A Dozen Years

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March 5, 2023- Last night, an extended family member took her last breath and left behind many years of suffering. Hers was a voice of truth, at times hard to hear-but a voice that needed to be heard, nonetheless. Her passing was a bookend to Penny’s transition, twelve years ago today.

I’ve taken stock, a fair number of times since, of my “solo” journey-that hasn’t actually been taken alone. It’s worth looking back, though, every so often. Since bidding her adieu, I have sold a house, on my in-law’s behalf, settled into a solid one-bedroom apartment, gone through five cars, seen the marriage of our son to a strong, confident and beautiful woman, visited forty-eight states (only Montana and North Dakota remain unvisited) and six countries, completed two long local hiking trails (albeit in sections) and volunteered with five organizations, besides my Faith Community.

Most important, though, are the friendships made-both long-lasting and fleeting. Some have also gone on to the next level of existence. A couple have been lost, through miscommunication and the interference of those who saw me as some sort of threat. A few others have turned out to be nefarious, and had to be cast aside. Most, though, will be in my circle until death separates us, albeit temporarily. They will always be in my heart.

There is no real Master Plan to any of this-three of the cars were wrecked by the actions of other people and one just wore out; the house was sold because of a double-taxation scheme, in another state; the travel is a combination of who I am as a person and urges to see people who live far from here. The hikes are also a reflection of who I am, besides being a good way to help with one of my current focuses-weight reduction.

Yet, in another sense, I do follow a Master Plan-one which all of us follow, either wittingly or unwittingly: The Major Plan of the Creator. I am in awe of all that has happened in my life, particularly over the past forty years, and especially over the past twelve. Much, I know, remains to be rolled out, and I look forward to it all, the easy and the hard alike.

Trade-offs

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February 28, 2023- “There are no solutions, only trade-offs.”- Thomas Sowell

One of the more provocative conservatives in our midst, Dr. Sowell has made a good many outrageous statements about “the passing scene”, but he is correct about a great generality of this life: Everything has a cost, as well as a benefit. The value of things great and small lies in the balance between the two.

My thoughts:

Further, all choices we make have immediate and long terms costs and benefits. Those things which cost us, with fleeting benefits, may be viewed as expenses. Those which have long-term benefits may be cast as investments. For example, a meal in a restaurant has mostly fleeting benefits, unless it also includes the generating or enhancement of a friendship or business deal. The deposit of funds towards the education of one’s child or grandchild should, one hopes, result in both the offspring’s well-being and prosperity, and benefits to society, stemming from the person’s expertise.

The same observations may be made, with regard to social movements. Fascism and the Divine Right of Kings benefit elitist claques, and oligarchies, whilst leaving out the vast majority of a country’s citizens, aside from cosmetic and superfluous economic and social trinkets-including insipid entertainment media. Democracies, which INCLUDE republics, are far messier, but have the potential to benefit all citizens, long-term. Everyone has to GIVE, in the form of taxes, or exercising the vote, or allowing those whom one might not like the same rights as one has. Of course, opposed to both of the aforementioned systems is anarchy, chaos, which adheres to no overt rules, save vengeance, self-aggrandizement and short-term personal satisfaction.

I have seen all three, in this short span of seventy-two years, and can only see the most beneficial trade-offs coming from the patience, perseverance and resolve that come from being an active participant in a democracy-and allowing everyone else the same, including-especially, those whose viewpoints differ from my own.

Yes, everything is a trade-off. This, friends, is why we are given free will, combined with intellect and a moral compass, that we may know what to keep and what to give away.

A Day of Change-ups

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February 26, 2023- With 3 inches of snow on the ground, I found it was not a problem to drive to the grocery store and purchase some vegetables and fruit. Then came breakfast at the American Legion Post-a routine on Sunday mornings. Being faithful to my weight reduction program, I saved the pancakes, freezing them for a time when I can nibble at them-along with the cheese and other items that sit in the freezer as well-and will be nibbled at, judiciously, when the time comes.

Normally, a group of us sit at the same table and encourage each other. Today, two of the other five diners showed up-and were already at another table, with other old friends. So, I joined them and the regular table was occupied, in short order, by five gentlemen who had not eaten breakfast there before. When the regulars left, I stayed for a delightful conversation with some other people, who usually sit on the other side of the room.

