The Road to Diamond, Day 4: Voyages

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December 2, 2024, Grapevine- My planned walk to Grapevine Mills became a ride. Aram needed to get out of the house, after a day of working on his job hunt research, and, driving around, looking for a charging port for EV, came up short. So, we drove over, and walked the mall. In a chain shop called Books-A-Million, I came upon Ta-Nehisi Coates’ “Between The World and Me”, said title taken from a line in Richard Wright’s eponymous verse.

Wright’s protagonist fairly screams from the page, would scream, if he were to borrow a stentorian voice in a poetry slam. Coates himself does not scream, but speaks tersely, sternly towards his readers, yet simultaneously with urgency towards his son-the recipient of this long, elegant and painful letter.

As my son moves forward with his life, I don’t so much worry about what society, or the police, might do to him as what he may or may not do on his own. So far, so good. Therein lies the difference between our situation and that faced by too many who are in marginalized situations.

There is a chasm in society, lesser and lesser between people of different racial and ethnic groups as between people of different economic classes. There are those, both Black and White, both Right and Left, who see this class differential as the more enduring problem-and a few who see that the wirepullers of the whole Class Divide are the ones who will set up Race Card situations, clashes between people of colour and people of pallour- usually involving police officers, at some point.

Where am I going with this? What is the voyage of the mind, on which I have embarked? I am looking at justice-the justice that Ta-Nehisi Coates fears may one day escape his son, and others his age. I am looking at justice, deferred, in the matter of the son of a sitting President, supposedly out of fear that the Attorney-General for the next President may impose a draconian sentence on that son. I am looking at justice denied, with regard to that next President, and maybe those who acted, in their minds, on his behalf, four years ago next month. I am looking at justice, whose light is now hiding under a bushel. My mind still searches for it. Justice, says Baha’u’llah, is the best-beloved of all things, in the sight of God.

We will just have to stay vigilant, and see how things turn. In the meantime, my physical voyage, tomorrow, will take me back to Home Base I. The one I love most will be on a voyage of her own, to a gathering of some import. Each of us goes forth, keeping our adult children in our hearts. Each of us will keep an eye on justice. Each of us is on a voyage, to a destiny that may well bring us to a common point.

The Road to Diamond-Day 1: Cedar Ridge

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November 29, 2024, Grapevine- The three of us stood, overlooking Cattail Pond, as if it were the Pacific Ocean. In Dallas, any body of water will fill that bill. We took this 4-mile loop, after finishing off most of yesterday’s left overs, at today’s lunch.

Cattail Pond (Above and below)

Each trip around the Sun brings a theme, of sorts. Today begins a two-year stretch, centered on the notion of Diamond Jubilee-the road to that date (11/28/25), and the journey on the hard rock plateau, that follows the Jubilee. I’ve been asked, by at least one friend, how my travel plans are shaping up for 2025. The only things that are certain are that I will spend three weeks with my special someone and our circle of friends,in Home Base III, for three weeks: Late January to mid-February. From then on, I will again be in constant travel mode, save for a few key dates in the Spring that will tie things up at Home Base I. The scope and direction of my journeys will depend on what happens in February, but there will be much work to get done, regardless.

For the next few days, though, I am soaking up family love, at HB II. Partly because of my birthday having been celebrated and because of a general celebration of Thanksgiving, I have been in constant touch with friends in Prescott and the Philippines, and by extension, across the globe. It is salubrious and I thank everyone, near and far, who has taken the time to honour my life. It takes three seconds to type a “Thank you”, so that’s what I’ve done. (Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, by contrast, wrote out hundreds of Thank You notes, in pen and ink, after each event to which she was invited, or which was held in her honour. She always was, and is, the gold standard).

Cedar Ridge is a remnant of glacial fingers extending down into the north Texas prairie, and leaving this pleasing network of hillocks and ravines, as a contrast to the sweeping riparian Plains. We had our share of short, but steep, climbs and descents. Thanks to the Audubon Society, I can’t think of a better way to “recover” from Thanksgiving Feast, part I and part II.

