Continuous Flow

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April 4, 2024- My cousin, John, came by this morning, just before I woke up. He and I were walking, along a rough, rocky path, which had a drop off into the ether, to the left, and a series of other rocky paths, to the right-each of those being separated by drop offs into the ether. He asked if I wanted to stay over there. I told him I had many things to do, before I went there to stay. That was when I awoke.

John and I were quite close, as boys, and into our young adulthood. He visited me, when we were both in VietNam, in 1971. He and his wife, Mary, helped me when I was unceremoniously evicted from my apartment, in February, 1977. We kept in touch, though I last saw him at my brother, Brian’s, funeral, in 1994. John passed away three years ago, this June.

I was not at all jarred by this dream. It just affirmed for me that I have many things for which to remain in this life, from a wealth of good friends-one in particular-to several goals, over the next six years and beyond. About an hour after I got myself together for the day, two friends were asking for assistance, and I was able to help both, in small ways. From there, I retrieved items left behind at yesterday’s job site, then took part in a shelter simulation with the area Red Cross team. This evening, there was a session for healing and assistance prayers, at the home of some Baha’i friends.

I also got some input into cosmic energy trends for the rest of the year, which will help in planning activities, both here at Home Base and further afield, including international travel. There will be some small adjustments made, with regard to dates of overseas journeys, and close consultation with friends in each country is crucial. That should be the case, anyway, but the energy trends amplify that need.

Things are bound to be fast-paced, in certain months, and like cold molasses, in others. Energy will be continuous in flow, though, regardless.

“I have promises to keep, and miles to go, before I sleep.”-Robert Frost

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42891/stopping-by-woods-on-a-snowy-evening

Resurgent

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March 31, 2024- There were a lot of plastic eggs, in baskets on the breakfast tables, at Post 6, this morning. When I picked one up and shook it, gently, to see if there was anything inside, the event’s organizer got a bit huffy and said “You’re all lucky we even decorated the tables!” Fair point, I guess, and in the scheme of things, jelly beans or chocolate bites inside a decorative Easter egg merit a .005 in importance, on a scale of 1-10-especially in the days of mass homelessness in Gaza and considerable destitution right here in the U.S.

What matters is faith. As a Baha’i, I hold firmly to the notion that spiritual truth is revealed progressively. The earliest books of the Bible deal with individual recognition of the Divine, as do the Teachings of Krishna. Moses stressed the need for family and tribe to be reverent. Zoroaster taught recognition of the power of Good, of Light. Buddha was all about detachment, even through suffering. Christ taught, and modeled, forgiveness based on love. Mohammad called for the spiritually-governed nation. Baha’u’llah calls for the spiritually-governed planet. None of them have taught that it is laudatory to slaughter one’s enemies. Moses and Mohammad make allowances for self-defense, but that is as far as actual scripture goes-at least as far as I can determine.

Christ, through His Resurrection, taught that no one is beyond hope. Each of us can be resurgent, and can transcend our limitations, even when appearing spiritually dead. None of us can really know and judge another soul, and so it is always best, on an individual basis, to offer love and support to those who are errant. Justice is best left to those in government, so long as it is applied in an even-handed manner. Any one of us can change for the better-and be resurgent.

That’s my “lay sermon” for this Easter, and I’m sticking to it.

No True Veils

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March 28, 2024- The divers found two bodies, yesterday, in the chill of the Patapsco River. Men who had gone to work, on the overnight shift, Monday night, found themselves trapped in a car, as the chain reaction of errant cargo ship goes out of control, hits bridge supports,bridge buckles and collapses, men die-plays out. A miracle can save four others, but the clock ticks on. Families, yet again, are shattered. A young woman hugs her husband, who escaped death by the narrowest of margins, all the more striking, as he cannot swim. They mourn the loss of his crew mates, and join in the sorrow of those families. A city, a state, and five nations are in shock.

Across the globe, 143 people died in an attack on a Moscow nightclub. Moscow, Nova, Orlando, Manchester, Las Vegas, Bali, What is it about entertainment venues that incenses political extremists? Is it a matter of “How dare they have a good time, when I and mine are going through horror?” Is it a matter of “God hates those who relax”? We see the aftermath. Other extremists have killed over 30,000 people, most of them innocent of wrongdoing, in the name of retribution. A world is sliding into shock.

There is no barrier, really, between me and any given counterpart in Gaza, in Moscow, in any one of the nations that lie south of the Rio Grande/Rio Bravo. We all have our legitimate work to do, trying to make the world a better place.

There is no veil between any of us and those who left their bodies behind, either willingly or because their presence is inconvenient to the aims of a certain relative few. The departed still have work to do, in their spirit forms. They may assist those they love or they may exact retribution on those who tormented them. Some probably do a little of both.