When I went back to the apartment, and logged onto Zoom, for the devotional which I host, three Sundays each month, I found two of the regular participants also joined-and three who are not usually on the call also logged in. Then, my audio went out, but theirs did not,so they could hear each other-and me, but I was the odd one out. We ended the program prematurely, so that I could go in and find out what Zoom was doing. It turned out that a button had been pushed to mute my audio, when I shared the full contents of my screen. That is something to watch at the next gathering.

The last change-up occurred when I went to the laundromat, and found it locked. What is likely is that the pipes froze, and they just didn’t bother to put up a sign. I will go back on Tuesday and try again.

Changes in routine are good, in that one does not get sclerotic in approaching daily life-as long as the changes do not reflect chaos, which calls for different skill sets.

I Might Have……….

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February 11, 2023-

I might have loved St. Andrews, a treasure by the sea, but I had to shoot my mouth off, and felt compelled to flee.

I might have made a bundle, and climbed the ladder high, but I fell hard for the bottle, and let good fortune slide.

I might have stayed in college, and fallen for a sweet colleen, but it became more enticing to wear the Army green.

The Universe, as it happened, had greater plans for me, from the day I was sent back homeward the Light was there for me to see.

So, my life has unfolded nicely, with faith, love and good fortune, a loving wife and son. Time and tide actually did wait for this errant soul to return, and follow the One.

I have come to love St. Andrews, and much, much else besides. The key it seems, is to take nightmare with dreams, and from nothing, seek to hide.

,

Some Gave All

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February 5, 2023- On February 3, 1943, four brave men stood, arm-in-arm, on the deck of an Army Troop Transport vessel, as it was sinking after having been hit by a German torpedo. They were military chaplains, who had given their own life jackets to four scared young men and seen to it that those men went onto a life raft. The four chaplains died, along with over 200 others, for whom there was no room on the rescue rafts. They died praying with those men.

I had the honour, for a second time, of reading the biography of one of the chaplains, as our American Legion Post held its Four Chaplains ceremony, this afternoon. All gave some; some gave all. This ceremony reduces grown, hardened men to tears-proof of what I mentioned in the last post. To respond to one of my critics, the fact that some women engage in dissolute behaviour has nothing to do with the presence of nurturing energy in men, nor is it proof of gender equality. The actions of the four chaplains, and of countless men who have engaged in similar acts of love for their fellows, are the definitive proof.

All gave some; some gave all. I can only hope that, if I am called to such an action, that I will find the strength to carry it forward. Some gave all.

Apollo Slew The Serpent

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February 4, 2023- The legend has it that the Greek god Apollo, following orders from Zeus and his paramour, Leto (who was Apollo’s mother), pursued the serpent, Pytho, from Mount Parnassus to the temple at Delphi, and slew the beast, because of a rivalry. Apollo then built his own temple, over the original oracular sacred spot.

Those who presently honour the oracle as a place of sacred femininity interpret the legend as one powerful entity controlling the flow of information from one source, and replacing it with their own. The serpent, here, as in the Book of Genesis, is a conduit to knowledge, the use of which was to enable humans to solve problems. So it has gone. The problems arising from facing life on Earth, which an innocent person cannot necessarily fathom, require the knowledge that only a mature soul can put to use. Thus, we have the concept of Progressive Revelation of Divine Truth, given mankind as we are able to comprehend it and put it to use.

Those gathered this evening, via Zoom, for a Full Moon ceremony, come from a variety of faith traditions, from Wiccan to Baha’i. The common thread is a recognition of the spiritual forces that exist, and emanate from, the Enuarth itself. The planet is known to many as Gaia, its original Greek name, recognizing pure maternal energy. Such a philosophy is known in indigenous societiesm the world over-for example the Incan PachaMama. It essentially speaks to the nurturing force that is present in all life, and even in the “pre-life” chemicals and basic elements (Fire, Water, Mineral and Air). Nurturance, the feminine force, is present in even the most “macho” of men, even if it is deeply buried in their psyche.

Personally, I find this to be an affirmation of my own tendency to favour nurturance over force and understanding over assumption. Granted, it’s been a long haul, in some ways, but I find life is better when the feminine energy is allowed to be in balance with its masculine counterpart.

Disgruntled

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January 23, 2023- I awoke this morning, preparing to head for the second of ten consecutive workdays. Opening the shades, after completing my early morning routine, I saw-a light blanket of snow! This led to a check of the website of the school district, where I am assigned this week, and revealed a two-hour delay in the school day, followed 30 minutes later by the school closure announcement. We do not mix icy roads and school buses, whenever it can be avoided.