The sweep of Cedar Ridge Preserve, Dallas

A Year of Beauty; A Year of Release

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November 27, 2024, Grapevine- This was the year that Mom went home to Dad and to her parents, siblings and youngest son. This was the year that we lost Marcia, Michele, Cousin David, Johnny and Verne. It seemed like a thousand celebrities went home to our Maker, whether they said they believed in Him or not.

It seemed for a time, that we would follow Mexico’s lead, and actually elect a woman as President-but that was not to be. Other forces have to run their course, and marginalized people have to feel that they truly matter and are heard. Other marginalized people will need to keep making their voices heard. As a friend said, after the election, the true gap is between classes, not races. There is much to be said for that notion.

I went clear across the continent, to Newfoundland and St.Pierre/Miquelon. Later, it was time to go northwestward, to Vancouver Island’s west coast and to the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia. There was time, in between and afterward, to pay respects to the woman who brought me into this world, and to be there when she left it.

In autumn’s colours and light, I left this continent for the longest period of time since I spent ten months in VietNam, so long ago. A good part of my heart stayed in the Philippines and waits there for me to return, early next year. The call to duty in Home Base I is also strong. I was, and am, determined to make the most of time I have there, that the Love of Baha’u’llah will be felt more strongly in that swath of north central Arizona.

Small gaps were closed this year. I spent time in a place that was central to the first stages of the American War for Independence; honoured a First Nations people, in two Canadian provinces and two others, on the opposite side of the country; spent a Baha’i Holy Day in the first House of Worship built in the Western Hemisphere; visited the most temperate place in the Philippines, and the westernmost part of that country; paid the last money owed on two credit accounts. I went to the top of Astoria Column, and later watched “The Goonies”, which was set in that mouth of the Columbia River. I saw whales swimming in the wild. I overcame some lingering doubts about myself.

So now, 73 is saying goodbye, and its successor promises to usher in a year of fruition, in place of this year of effort and struggle. A bit of 2024 remains, and there are goals to be reached in December. I will think further on them, as 74 marches in, tomorrow.

Storage

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November 25, 2024- One way or another, sometime next year, much of what I own and choose not to give away or sell, will be placed in storage. My game plan for 2025 will be discussed with my little family, over the next eight days. There are three options, but time in my current residence is getting short. More on what will transpire, as we go along.

Things can be placed in storage; feelings cannot. Many people stuff their emotions, either because they are internally uncomfortable or because they are unacceptable to those closest to them. I used to try and stuff my feelings. They came out anyway, in highly counterproductive ways, ranging from physical uncoordination to social awkwardness. There was, in retrospect, no real reason for this, except my misconception that being myself was an imposition on my family and would not be accepted by my peers.

This conviction was somewhat, but not completely, erased by marriage, career and parenthood. The emotions that remained “in storage” were rooted out later, when I was responsible for Penny’s care and for getting myself together, after her passing. There were those who understood and encouraged my growth, and there were those who would not cut me any slack. Fortunately, both contributed to the release and dismissal of those demons.

Storage has its place-and that is for temporary safeguarding of material possessions, like keepsakes and books that are not immediately needed. Feelings, though, should not be subject to “safekeeping”-at least not long term.

Angelic Troublemakers

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November 23, 2024- “We need, in every community, a group of angelic troublemakers”-Bayard Rustin

An angelic troublemaker is defined as “someone who uses their life to disrupt the status quo in a positive way”. The above quote was among those cited this evening by a community activist who definitely has challenged the status quo, in positive ways, over a period of twenty years. One of her actions involved playing an accordion in the midst of a rally of an angry demonstration, two or three years ago. It had a calming effect on some of the ragers, and she was not hurt.

