“Until All Death Is Gone”

8

August 17, 2016, Prescott- The rain today, has been almost incessant, both at my workplace and around my neighbourhood.  Some dry spots exist,though, among the microclimates of Prescott:  The southwest forest, the grasslands around Glassford Hill and, at the far east end of our county, in Cordes Lakes.  I pulled bus duty, after school, and had a fine time juggling a handheld stop sign, a large umbrella and my waterproof bag, containing the clipboard on which I was to record bus arrival times.  All went smoothly, with parents, children and bus drivers following my instructions.

This evening, after our Wednesday evening devotional, I finished reading “The Shack”, a spiritually-themed novel by William P. Young, who tells the story of a man with a troubled past, whose youngest child is missing and presumed dead.  The man returns to the place where a serial killer is believed to have brought his little girl, and has an intense encounter with God, as a Christian might imagine Him.

There is a moment, towards the end of the man’s Divine experience, when God reveals a song, which He says was written by the child.   The song’s refrain is as follows:

Come kiss me wind and take my breath

Till you and I are one

And we will dance among the tombs

Until all death is gone.”

This morning, I experienced a dream in which I was in a retail work situation.  I was improperly dressed for the job, and somehow had driven my car into the store.  When I got into the car, to go back home and change, the Customer Service lady, standing with a clipboard, gasped “You can’t get away with THAT!”

I woke, and my mind went back to every time in my life that I had made a serious error in judgment.  Slowly getting dressed for the day, I took care to remind myself that things were slowly and carefully coming together in my life.  There have been many fine experiences, greatly overshadowing any setbacks.  The day went just fine, even with a few challenges, faced and overcome.

I mention these, as the main character in “The Shack”, one Mackenzie Allan “Mack” Phillips, was, like me, a person who spent much of his life focusing on his mistakes and on how deficient he was, compared with how he saw others.  Thus, the course on which his life proceeded was meant to lead to his encounter with God- Who is presented as a Trinity: the stern, and occasionally derisive, Father; the loving Son, Jesus the Christ and the inspirational, ever-present Holy Spirit.  Each added to Mack’s growth and presented a model of forgiveness and wholeness.

I think of my own relationship with God.  He has shown me, through experiences both glorious and jarring, that I am a worthwhile child of His, no less capable of doing good in the world, than anyone else.  Mack learned that his human icons were fallible; so have I.  None of us is any less lovable, to our fellow humans or to the Celestial, for that fallibility.

So, it is my wish, hope and desire that each of us can see the Day, when we work to establish unity in the world, with a view towards the time when “all death is gone”.

 

 

Tales from the 2016 Road: Da Vinci’s Coffee and A Welcoming Sun Room

4

July 2, 2016, Enid-  John Glaze and I have visited one another, back and forth, for about five years now- both online and in person.  My latest stop in Enid found John going about his usual business:  Mowing lawns, working out ideas about improving the back part of his house, and visiting with the Saturday morning crowd at da Vinci’s Coffee House, not far from his house.

John tended to the yards, front and back, first thing this morning, before the heat set in.  I remained on the screened porch, for the time being.

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

Life on East Meadowbrook, Enid, OK

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

Back yard, East Meadowbrook, Enid

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

Back yard, East Meadowbrook, Enid

John is justifiably proud of the garden spot.

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

Master landscaper, Enid, OK

He also showed me a couple of ceramic tiles, sent him by a mutual friend.

We went to  Grand Avenue Cafe, Enid’s oldest restaurant, for a fine breakfast.  Then, it was off to da Vinci Coffee House, for an hour or so, enjoying rich java and home made pastries, brought by a couple of the fine ladies who help comprise the Saturday morning gathering.  The young couple who own this establishment were on hand to greet everyone, with a handshake and a hug, for regular and visitor, alike.  We were regaled by the stories of a well-traveled local resident, who had been everywhere I mentioned, except Alaska.  I

After da Vinci, John brought me over to an antique emporium, where I picked up just the right coral  serving dish to gift my cousin, whom I would visit the following day, in southwest Missouri.  We also went to a Catholic thrift store, where I was happy to visit the Chapel of St. Ann.

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

Chapel of St. Ann, Enid, OK

I didn’t have as many photos of this solid town, in Oklahoma’s northwest, as I might have.  It all was part of being unobtrusive, and being a polite visitor. Being in John’s company is always a pleasure, though.