I thus had ample time to reflect on the events of the weekend-four sets of mass shootings: Two in Louisiana and one each in California and in Arizona, causing a total of 21 innocent deaths and at least 20 more injuries. Today brought 9 more dead- Seven in Half Moon Bay, CA and two in Des Moines, IA. The Half Moon Bay shooter was said to be “disgruntled”.

In all the back and forth between “sides”, as to how to address the mass killings, there are salient points made about the ease with which firearms may be obtained, by someone with a deadly agenda-which is almost always of fairly long standing. There are equally salient points made about mental illness attending these events. No one who is right of mind is going to shoot, stab, poison or run over another human being. There are few points being made about the spiritual aspects of the problem.

Most of us have been disgruntled with others, or with the “system”, at one time or another. Those who have been disgruntled with me, of late, have chosen to either use their words or distance themselves. Ditto for my being upset at other people. Fair enough; who among us can please everyone, all the time. There is a reasonable expectation that being upset at another person does NOT mean that person should forfeit life and limb. Those of us with a spiritual grounding, a belief in the Eternal, tend to pull back from our worst impulses-to the extent we entertain them at all.

Motor vehicles, firearms, ordnance, bladed implements and toxins are all readily available in our society. Regulating them, especially hand-held weaponry, would likely help some, in reducing the death toll-as it has in Australia and some European countries. More fully focusing on the many aspects of the mental health issue will take a plethora of resources-and if done correctly will vindicate those expenditures.

Yet, one thing and one thing only will put our society over the barrier that keeps matters uncivil: There must be encouragement of spiritual education-as parents, children and communities see fit, so that each human life is viewed in the manner with which it is endowed by the Eternal. Emotional release that is achieved by ad hominem or heterogeneous attacks needs to be discouraged. This does not mean a Kumbaya Nation; it means that, despite how some people aggravate one another, it does not end in death or dismemberment.

It means a retreat from fatalism.

The Colour of Fear

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January 18, 2023– There is no such thing as a “White Nation”. Caucasians, by my humble count, consist of no fewer than 67 ethnic groups-if one counts Arabs, Berbers and Jews, along with the ethnic groups of Europe and the Caucasus. Most, if not all, of those groups are represented in the populations of settled countries, like Canada, Australia, New Zealand and the United States. Immigrants from most, if not all, of the other nations of the world are also represented in the settler populations of these countries.

I had the privilege, this evening, of watching much of a film called “The Colour of Fear”. In it, eight men, representing the White, Black, Hispanic and Asian communities, spent a weekend sharing their thoughts about race and about their perceptions of their roles in American society. As one might expect, there were some very strong statements made, by each of the participants. The messages were instructive: The men of colour stating all the occasions when they felt invisible, unheard or infantilized; the white men stating their contention that people should “pull themselves up by their own bootstraps”. One of the Hispanic men retorted, “There are plenty of times that those ‘bootstraps’ break off. Then, what are we supposed to do?”

I have mentioned before that I am not given to fear of other people. Perhaps it is because those of colour have not physically harmed me and in moments of tension between us (long ago, actually), the communication has been direct-almost searingly so. As I sat in the room and watched the discourse, I almost wished Wayne Jefferson, Lavern Bartley, Larry Grinston, Lionel Emilien and my buddy Anthony Banks could have been there-and said, with one voice, “Remember the time…..”. I thought of Lynwood Nichols, and his cogent, very early assessment of “White Privilege”, and of Clinton Bird Hat, who taught me how to carefully and sensitively interact with Native Americans. That those life lessons occurred early on has come to be an eternal blessing.

I am proud of my heritage- the German, French, Penobscot, English, Irish and whatever other ethnicities who have contributed to my whole. I am equally proud, and honoured, by the presence of all those who have helped refine that whole person.

“All Means All”

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January 16, 2023- The process tends to loop around in circles, sometimes spiraling forward and other times heading back the other way.

April, 1959- A tough-looking boy, a bit older than me, rode up on his bike as I was walking back from the south side of town. He said his name was Richard; that he was a Creole from New Orleans and that I looked like a money man. I was eight, Richard was probably ten. I showed my empty pockets and he sniffed and rode off. “Next time, Money Man!” I didn’t see him again until we were in Junior High. He was into other things by then, and never bothered me. I later learned, from another Black child, that Richard no one in his life, except his Grandma, who was a custodian at the high school.

