August 7, 2915, Prescott- Having been generous towards myself and others, I am going through August with a bit more caution. If you don’t see me out and about, sisters and brothers, Don’t assume I’m sitting around, noshin’. My main goal right now is to not be a bother, So I’m hanging around home, not here and there,rushin’.
Category Archives: Personal goals
The Road to 65, Mile 251: Dimensions
August 6, 2015, Prescott- In the course of seeking permission from Four Worlds International Institute, to a) become a member and b) offer comment on its 16 Principles, I came upon a blog offering some discussion of a reported international effort to fend off an electromagnetic force, which some believe is approaching Earth. Those who believe in the possible event point to various happenings, over the past several years, from the Indian Ocean tsunami of 2004, to the Japanese earthquake of 2011, to the increase in seemingly random acts of inane behaviour, such as movie theater shootings, or deliberately driving the wrong way, on a superhighway, then loudly shouting that this is a constitutional right.
There are many ways to deal with the outlandish. One way is summon fear and devise various means of fending off catastrophe. Supposedly, this is the intention behind the Cern Supercollider, housed somewhere in the Alps. It also explains the various Doomsday cults and sects that make themselves known, from time to time.
There is also a “business-as-usual” approach, of denial. Those who adhere to this point to the historical ability of human beings to rise from wreckage, and to restore what is, essentially, a society built on commerce, relationships and routine. Catastrophic weather or geological events are followed by recovery and rebuilding, with varying degrees of success. After all, no one has rebuilt Pompeii, as it was, nor, definitively, found Noah’s Ark, nor has the country of Haiti fully recovered from its earthquake of 2010.
Others, including myself, take more of a zen approach to the whole affair. Suppose there is an electromagnetic force, and it hits Earth in, say, 2020. I have no idea where I would be then, no notion of who among my widening circle of family and friends will be with me at that point, and no idea how the various geophysical consequences of such a magnificent and terrifying envelopment of our planet would be. I know that I have survived several challenging events, some tragic, up to now. I know that my business is not anywhere near “as usual” as it was in 1994, or even in 2002. I know that some quite astonishing things have happened to, and around, me- so that taking a mundane approach to life does not work, for me. Nor, however, does an apocalyptic mindset. Both presume that change is something to be dreaded.
All the Divine Messengers, and a good many humanistic philosophers, point to both the eternal nature of the Universe, and to the existence of several dimensions. We tend to think of four such measures: Length, width, height and time. These, we can experience on a daily basis. I know something of the fifth dimension, which is most commonly experienced through mental communication with others, “body language”, and even communication with departed souls- though the last one is something I choose to approach with caution. I have felt Penny’s presence, many times, since her passing. Others, including my father, her father, my grandparents and my late youngest brother, have also communicated with me, on several occasions. They know what I am experiencing, and have helped, when needed. I, however, cannot know what they are experiencing, anymore than a fetus can know what a person outside his/her mother’s womb is enduring.
There are other dimensions, which some call parallel worlds, past lives, future choice paths and even “Other Universes.” Such speculation, I chalk up more to the finite minds of those using such terms. I believe that, in restricting the number of possible dimensions to ten, we are simply reflecting the limits of our intellect- as it is now. Those of our descendants who look back on all this, a millennium or two from now, may well chuckle at String Theory, as we now view it,having built on it and transcended the false parts, much as we look back on the theories of the Classical Greeks, or Sir Isaac Newton.
I only know that I have today with which to work, to appreciate and enjoy and from which to learn. Planning for tomorrow, next week, Christmas-time, and the year 2020 will help make those times fruitful; yet, whatever transpires, I adjust and move on.
The Road to 65,Mile 249: Repression and Resilience
August 4, 2015, Prescott- One of the features of life on Earth that most sticks in my craw is the mistreatment of children. This morning, I spent about ninety minutes, listening to one of the people I most admire in this world: Philip N. Lane, Jr., an hereditary chief of the White Swan band of the Dakota Nation. Chief Phil has been working with indigenous people, in various parts of the world, for over thirty-five years. His focus has been the creation of a culture of dignity and positive self-regard, aspects of life that were long repressed among Native Peoples, by the dominant culture, in the name of “assimilation”.