NEXT UP:  Chief Joseph’s Memorial and Ponca City

 

May’s Agenda

8

May 1, 2016, Prescott-  Yes, I shall certainly backtrack and tell of my ten-mile round trip in Black Canyon, yesterday.  I will do so tomorrow, or Tuesday.  Today, though, bear me with me, as May unfolds itself.

I certainly had a good start to the month of amazement- enjoying a breakfast at Zeke’s, where I sat at the counter, surrounded by the constant motion and banter of beautiful women who were working hard, very hard, as I enjoyed my Chorizo Scramble, with sourdough toast and coffee.  Zeke’s is always packed in the morning, on Sunday, particularly.

Then, it was off to Montezuma Well, about fifty minutes from here, for a brief meeting with Baha’i friends who were gathered for sacred readings, followed by a picnic lunch.  I ate enough to be polite, of course, but the real reason for my being there was to connect with those who have taken up residence in Keams Canyon, where we once lived.  There is an in-gathering, of sorts, taking place.  I am again connected with some of my former students, now adults with their own families- gladly telling me of their ups and downs. I will go back up there on May 20-21, and join in a devotional meeting.

Back in Prescott, shortly after 2, I was able to attend most of our own community’s Twelfth Day of Ridvan observance, again with sacred readings, commemorating the departure of Baha’u’llah and His entourage from Baghdad, onward to Constantinople (Istanbul).

This month will find me largely at Prescott High School, with four days at Mingus Springs. Travel means a day in Phoenix, for a wellness check; the aforementioned jaunt up to Keams Canyon- and Holbrook; and at the end of the month, a drive up to Reno, to help an old friend move from there to Carson City.

Reading-wise, I continue with “All The Light They Cannot See”, “The Billionaire’s Vinegar”and begin “Moral Tribes”, by Joshua Greene, which explores the concept of Us and Them, as well as “Gravel Ghosts”, a recent anthology of poetry by Megan Merchant, about which, more tomorrow.  Those will be my May reads.

Well, work will be beckoning soon, so time to get to sleep.  Merry May, all.

 

In Honour Of….

7

April 28, 2016, Prescott- I took today off from work, as we Baha’is are so advised, on Holy Days such as this- the Ninth Day of the Ridvan Festival; the Day when, 163 years ago, Baha’u’llah revealed His Station to family and closest associates, while preparing to follow lawful orders and proceed overland, from Baghdad to Constantinople (Istanbul).  Their departure would begin in earnest, three days later.

We will gather as a community and celebrate the Anniversary, 1 1/2 hours from now, with sacred readings, contemplation and a fine meal.  Baha’u’llah and His entourage, by contrast, frequently had scant food and drink- especially when on the dusty path, northward from Iraq and across Anatolia.  The Messengers of God always take on suffering, if only to show us that it can be overcome, in the end.

Ours is not a Faith of asceticism, nor is it favourable towards  over-indulgence.  We do well, He says, to share good fortune, and not lose heart, in times of scarcity.  The former is largely the result of dispassionate hard work. The latter is a reminder that this is a life meant for character building, which can best be achieved in the face of trials.  So, at least, is my understanding of it all.

He came to bring unity to mankind- and gave us a blueprint, slowly being understood, and accepted, by more people.  It must, however, be done willingly by each individual.  The days of forced conversion are being seen for what they were, and will not be repeated.

 

Intercalary

6

February 26, 2016, Prescott- Today is the first of four Intercalary Days, celebrated by members of the Baha’i Faith, as days of charity, gift-giving and fellowship. The proper name for this short period is Ayyam-i-Ha, or “Days of Giving”.  It is followed by a Fast, of nineteen days, on which I’ve written before, and will again.  Our Fast has some similarities to Lent, Ramadan and the Jewish High Holy Days, as well as its own unique character.

Intercalary means “in-between calendar months”.  Our Baha’i calendar, properly called the Badi Calendar, has nineteen months of nineteen days each.  In the past, we would have four days of intercalary in 365- day years  and five days,  in a Leap Year. The calendar has now been synchronized, world-wide, so that our Holy Days will be based on the occurrence of the new moon, and thus will fall on different dates each year.  The Intercalary Period, therefore, will be four days a year, regardless of a year’s actual length.