There are no real veils or barriers between us. It just makes a convenient dodge, to pretend otherwise.

Tonalea

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March 27, 2024- “You don’t need to leave a tip. We didn’t really DO anything.” The cashier thus made her appeal to the dignity of one and all, as I paid for a couple bags of freshly ground coffee. I thought how refreshingly decent this woman is, and how sentiments like hers give the lie to the notion that Gen Z is collectively self-centered and always has its generational hand out. (The Greatest Generation, once upon a time, expressed similar sentiments about us then-youthful Boomers, but I digress.)

One of the bags was going to the old friend I was en route to visit, and to his family. C lost his wife of 40 + years, a few months back, and so I was heading up to Tonalea, to offer condolences and emotional support. The community’s name in the Dineh (Navajo) language, means, essentially, Red Lake. There is, in years of heavy winter and spring precipitation, an actual lake, off U.S. Hwy/160, on the community’s north side. This year, I saw no lake.

It was a smooth ride from Prescott to Flagstaff, where I bought the coffee from Macy’s European Coffee House and Bakery, owned by another old friend. Traffic in and around Northern Arizona University reminds me a bit of Manila-everyone is doing their own thing, and gridlock is not altogether a rarity. My upbringing helps me transcend that, as a motorist here and as a pedestrian in my second favourite big city (after San Diego). Looking out for others makes for a longer journey, but for better self-esteem, at day’s end.

Driving from Flagstaff to Tonalea was even smoother. Dineh and Hopi people are quite orderly and civil, in their driving habits, and the area is sparsely polulated, to boot. As the two Elephant’s Feet (grey sandstone rock formations) looked on, from across the highway, I turned on the graded dirt road that winds around, towards Black Mesa, and reached C’s homestead, five miles inward. There he stood, as I arrived, at about the same time as planned.

C reminisced about his wedded life and what had led to his wife’s passing. Her suffering, it seemed, was mercifully short. We then talked of the connection between those of us in the flesh and our departed loved ones. Years ago, as Penny and I lay together, she told me she had seen my Penobscot ancestors standing over me, as I slept. I was not surprised by that. The ties that departed souls have to this world are very, very strong. Everything that has happened to me, both the serendipitous events that have transpired and my protection from malevolent forces, over the past thirteen years, or even before, has been due to those who have gone before me, and who make up a bulwark of energy that lets me do the bidding of the Divine.

After a two-hour visit, and my reassuring him that all will be well, even with the swirling changes that seem to bother him so, it was time for C to get back to tending to his family, working on his fences, and keeping livestock from eating his trees. It was also time for me to head back to Prescott, with a “halfway stop” at My Pita Wrap, a small Mediterranean restaurant on Flagstaff’s main drag. Going back up to Dinehtah, with its otherworldly rocks, grounded people and mystical energy, is always a reset for my own personal energy.

One Person’s Whimsy….

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March 25, 2024- The last step in any prayer is always taking action.

Burying objects in the earth, immersing them in bodies of water or placing them in caves, has long been a spiritual practice of those seeking connection with the Divine, or with forces of Nature. Its effects tend to be slow, usually too slow for the liking of the movers and shakers among us, who want to see quick results.

This evening, I had time available to join a full moon meditation which, after the customary full body relaxation exercise, referenced various treasure vases that have been placed in dozens of locations around the world. Many of these are places of spiritual or environmental significance, to one group of people or another. They range from the Lawrence Laboratories, in Berkeley, CA to a forest in rural Liberia. A sacred site in Israel/Palestine is the location of another such vase. Its mention led someone to protest (in Chat) that the vase was pointless, since things have gotten worse in that part of the world.

“So”, I mused to self, “this means that the vases on the border between North and South Korea, in the Cloisters of Manhattan, a cave in Bosnia-Hercegovina, and others in Iraq, Mexico, the Georgian Federation, South Kivu Province of DR Congo a hill overlooking Fukushima and nuclear energy facilities in New York and Washington State are pointless as well. Let’s all just throw up our hands and let the Big Dogs have their bones!”

After the session was over, I was glad to have not given abrupt voice to that rebuttal. It would have jettisoned the peaceful sentiments of the call’s organizers and made me as much of a problem as the troll was. Then, I started to think further-maybe she was not trying to disrupt, or be a troll. Maybe her Type A brain has no more patience for the slow path of spiritual healing. More’s the pity. Those who seek quick solutions, but who have no game plan that brings reconciliation and justice, are essentially chasing their tails. Their insinuation, that others of us are chasing rainbows, thus rings hollow.

Martin Luther King, Jr had a dream. He also had specific, tangible plans to bring that dream to fruition. I, too, have both, and will pursue them-albeit in a far less prominent manner.