Indigenous North Americans, Andeans, Amazonians, Siberians, Saami, Hawaiians, Maori,Native Australians, Ainu, Hill Tribesmen of northeast India, Dravidians, Native Saharans, and the nomadic peoples of the Kalahari and Namib deserts have long been told their cultures and ways of life do not jibe with “reality”, as identified by the powers that be, in their lands of residence.
One of the most effective ways that conquerors have found, in creating a culture of self-loathing, and hence submission, is to remove the children of the repressed ones from their home communities, place them in compulsory residential schools, and systematically quash all traces of the native culture within the psyches and personas of the child-residents. This was done in the United States, Canada and the Soviet Union, throughout much of the Twentieth Century, with an actual view towards “turning savages into human beings.”
I grew up seeing, and sometimes receiving, corporal punishment in a regular public school in Massachusetts, in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s. I have been grabbed and shaken by an angry teacher, seen a friend in another class thrown violently against a wall and witnessed other unnecessary acts, harmful acts, by teachers, administrators, and, later, by a Catholic priest, who was ultimately found guilty, defrocked and disgraced.
As a new teacher, I found myself initially subscribing to forceful techniques, though thankfully not to the extent that a child suffered lasting damage. I owned up to it,made amends, and was able to move on to more humane and effective ways of correcting misbehaviour. It was a long road, but I was then able to focus on helping the abused children to recognize that they were not at fault, that the beatings I witnessed at a private boarding school, in the late 1970’s were the true aberration, and that no one should have to suffer in silence, or alone.
Getting back to the Native American boarding schools, and many of the Federal and state day schools: The schools which “served” Indian, Native Alaskan, and Native Hawaiian children, like the Black and Hispanic schools, under Jim Crow laws, were hotbeds of cultural repression, language extinction and harrowing punishment, which included acts of sexual violence against children and teenagers. The most casual and innocent use of a Native tongue was punished, severely, by school staff ( I will not use the term, “teacher”, here. These individuals negated the definition of the word.). These individuals were both secular and clergy, and had no other goal than the advancement of the national economy. Money trumped all else, as it often still does.
Chief Phil Lane, Jr. was a recipient of this kind of miseducation and ,to this day, has had to continuously re-educate, and re-train himself, which he is doing admirably. I have met many people, in the indigenous communities, and in the wider world, who have expressed hatred for who they think I am, based on my light skin, brown hair and blue eyes. The only remedy for this, given what these people have endured, is patience, and staying the course of building a healing environment.
We still have a long way to go, and I am grateful to Phil Lane, and others who have arisen to outline what needs to be done. I will introduce his 16 Principles of creating a nurturing culture, in a series of posts, very soon.
The Road to 65, Mile 248: Dog Days
August 3, 2015, Prescott- This is the week that school resumes in Yavapai County, so this morning, I went over to Prescott High School and made an appearance at the Faculty and Staff Convocation Breakfast, loading up on light pastries and fruit, saying hello to a few teachers I recognized and just observing the overall mood of the group, from my solo seat at an empty table. Most everyone was chirpy and cheerful, within their little groups, though a few of those whom I know to be loners, who live for their kids and their jobs, looked wan and drained from the heat.
I went from there to a weekly coffee klatsch at a Seniors Apartment Complex, in Prescott Valley. There were more goodies and coffee, of which I took a small portion. The conversation was quickly dominated by a wheelchair-bound man, of about 80, who complains there is little for him to do, since he can no longer drive. This is a considerable problem for those who choose to live in such places, or have such places chosen for them, by “loved ones”. I sat and let him pontificate, nonstop, for about 45 minutes. Then it was time for him to go pay his rent, so I also went about my business, which today consisted of trying to contact a friend who doesn’t want to be contacted, but is at risk, and of shuffling some money around, so as to pay a person who needed his balance due, a day early.