Angelic troublemakers were responsible for much of the progress the nation, and the world, have seen over the past eighty years or so. Certainly Mohandas Gandhi would fall into that category. So would most of the rank and file in the American Civil Rights movements. Others, like yours truly, fall into the category of angelic troublemakers with tight halos, stumbling into acts of goodness as often as we intentionally walk into them. Most of the time, though, some good comes out of what we do.

I open my big mouth as often on behalf of people with whom I disagree on many things, as I do on behalf of kindred spirits. We have, in this physical world, a duty to listen to all sides, even the most outwardly ludicrous, in order to glean the whole truth of any matter. So, the “Flat Earther” can spout his gibberish, and maybe one or two kernels of truth will drop to the floor. The person who claims to be from the Pleiades can also spew forth a barrage of nonsense, and we may actually learn something about the greater Universe, in the process.

Where I draw the line is with those whose beliefs, when acted upon, cause harm to children, teens and other vulnerable people. There is no quarter for pedophiles, for vaccine deniers who also adhere to a diet of processed foods, for human traffickers, and for those who believe in price gouging of medicine and care for the chronically ill, the infirm elderly, the disabled and the mentally ill. I have no use for those who tell veterans and families of dead First Responders that they are on their own. I detest warmongers, no matter how “worthy” the pretext for their rampage.

So, on we go, us good troublemakers, angelic and otherwise.

The Face of Unity

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November 20, 2024- “The core of a child’s education starts with the mother.” Upon my uttering that statement, a chorus of naysayers erupted with their buts, howevers and whatabouts. Methinks they missed the word core. A father does indeed have to stand alongside a mother, and augment the child’s learning. Grandparents and other adult relatives are the second layer of learning reinforcement. Teachers and neighbours, the “village” that it takes to raise a child, are the tertiary layer, and on outward it goes. No, friends, the entire village cannot be on top of the child, all at once.

Several of us were gathered in a comfortable Southwestern-style home, to ponder the question, “What does a unified community look like?” Much of the time was spent in putting forth, and sifting through, various and sundry individual points of view and reflections on life experiences that emanate from life in an often harsh and imperfect world.

Unity starts with respect for, and from, the individual. It proceeds outward, only when one has self-respect and when genuine respect for others emanates from oneself. That respect has to be a two-way street. A political conservative, even a reactionary, cannot advance real unity, without having respect for liberals and progressives. The converse is equally true.

Unity continues with each one having what my father called the courage of your convictions. True courage involves recognizing that what I think and feel does not have to be what anyone else thinks and feels-and the converse is also true. I can be equally at home talking with the members of my American Legion Post, or with conservative Christian friends, as I am among Progressive groups or those committed to social justice. Their opinions are not their souls.

Unity necessitates that the group be able to separate fact from fancy. It also goes back to respect: No adult has the right to live their life through their child, or even through their spouse. We live for our loved ones, and with them. Arriving at a point of unity means talking with the significant other, with the offspring, ascertaining everyone’s wants, needs, dreams and seeing what is most important for the group, and for each of its members. Penny’s mantra was “Consultation is finding out.” I can think of no better way to put it.

Do you think that submitting to the dictates of a strongman will solve the problems of the community, or of the nation? How does that affect the future of your children-both in the immediate and in the far future? Do they not have a say in the matter?

Want to invest in bitcoin? How will that impact your family or group of friends? Should you not discuss this fully with your near circle?

Wish you had a son, instead of a daughter-or vice versa? Does that give you the right to talk him/her into transitioning, even before full adulthood, or even before full puberty? How will that impact the life of that precious soul-tomorrow, next year, and ten, twenty, fifty years from now? Is that not an informed decision to be freely made by the person in question, as a mature adult?

It is well-known that I have deep feelings for someone who presently lives far from me. I also have deep feelings for my little family in Texas, for my siblings and extended family, across the continent and for all manner of friends in this community, and beyond. Any decision that I make, that impacts the life of any one of them, will actively take into consideration their thoughts, feelings and sensibilities. That is my path of unity.