Here, and There

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March 24, 2024- I dreamed of Penny last night. Nothing new about that; she appears when I need to figure out what I should do, in a particular situation. The dream’s ending showed that I am on the right track, about certain matters. The spirit, on whom I depend for guidance, is always present. Any doubts or qualms are on me.

Today, Palm Sunday in Christendom, started off cold and with light snow. It was nice in the afternoon, and when I went over to work out, it was overcast and snowing lightly, again. The rest of the country is going through winter’s after market misery, and may everyone get through it safely.

While I was on the stationary bike, I was a captive audience for a troubled woman, who let out all the frustrations she has had, with certain employers and other people, for about fifteen minutes of nonstop chatter. I just kept on pedaling, and felt worse for the guy on the other side of me, but after she ran out of vitriol, she left. (If you wonder why I didn’t cut her off, we were in a public place and it would have been worse than if I just kept silent. That’s how it is, dealing with certain mental illnesses.)

Two Baha’i Zoom calls were well attended, and starting off the week when Jesus the Christ is especially honoured with our own spiritual focus will release a lot of positive healing energy. There will be other events, tomorrow and Tuesday, that will add to that energy. With the penumbral lunar eclipse on the occasion of a full moon, I suspect a lot of people will need that energy. I know I will.

Blessed Holy Week, everyone, and may you be safe.

The Fighter Still Remains

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March 22, 2024- Dad would have been 97 today. So, I spent a fair amount of time remembering what he taught me, of life, survival and responsibility. He himself was not a physically rough man, and discouraged any such behaviour in his four sons. He was a traditionalist, with regard to Mom working outside the home, but never stood in her way, when it came to her running a hairdressing and cosmetology practice, with the kitchen as her shop. He also let her handle the household budget, while in his own right, he was sensibly frugal. He taught us to figure out what the unit value of what we were selling was-whether it was the family newspaper route, which I had for two years and passed on to my middle brother, and he to brother # 3, or retail offerings. He showed us three oldest boys, and our sister, how to change a tire and change the motor oil and filter. I also watched as he gapped spark plugs. When the horn beeped, on a Thursday evening, all hands were on deck, going out to carry the groceries into the house, and we helped Mom put them away.

He also taught me to stand my ground; again, not violently, but with resolve. It is that on which I have drawn, in a variety of situations, over the past five decades-more effectively some times than on other occasions, but as consistently as I knew how, at the given time. It’s easier now, though the challenges are more nuanced, slightly more muddled, than in my earlier life. As I have branched out, and traveled both domestically and internationally, people have, on occasion, pushed the boundaries of my dignity and worth. At other times, the fight has been within myself, and has required more focus, more resolve.

Looking back, I was not the greatest of fathers, in my own right, but I did offer my son the basics in how to value work, treat others fairly and to take pride in self. I could have been a better husband, but I never strayed and took care of Penny, in her time of infirmity. In her prime, I honoured and valued her as a full partner, a strong, productive human being in her own right. My filial devotion could have been more strongly expressed, even while Mom has been, and is, fiercely independent. I would be at her side in short order, though, if the call came, even if I am 24-hours away at the time it comes. My treatment of friends and family could be better, yet they know I am loyal and that I cherish their dignity and worth-and, from the woman I love most, to the most casual in my friendship circle, value their achievements.

Above all, when it is a matter of their safety, survival and basic well-being, I will stand with any of them-and all of them. No one messes with my circle. Not unlike the character in Paul Simon’s song, the fighter still remains.

Spirits At Work

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March 20, 2024- An old friend, who I haven’t seen in thirteen years, gave me a call, and said that, among other things, she has a journal that Penny wrote, whilst we were on Pilgrimage to the Baha’i Holy Places, as well as to Jerusalem, Bethlehem and the Galilee, in 1982.
I will retrieve that treasure, when I go to northern Nevada, en route to the Pacific Northwest, in July.

In our conversation, friend also referred to her deceased husband, sending her messages that he was engaged in productive work, in the world beyond. Penny gave me a similar message, in her last appearance in my sleep, about two months ago. The souls progress, and they do not slumber.

I’m pretty much convinced that all the good that has happened to me, in the past twelve years-and especially in the last five, has largely been due to personal growth, in which I have been guided by the spirits who love me. I have survived auto mishaps and a few personal attacks, because of their intercession. The same is true of all the journeys I have safely undertaken and the friends made. They have helped me shed baggage and demons, as I’ve mentioned a few times.

The work of the spirits continues-as we observe the Baha’i New Year, that is called, in Persian, Naw-Ruz. May this busy 181 B.E., that falls mostly in 2024, be a safe and healthy one for all.