Personally, this month and next, are rather lean, so my charity and gift-giving come more in the form of time and energy, this year. I’d rather have it that way, actually, as we humans sometimes value each other more on what things people bring and how much money they give.  I’ve lost a few friends, over the years, because I didn’t contribute, financially, to their efforts or causes.  Then again, were they really friends, in the first place?

 

Today, I will shortly set out and see what is happening downtown, and visit one of my favourite journaling haunts- either the Courthouse lawn, or one of the coffee houses that so wonderfully grace our central area.  This evening features two gatherings, and tomorrow- three.  I have, on such occasions, developed the art of selective grazing- each of these affairs is centered around food- and refined my conversational skills, which, for much of my life, have been halting, at best.

It’ll be a fine weekend, at any rate, and will have its share of acts of service.

This Living Dream

7

February 4, 2016, Prescott- It’s been nearly three weeks since the nation took time to honour the life and work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  It’s been three weeks, since we heard this year’s iterations of the speech he gave, sharing his dream of a nation whose people were at peace with one another.

I have thought, long and hard, about the years that have passed since then, and the years that have passed since his slaying.  We no longer, thankfully, have full-on urban riots, at least not since Los Angeles, and 25 other cities, in 1992.  We no longer tell people of colour that they cannot live in certain neighbourhoods, or parts of the country. We have, on the one hand, made an attempt to include people of colour more fully in the outward cultural fabric of our world-with HipHop and rap becoming de rigeur, worldwide.  On the other hand, there is so much unfinished, and even some progress at risk of being undone.

I have to say this, sans hard hat:  There are still several areas of daily life, mostly involving how I, and people who look like me, are perceived by law enforcement, especially on the road at night, that are not experienced the same way by people of colour.  As a nation, we buy too easily into stereotypes, still.  It was not so long ago that I would lapse into a lilt, when speaking with African-Americans.  That had to rankle the people with whom I was speaking and I apologize, profusely.  It said volumes about my own gap in self-identity and deficit in self-confidence.

I am over that personal roadblock.  The Dream that Dr. King shared with us, while speaking at the National Mall, those 53 years ago, was meant for all of us.  It was meant for Blacks, Native-Americans, Latinos to claim a place in the true life of the nation.  It was meant for women to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with men.  It was meant for Caucasians to recognize that sharing the full life of the nation with people of colour, in no way diminishes who we are as a dynamic force in the progress of mankind.  It was meant for those of both sexual orientations to be afforded the opportunity to share their God-given strengths and talents, in making the world a better place.  It was meant that the Dream be truly universal. I believe the Dream is alive.  I believe that this is truly the Day that will not be followed by Night.

Everlastings

14

January 16, 2016, Prescott-

God is reflected in the everlastings.

My love for my soul mate is everlasting.

Lemuria and Atlantis are not.

The joy taken from hearing children laugh, puppies bark and kittens mewl is.

The ups and downs of the financial markets are not.

A California traffic jam sometimes seems like  it is.

The joy of time spent with good friends definitely is.

The Sun, as vital as it is, is not everlasting.

Beauty and radiance will always be found, somewhere, so they are.

Earth, as familiar as it is, is not everlasting.

The Universe, with neither beginning nor end, is.

The stuff in my cabinets and my refrigerator, definitely is not.

I, in some form, will be- at least I strive to meet with God’s pleasure.

 

The Road to 65, Mile 364: The Stuff That Matters

5

November 27, 2015, Chula Vista-  The brisk walk from Aram’s apartment to the area’s Costco was a two-mile round trip.  I carried a small box, with salad fixings and a brick of sharp cheddar.  I could have driven, or taken the bus.  Instead, I was inspired, both by my own tradition and by a tourist in New York, who preferred to walk uptown from One World Trade Center, so as to “see what I’m passing.”

Having made two long journeys, this past year, I can say I saw alot.  There are differences between the Pacific Northwest and the Gulf Coast, but also key similarities.  Both are humid and moist.  Both have people who are passionately close to the sea.  Both require crossing starkly beautiful deserts, if one approaches by road or rail.  Both have compelling stories to share and both have celebratory traditions.  The Native Americans and First Nations peoples of Oregon, Idaho, Washington, British Columbia and southeast Alaska have civilized traditions and lore going back thousands of years.  So do the Cherokee, Creek, Choctaw, Miccosukee, Alabama, and the hybrid nation we call the Seminole.  The story of the Aboriginals of North America matters, immensely.