The impact on unity of our decisions is large and small. Slight disunity is like a pebble in a shoe. Major disunity is like a brain tumour, or an abdominal stone. Most, if not all, of it can be avoided by consultation. The greater the chasm, the longer the bridge.

We did not arrive at a picture of what unity looks like, but we did leave the house with an overall sense of respect for one another. We did arrive at the realization that we are each primarily spiritual beings in physical bodies. We will proceed from there, in our deliberations.

Misogyny

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November 17, 2024- I watched the first episode of “Lioness” this evening. It is a spy thriller, centered on women secret agents and fighters, in a Middle Eastern backdrop. Each of the women has a male advocate, if not a lover. They just don’t really need those men, day to day. One of the central characters comes to the Lioness program by way of escaping from a gang of disaffected, misogynistic men.

I thought back to how I was raised-to be a gentleman (by my father), countered by male peers who were alternately respectful of our mothers, sisters, grandmothers and aunts, while carrying a veneer of seeing other girls and women as means to an end. It was the stuff of adolescence, certainly, but subliminally was carried forward into our group psyches.

My wife became my equal, my partner, by dint of her sheer intellect and tough personality. Penny grew to become nobody’s fool. I became someone who did not need a fool. As the first true love of my maturity grew into a fully independent woman, so I began to grow into a fully independent man. From there, we both became interdependent.

In the years immediately following her passing, I found the sticky residue of my adolescence clinging to my psyche. As sheer will power and prayer had helped me shed alcohol dependency, thirty years earlier, so did they help me shed the stench of misogyny that was trying to get out. I let it out, along with the lack of self-esteem that is behind all such negative dust. True maturity had been reached.

Young men, around the world, face challenges to their self-concept that have historically been faced by posturing, adopting a dominant position towards their female peers and subscribing to a false sense of entitlement. This is the ethos of The Pack. There is an alpha male, but his “true strength” is only evident when the rest of the peer group is present, for reinforcement. The public face of misogyny is the Incel (“involuntary celibate”), who takes the stance that abstinence from sex is being forced on him by a conspiracy of women and other men.

In truth, though, focusing on one’s sexuality is dealing with only the outer trappings of insecurity. Procreation has an important place in the order of society, but it is only a place. A person, male or female, who has been raised to truly value self, who is focused on his/her totality: Intellect, variety of interests, physical stamina, dreams and goals, social skills, spirituality-will be more likely to know success, to be resilient in the face of challenges and less likely to blame others when things go wrong.

These are things I have come to fully realize, over the past fourteen years.

Charting Own Course

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November 9, 2024- Everyone deserves to chart their own course.

It turns out that the recent messages I received have little to do with me, at all. At some point in the not too distant future, the woman I love most in this world will be looking to find a position in a very sacred place. It is her long cherished dream to do this, so the last thing I ever want to do is be an impediment.

At this point in my life, the joy that would come from holding her or just being close to her is as nothing, when compared to the satisfaction of seeing my beloved K achieve this goal. Too often, even now, the dreams of one person, usually a woman, are subordinated to those of one, usually a man, who assumes a dominant role.

The thing I’d like to see more men, more people, embrace and foster the dreams of those they claim to love. Kathy will do so much good in any position she may take, at this most sublimely holy of spots, in service at a material level. Seeing her do this is dearer to my heart than any conventional relationship, as exhilarating as that would be. Seeing her reach any of her goals means the world to me.

My own course, at this point, will be determined largely by the needs of my little family and of this most cherished woman. I have lived a full and satisfying life, thus far, and accomplished many of my goals. Now, it is time to cheer on my loved ones, whether at their side or from afar.

Sky Way

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October 23, 2024, Manila- The area between the entrance to Terminal 3 and the taxi stands, at Ninoy Aquino International Airport, is rife with touts, every one of whom wants to charge double or triple the fare charged by metered taxis, or even GRAB (Uber-type) vehicles. I have learned to walk straight ahead, saying “Excuse me!”, in a firm tone. The lady who mocked, saying “Get out of way!”, was a GRAB imposter, who still wanted twice the fare. I told her no, and went over to the meter booth.