Dog Days are handled, one day at a time. It is hot here (91), though nowhere near as hot as in Phoenix (110, at Sky Harbor Airport) or southeast Iran (135). I took a conference call, at 6 PM. By 7, it had cooled down enough, so that I went to Planet Fitness, and gave my physical frame a 45-minute workout. As I exercised, Castle was trying to find out whether, and how, James Brolin’s character was being framed for a murder that it looked like he committed, but maybe didn’t. When I got home, I tried to find an old episode of Criminal Minds, in which Tim Curry plays a serial killer, who abducts a 9-year-old girl, after killing her father in cold blood. The girl gives Curry’s character the slip, after a fashion, and he is killed by the police, while pursuing her. Nasty stuff, this, and it turns out that CBS doesn’t want us watching old episodes of its shows, unless we pay up front. This is odd, since I can view current shows online, the day after they are aired.
Dog Days are slow, but they are still full. Tomorrow, I will be busy with a conference call about Native American Boarding Schools in the morning, Red Cross stuff in the afternoon, and get ready for whatever job assignments come my way, later this week, when school resumes.
The Road to 65, Mile 245: Fragmentation
July 31, 2015, Prescott- I had a lot of time to think, today, about the recent controversy over whether it is possible to care about animals, when so many people are suffering. This is the dream of the charlatan: Get people fighting over compassion, like toddlers over toys. Then, with everyone screaming at one another, ad nauseam, achieve the power-building agenda, sight unseen.
For the record, I care, equally, about wild animals, fetuses, children, teenagers, women’s sense of well-being and dignity, men’s sense of being relevant, maintaining a healthy environment and a healthy diet, and my own personal growth. It is called living a full and balanced life.
No one, not the advocates of one cause or another, nor their opponents, nor least of all the wirepullers, who would be thrilled to see total confusion and lack of progress, lest their seats of power become upended, will get me to favour one of the above, to the detriment of the others. We can’t care about everything, simultaneously, but we can take time for each – just as we eat at certain times, then do our jobs, then rest, then exercise, then play with our children or pets, then read, then sleep. What parent worthy of the name exclusively attends to one of their children, and ignores the others? It is the same with the various aspects that present themselves to us.
I care, intensely, that whales and lions are being slaughtered for sport; that people are videotaped making glib comments about dead fetuses (though the authenticity of these videos is suspect); that armed criminals can blend in with mothers and children, cross an international border (for a second time, after having been deported) and kill innocent people at point-blank range; that religious zealots can oppress people, at will; that many women, and more than a few men, feel disempowered by capriciously-applied rules and regulations.
I was born caring, and will stay that way.
The Road to 65, Mile 242: Friends Are Us
July 28, 2015, Prescott- Get used to this byline; most of my posts, especially during the week, will be “Prescott”. I tend to get more free-wheeling with these, as my travel blog readers disappear.
More about the topic of friendships: A friend in another state recently said same-gender friendships are very important (partly in response to my comment about having a large number of women friends). The choice is not apples or oranges. It’s a healthy mix of the two. When I socialize with groups of people, there are men, with whom I discuss some aspects of life; women with whom I discuss other aspects of life; and “mixed” groups, where the conversation is general. None of these are confined to “safe” topics.
My best friend, for thirty years, was my late wife. We had no secrets, kept no grudges and worked together on just about everything. My next-best friend was a man, with whom I could also discuss just about anything, over the 31 years we knew one another. He was also very honest, in a loving way and guided me through some very rough patches after Penny’s passing. Mike could say “No, you don’t!”, when acquiescence would have easier, but less authentic.
I have many friends, around the continent, and a few in Europe, Australasia and southeast Asia, with whom I can discuss a variety of topics, get honest feedback and correct things as I need to. I am also here for them, in that way. This list is not a gender-heavy or age-heavy roster.