Boxcars, Boyos and Braceros

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March 17, 2024- In 1946, a decorated soldier came back to his hometown of Galesburg, IL, and went with his friends to a downtown movie theater. They were directed, by an usher, to sit in the “Mexican section”. The honourably discharged soldier refused, saying that he wished to speak with the manager. When that wish was granted, the soldier told the manager that he had just finished serving their country, and fighting against Fascism, for nearly three years. He expected the same rights as any other citizen of the United States.

That began the end of racial segregation in Galesburg, and across Illinois. It would take another ten years for the practice to end across the northern and western states, as well as in Canada. It would be another 18-25 years for it to end in the southern states.

In 1917, as American men went off to fight in World War I, there was a vast labour shortage. Corporate representatives recruited Mexican men, by the thousands, to fill the vacant positions. These men were housed in re-purposed railway boxcars, as many of the positions were with the railroads. Boxcar villages, near towns like Galesburg, were established near the railyards.

The same thing happened, on a smaller scale, in World War II. By then, men were allowed to bring their families along, and more permanent “barrios”, many with row houses, were established by the railway companies, and other employers. Thousands of Mexican workers and families were thus brought into the United States, not by “liberal politicians”, but by business and industry leaders, seeking to accomplish their missions.

A century earlier, much the same process unfolded, on the East Coast and in the cities of the Midwest, as Irish (the boyos, they called themselves) and Italian workers, fleeing chaos in their homelands, arrived in the United States, having heard of opportunities here. They, too, encountered prejudice, and were enticed to quarrel with one another, so as to keep a united front from forming among the refuge-seekers and the dispossessed. That tactic would resurface, when each new group: Poles, Hungarians, Greeks, Arabs, Japanese, Chinese, Filipinos, arrived here and sought their chance at a new life. Then came newly freed people of African descent, fleeing the Jim Crow laws of the former Confederate states-and Mexicans, fleeing the repression and chaos of the Diaz years. Braceros, or manual labourers, did the work that few Americans wished to engage.

This is the backdrop, as the wall goes up and scapegoats are sought, by wirepullers, for the overlooking of homeless veterans and others. Two equally worthy groups of people need the help of their fellow humans, and yes, charity begins at home. It begins at home, and family members get first dibs, then community members-like those who served their country and are now getting short shrift, in many cases. It doesn’t end there, however. Only a truly unified human race can resolve the issue that stem from the mindset that some people are less than others, because of differences in their make-up, strengths and weaknesses, appearance, national origin, religion, personal predilections- you name it. Only seeing that there really is no other, just a mirror of ourselves, will lead to a systematic solution to all that has gone wrong-starting with family, then community, then state/province, country and region, until the entire globe gets the idea.

Maybe then, there will be no cross-border caravans, no twenty-foot walls, no former police/military officers seizing power in their destitute countries, no mindless interplay between ideological rivals, rather than each sharing viable solutions to deep-seated social ills.

Domhan go bragh. (Earth, til the end)

Sweeping Vistas to One-Star Bare Bones

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March 11, 2024, Eloy, AZ- The manager of the motel took a minimalist view of the condition of her establishment: Rooms which are clean and very well-appointed, but have yet to install locks on several of the rooms-relying on chains inside the door, only. “We have a security guard who is constantly on the move or is watching the bank of security cameras! Those who want more can go the city, and pay more!” Me (Silently)- “I see, said the blind man”.

This is a place where tragedy is waiting to happen, despite the woman’s declaration that “My staff and I refuse to rent to anyone who looks shifty!” Update: As it happened, I got a wondrous night’s sleep here. Yet, it will be the last time I stay at the place. A skewed vision of how people should be served and protected will not end well.

My day, otherwise, was splendid. Coffee with a group of fellow seniors, was followed by a Zoom session on contacting our district’s Congressman, on a matter of interest to my fellows in Faith-and me. Then, there was a hike with HB, in the Constellation Trail system, named for a jet plane, which crashed in the area, in 1959. We walked about an area with sweeping vistas, which I had last hiked, with another friend, in the snow-four years ago. It is equally majestic, in the snippets of Spring.

Northward view, from Constellation Trail system (Hully Gully Trail)

Looking towards Hully Gully Trail, Constellation Trail system

Striated rocks, Constellation Trail system

A petrified chorus, Constellation Trail system

One could spend days, exploring the Constellation system, itself part of the Granite Dells formation, on Prescott’s northeast side. I have been there several times, and will be there several more.

After helping serve another buffet-style meal, this evening, at Solid Rock’s soup kitchen, it was time to head out towards Tucson, and the border with Mexico-where I will spend a couple of days, seeing what is actually going on-as opposed to the conjecture of the mainstream media. Getting to this small, but growing, desert city, roughly halfway between Phoenix and Tucson, I settled in at the above-mentioned motel, which will remain nameless, for now.

It was a fine, productive day, so I leave the management of the place to learn their own lessons, as I have spoken my peace to them.