether to walk out, or not.  I’ve cast my vote and will keep my own counsel on the matter.  My first loyalty, in any event, is to the students.

Speaking of whom, several students at our school will be out on the front lawn, in a 17-minute vigil, tomorrow morning, honouring the memory of the Parkland shooting victims.  They will then return to their studies.

Have a blessed day, my friends.

What If

5

April 10, 2018, Prescott-

We went over to the local YMCA,

this morning,

and the students did several elements

of gymnastics.

I confined myself to the trampoline pad,

doing five rounds of three minutes each

and a rest in between each.

Cardiovascular is critical to good health.

What if I had hung from the high rings

and jumped into the foam pad pit?

I have thought, quite a bit,

of through-hiking,

when I am about 74 or so,

perhaps the Pacific Crest,

or the East Coast Continental,

which subsumes the AT

and Florida Trail.

Maybe, I will get really

ambitious, and walk

from Nordkap to Gibraltar.

A veteran through-hiker

says it takes lots of money

to do any of  this.

I suppose one could argue

that it takes lots of money

to do anything worthwhile.

What if I did it on a shoestring?

These are random thoughts,

on a languid Tuesday.

 

Beloveds

10

April 9, 2018, Prescott-

Your bright spirits

keep reminding me

of  when my beautiful classmates

and my loyal mates

would bounce in and out

of my consciousness.

That was fifty years ago

and the world just kept

on spinning.

You are inheriting

a world,

in which some

of us elders

will ignore you.

Even older Millennials

in positions of power,

turn a blind eye

and a deaf ear

to your entreaties.

They seek to be

what they think

their elders to be.

You, ladies,

be yourselves,

and take the full measure

of your strengths.

You, gentlemen,

share the limelight,

and see the women

beside you,

as equal allies.

I choose to believe

that you have

the wherewithal

to establish what

we who came before

did not.

Inured to your setbacks,

ready to throw off

the shackles,

you will see the sunlight.

I am close by

and still ready to help.