There is one woman friend, here, with whom I am collaborating on a venture. Our friendship is more “sibling-ish” than anything else, with plenty of free-wheeling discussion and any illusions either of us had of romance were dispelled early-on. Were she to meet a good man, tomorrow, and at long last have a life relationship, I’d be the first to congratulate. There was a time in my life when I had to deal with distraction issues. Over the past year or so, especially since having visited Europe, I see these issues for what they are: Impediments to real friendship.
I guess it’s largely a matter of maturing, and clearing one’s inner eye.
The Road to 65, Mile 241: Unbound
July 27, 2015, Prescott- As I sat in my living room recliner, this morning, my upstairs neighbour assumed his usual stance, midway up the stairs, and stared at me through the window, for a few minutes, then went on his way, when I nodded at him, with a slight smile.
A bit later, I checked e-mail and found a rather officious note from a friend in another community, instructing me as to how I was to do a certain task, with which he is loosely involved. I also noticed some people getting on another friend’s case, for the way she was dealing with a recent loss.
One of the odd things about being in a relatively unstratified society is that many of us create our own stratification, with ourselves atop the fray. I am uncomfortable, any more, with coming across as a Know-It-All, or as some sort of ad hoc authority figure sitting on an imaginary Ivory Throne. There have been times when I was inclined to stick my nose in others’ business, and none of those has ever ended well. Likewise, I am very much disinclined to accept adjudication from anyone other than the police, the administration of the Baha’i Faith, my landlord or a legitimate supervisor on a job in which I’m engaged.
Years ago, we left South Korea, rather than submit to the supervision of a self-styled “CIA agent”, who turned out to have no ties to the Central Intelligence Agency, which was not at all pleased with his ruse. He had cultivated friends in high places in the Korean hierarchy, though, which made things rather uncomfortable for us. I have had run-ins, a few times since then, with self-appointed authority figures.
Our son has described Penny and me as “free spirits”, and to some extent, I still am, even with her being in the Spirit Realm. I don’t have much, other than my own well-being, with which to tend, though a situation is looming in the background, later this year and into next, which could be a game-changer. I will have more to say about that, as time goes on. For the present, though, I feel unbound, free to accept any task or opportunity that comes my way, so long as it is not impoverishing or leads me to become a burden to others.
The Road to 65, Miles 239-40: Random Thoughts On A Lazy Weekend
July 25-26, 2015, Prescott- There was, on purpose, little on my agenda this weekend. I went to a devotional gathering on Friday night, and caught up with my Chino Valley friends. The meal is always great. Actually, I end up with two meals, as the Veterans’ Potluck, where informal attendance is taken, happens the same night as the devotional. I have the heart, and a discretional-enough eating habit to attend both events.
Saturday gave me time to think, long and hard, about friends. I know who the true ones are, here, online and in other parts of the country. Those who have come and gone, at least meant well, initially-but fear, personality differences and age gaps can put a damper on any number of friendships. I was glad to have spent time with my faithful friends in California, Nevada, and Oregon and to have made a few new friends here and there in Alaska.
I have an outside chance to work for the Red Cross, though the word is that the folks in Washington already have someone picked out for the vacancy. We will carry on, regardless.
This morning, (Sunday), I sat and bantered with the Old Major for a bit, then joined my Baha’i friends at Goldwater Lake. It’s a fine, wooded, fishing reservoir, south of town, and we have gathered there, once a year, for a Cowboy Breakfast. I don’t have leather boots or a Stetson, but I did bring the sausages for grilling. One time, a couple of years back, I brought my solar oven along. We tried toasting bread in it and ended up with sliced hard tack. Heck, that’s part of a chuck wagon, right?
Book wise,this summer, I have finished Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore, Crota, Death and White Diamonds, The Fortune Cookie Chronicles, and Looking for Alaska, and am a bit more than halfway through Seven Years in Tibet. I‘ve mentioned most of these before, but making a total list looks a bit better.