The driver took me to Ola! Hostel, via the Skyway, for which the passenger (rightfully, in my view) pays the toll of 35 PhP (Philippine pesos) on top of the fare. It is a much nicer drive, with little slow downs and, at lunch time anyway, no gridlock. I arrived at Ola! seventeen minutes after leaving NAIA.

It has just been that sort of day. I was very warmly welcomed back to the hostel, and to the Baha’i Center, in late afternoon. My darling had news of her own: She has landed the job that she had sought, before last week’s loss of a dear Baha’i community member and this past weekend’s art gallery opening ( by K’s good friend), which I missed for the sake of connecting with an old friend from Mesa, AZ, who now lives in Dumaguete, Negros Oriental.

She will be busy for several months, and that’s a good thing. I will also be busy, once I get back to Home Base I. There is a lot going on, just before the election and immediately afterward. November and December promise to pass with lightning speed. Through all of it, I will be encouraging Kathy, every day. I will see her again in February, during a short visit here, that will focus on a few important tasks.

Picking up on the ways to navigate this sometimes chaotic, but vibrant, society is coming to me organically. There are aspects that will also be very useful in the months to come, back in the United States.

Foundation of Gold

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October 19,2024, Manila- Many know that the islands of the Malay Archipelago, from Singapore, south and east to Timor and Halmahera, then north to Batanes, had structured, hierarchical societies, based on a chiefly class, prior to the arrival of European traders and colonialists. Relatively few know that these societies were an outgrowth of the successful use of metallurgy, and that the metal most commonly in demand was gold.

The Spanish, Portuguese, British, French and Dutch all had designs on countries which produced a wealth of spices. It was only when the colonialists settled down a bit, and made friends with some of the indigenous people, that they found there was gold to be had. As was their wont, the traders, adventurers and soldiers took the precious metal for themselves, under the guise of “for King and Country”. The rest is known to most of the world.

The Malay people, from their western outpost, in Madagascar in the far west to Taiwan and the Korean island of Jeju, in the north, are related linguistically and culturally to the Micronesian and Polynesian people of Oceania. Various features of Malay people, especially those indigenous to the Philippines, are outlined in exhibits now showing at Ayala Museum, in the southeast corner of Makati, Metro Manila. The foundation of their culture being the mining, smelting and wearing of gold is a point made most deftly.

The golden nature of the Filipino personality, though, is what has outlasted the mineral reserves, to which the Spanish conquistadors and Chinese pirates helped themselves copiously, over several centuries. Filipinos stand their ground, of course, and do not go about their lives foolishly-though anyone navigating the northeast side of Makati on Friday night would wonder about that, as the taxi driver ferrying me to my hostel, after my day with Kathy, could certainly attest. (There was no one to be found, among the drivers, who was obeying traffic signals.)

I was delighted, though, to rejoin her and two other friends this afternoon, at Ayala Museum, experiencing various sensory performances, from a Shadow Play with romantic songs playing in the background to a delightful performance by Manila Symphony Orchestra, which is Asia’s oldest. It was founded in 1926, by Alexander Lippay, and has not skipped a beat (pun intended) ever since. MSO even served as a vehicle of the Resistance, during Japanese occupation. The military governor, not wanting to look like a rube, reportedly attended classical music performances, but missed the message embedded in the program, that the Filipino spirit was alive and well.

The diorama of Philippine history is an area of the museum that would probably take me several hours to properly take in. I may get back there to do just that, on this visit. Otherwise, it’ll wait until February. (Yes, I am skipping out on chilly Prescott, for two weeks in 2/25. Certain matters will need my attention here, at that time.)

Life has taken me to many places of pure gold. I am especially glad for this latest.