Having hiked up Mt. Verstovia, along East Glacier Trail, six miles around Ketchikan, all over Manzanar, on two more segments of Black Canyon National Recreation Trail, and along the Prescott Circle, not far from my place of residence, I feel continually blessed by nature, health and mobility.  The environment matters, enormously.

I spent time among the historical remnants of early European settlers and missionaries, in Santa Barbara, San Luis (now called Tallahassee) , San Antonio, Wrangell and Sitka.  They wreaked havoc on those they found in the area already, thinking that educating the “savages” and exploiting the natural resources were their twin obligations to King and Country.  Their successors followed suit, and I saw the results- some worthy of respect, (Tonopah, Bellingham and Moscow,ID), for the honest labour that modestly claimed a share of the resources of land and sea.  Others, like the ravaging of Native Peoples in Sitka and Hoonah, the slaughter of Chinese immigrants in Hells Canyon and the internment of Japanese-Americans, as recorded for posterity, at Manzanar and Poston, stand as reminders of just how far we have to go.  The historical record matters, tellingly.

I returned to work, towards the end of this, my 65th year, secondarily to recoup some of my financial resources, but primarily because the well-being of yet another rising generation needs whatever champions who can arise.  I will work another five years or so, as long as my health and the goodwill of the powers that be remain strong.  The people we call “Millennials” and “Generation Z” matter, beyond measure.

I will miss Margaret and Ardith Lambert, Tom Boyd, my Xanga friends who called themselves Inciteful and Sister Mae, and feel the losses of several friends’ parents, whom I never met, but sense their character, in the people their children, who are my friends, have become.  Losses matter, achingly.

I visit with my son, not as often as I would like, but when our mutual schedules permit.  I communicate with my immediate and extended families, again not as regularly as is desired, but often enough that we know we are there for one another.  I visited with an elder in Colorado, at the beginning of this year, attempted to spend time with another elder in Florida, though to no avail, and did visit with people I regard as family, in Alabama, Mississippi, California,Nevada, Washington and Alaska.  Family loves, quarrels, understands, misunderstands, hides, seeks and ultimately stays in bond.  Family matters, indelibly, and yes, to answer an online friend’s plaint- family includes friends.

Central to all has been Faith.  Looking back at the past 6 1/2 decades, I could never have survived my own missteps and foibles, or the trials sent my way, without knowing that there is something greater, Someone Indestructible, always seeing and caring.  Belief, and the Faith Community, matter, in primacy.

So, my road to 65 nears an end.  It has been vast, long, alternately wide and narrow, by turns straight and curving.  It started at the end of a year of intense expansion of personal boundaries and ends at the beginning of a year of unknowns.  Decisions made by others will figure greatly in my course of action.  Time goes on.

 

The Road to 65, Mile 355: Positivity About Myself

10

November 18, 2015, Chino Valley- I have a long history of self- doubt and second guessing.  My late wife had just about cured me of these, when her disease took her to the Spirit Realm, five years ago, next March.  On my own, since, I have had to face myself and look at the smiling, approving people in my life, while looking past the stern-faced ones.  The biggest task is letting myself be among the former.

It was a bit tough, this evening, after a good, productive but tiring day, to face a meeting with people who were stern-faced and all business.  I got it done, though I had to get hold of myself, as doubt began to slip back in. Rule Number One, anymore, is not to let detractors get a sense of any vulnerability I might feel.

So, here are three positives about me, which no one can take away.  First:  I am committed to bringing peace, safety and tranquility to the lives of children and other vulnerable people in my life.  Second, I am doing better at taking the time to get my tasks done properly.  Third, I take a larger view of things, so what I can do to help the wider society, in reaching its legitimate goals, is well-worth any personal sacrifice.

I am believing more in my abilities, every morning I have the honour of waking.

 

 

 

 

 

The Road to 65, Mile 352: Call to Account

6

November 15, 2015, Prescott- 

Fingers placed in the pie of another,

must first receive word of his druthers.

Assuming one’s neighbours will concur

with a sordid plan,

shows no keen understanding of fellow man.

The self-righteous tyrants striking one another,

will soon find the True Almighty calling them to account,

and rending them asunder.