I have developed a habit of deleting most e-mailed requests for money. Along the same lines, I am getting rid of my land line phones, soon, since the only calls I get on them are from solicitors. My true friends and family all have my cell # number.
It was a nice weekend- little noise and the Second Wild Woman of the West, who frequents the bar & grill next door, wasn’t throwing any temper tantrums.
The Road to 65, Mile 238: What Now?
July 24, 2015, Prescott- I had little time, this morning, to ponder the title question, as there was an urgent service event taking place, from 9- 1. About forty of us gathered in the assembly hall of United Methodist Church, to fill backpacks for students from grades K-12. School supplies, as many are aware, are a major expense for households and we were fortunate to have over $ 1,000.00 worth, from backpacks to pencils, donated for distribution, both by individuals and companies. In addition, several hundred books were donated, by various corporations. Half the group were us Baha’is, which further gratified me.
It is a lovely season, here in central Arizona. I will have some time, before school starts, to help where needed with the Red Cross and Yavapai County Angels. These opportunities will, of course, be available during the year, as well, though I will be also about the business of replenishing my resources.
Some have gotten the notion that I am primarily just a guy who runs hither and thither, photographing people, places and things, visiting historical sites and hiking mountains, canyons and beaches. That is part of who I am, but it can hardly stand alone, in anyone’s life. Indeed, except for about a dozen close friends, most of the people I have met this summer will not give me much thought, and several, I may never see again. That doesn’t make the experiences any less memorable. I will treasure each day spent in Nevada, California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, British Columbia and Alaska- just as I treasure each day here.
A friend spoke recently of “destination addiction.” I remember, years ago, reading of a man from Italy, who had not been home in ten years, and had been so many places, with so little time to absorb each new experience, that he snapped, and was in the care of the Libyan National Police, spending his days staring into space, and mumbling. Such a fate could not be more terrifying.
I will leave Yavapai County only once in August, to visit some long-lost friends in Hopi, an indigenous area about 100 miles northeast of Flagstaff. Fall might afford some hiking opportunities, here and there- but not more than a day’s drive from base. The Christmas and New Year holidays will find me visiting family, but as an independent member of the brood. I find I am altogether more settled, as many would expect, after four years of rather frenetic road trips and a European jaunt.
They have taught me, though, that I am a worthwhile person, that I can survive on my own, that I can make mistakes in my relationships with others, sometimes dreadful ones, and recover, with a major lesson learned. I don’t need everyone’s approval, and there were a couple of people on the road, this summer, who made it clear that I was far from welcome to visit them. That was fine, because there were a vast number of others who were glad for my presence. I take advantage of no one, and no one takes advantage of me.
The Road to 65, Mile 230: Birthdays Matter
July 16,2015, Prescott- I treated a good friend, (one of my besties), and her daughter to dinner this evening, since it was bestie’s birthday. Back in New England, a birthday is ever the occasion for the honouree to be so treated, and to choose the venue, within reason. So, I have continued this tradition, over the years, for Penny and for our son. Aram.
One’s entry point into this life establishes the chance to be of value, to an entity greater than oneself: First the immediate family; then friends and neighbours, followed by ever-wider communities. This, alone, is worthy of respect and nurturing.
In our culture of independence and relative anonymity, it’s easy for a person to feel like no one cares much. Most of the time, this isn’t true. We tend to have more friends, who care more about us than it seems outwardly. There are all manner of distractions, and external pressures, both real and imagined.
My own answer to this has been to be more proactive about expressing my friendship. Sometimes, because of the depth of my feelings, this has been misinterpreted and I’ve had to backpedal a bit, for the sake of the endurance of the friendship. It started to happen with the friend mentioned above, but with clear and gentle communication, things are where they need to be.
So, her birthday matters, as does her daughter’s, a few months down the road. Their dreams and plans are more in focus, with the stock-taking that happens at the beginning of each year. In my own case, this is one of the reasons I am doing this series of posts. Some years seem to be clearer milestones than others, but each one is of value, and is crucial to one’s total life experience.
A Sagittarian Seeker 