June, 1963- A seasoned jazz saxophonist, named Wilton Felder, sat down and recorded a re-arrangement of “Lullaby by JS Brahms”. It was nothing close to a lullaby, when he was finished. Mr. Felder was expressing his rage-at the murder, in 1956, of Emmett Till; at the murder, a few days before the recording, of Medgar Evers; at the many instances of cruelty towards people who looked like him . He was in no mood to offer gentle comfort-and so he made the piece soar to the heavens-loud and angry. The performance was terribly prescient. Three months later, four young girls, dressed in their Sunday finest, were blown to bits by a crazed bomber, as they waited in a Birmingham church.

April, 1968- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke to a group of sanitation workers and others who were gathered in their support. He remarked that the people were “headed to the Promised Land”, and that he “may not get there with you”. That night, as he took in the night air of a Memphis spring, he was sent to the hereafter. Far to the north, in the mostly white town where I was coming of age, a few of my friends mused aloud, about going over to a black neighbourhood in the next town, and stirring things up. The father who overheard those remarks forbade his son from taking part-as my father would have, if I had even wanted to be part of such a thing. As it was, I only wanted to see black people treated fairly and my heart was broken. I went on home.

June, 1969- Communication was not my strong suit, as I entered Basic Training in the U.S. Army. Having had little direct experience with African-Americans, I found that I had committed a few faux pas. Lavern was already a beaten-down, world-weary soul, at age 19. He desperately wanted to be understood, and had a hard time expressing the ways in which people like me had hurt him. A sharp-eyed friend advised me that some other black trainees were talking with Lavern, and looking my way. I spoke with a mutual friend, who was also black; the two of us sat down with Lavern, and got things amicably settled.

September, 1969- One cold morning, at Advanced Individual Training, in Indianapolis, I was having a hard time waking up and must have had a sour expression on my face, as we gathered at the latrine sinks, to shave our faces. Wayne was spring-loaded and outspoken. He thought my scowl was directed at him-and put me on notice that this was not acceptable. A more even-tempered black colleague explained that this was how African-American men communicated with one another-direct, full-in-the-face. In this way, I was being let inside. I had no further issues with Wayne, or with any other person of colour, the rest of the time I was in the Army. Direct, and to the point, always worked.

July, 1995- I was getting ready to cross a busy street, in St. Louis, with my wife, son and our hosts. Of a sudden, a hand grabbed my arm and pulled me back-just as a car came speeding along in the inside lane. The man who saved me had appeared to be on drugs-but he was aware enough to keep a stranger safe. This gave the lie to our hosts’ musings about black people being worthless. There was no further racist talk coming out of their mouths during our visit.

All these years later, one of the main speakers at today’s Martin Luther King, Jr. Day of Service asked, among other things, how many friends of colour each of us had. It was a rhetorical query, intended to get us thinking. My unspoken answer is, “Many, but nowhere near enough”. The keynote speaker then underscored this question, saying that ALL people’s lives indeed mattered. To that African-American, female pastor, everyone was due respect and accordance of dignity-even if they act despicably.

All people means all people.

.

Treasure Vases

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January 5, 2023- The prayers went up, the meditation was focused and the didgeridoo sounded, long and with urgency-in the mournful way that only a “didge” can sound.

An Earth Treasure Vase can be placed anywhere, and many have, over the past several years. The focus is on setting peaceful energy in a given space, on fostering both resilience and a renewed spirit of co-operation, across all manner of divides.

It strikes me as less than coincidental, that a 36-hour truce has been called, between Russia and Ukraine, ostensibly for the Eastern Orthodox Christmas holiday. Fatigue, on both sides, is surely a factor, as much as the holiday itself and the energy set forth by gatherings such as this. There are thousands of such meetings, large and small, in-person and online, as we the people, globally, are increasingly sick and tired of conflict-and are seeking ways to move past its root causes.

There are Earth Treasure Vases placed in Utqiagvik, AK; Antarctica; Argentine Patagonia; southern Sweden; the Outer Hebrides; the Swiss Alps; the Bay Area; northwest Australia; in the waters off the Trobriand Islands of Papua-New Guinea; in the mountains above Fukushima; South Island, NZ; New York City; the Flint Hills, KS; Liberia; Palestine; Hiroshima; various points in New Mexico (where the first Treasure Vase was placed) and the Demilitarized Zone of Korea-among dozens of places, worldwide. More will be dedicated and stewarded to other places across the globe.

Concrete action, of course, will be the only real guarantor of peace on Earth, yet let us remember that action rises from radiant energy.