October 5, 2017, Prescott-
It’s peaceful, in my neighbourhood,
once again.
The disquiet soul has found his quiet
inner voice.
He came to the grieving family’s matriarch
and apologized.
Being a woman of faith,
she accepted,
and they shared stories,
of pain and struggle.
So many times, the angry voice
is a wayward vehicle.
When we see the abyss ahead,
and right our course,
all is fine again,
at least for a time.
October 3, 2017, Prescott Valley-
I attended a small candlelight vigil, this evening, at a Lutheran Church on this town’s near north side. About a dozen people prayed and lit special candles for the victims of the October 1 mass murder in Las Vegas.
I will be processing this horrific event for some time. Along with smaller, but no less terrible, if personalized, events happening within my small circle, the Las Vegas massacre has given October an ominous start. October is a month traditionally devoted to harvest, in the Northern Hemisphere, and planting, in the South of the planet.
The killer, who may, or may not, have had help and encouragement from as far away as the Philippines, left no obvious motive for his mayhem. We are only left to speculate, which is ever a perilous thing, in and of itself.
The motives of a person, within my neighbourhood, who has taken in recent days to harassing the family of my departed next door neighbour, are much clearer. He sees them as something of a threat to the value of his property. This has led him to taunting them, in the midst of their grief. I am hoping, and praying, that this state of affairs will be resolved peacefully.
Yet, therein lies a key to the entirety of crimes against humanity, large and small. The enemy, as I said last night, is anonymity. Many believe, with Robert Frost, that “Good fences make good neighbours”. While a measure of privacy is good for each of us, in the course of a day, there is a fine line between that reasonable privacy and anonymity. No one seems to know much about the Las Vegas killer. No one knew much about others of his ilk, either, from John Wayne Gacy, through Ted Bundy and Gary Tison, to the ISIS-inspired killers in San Bernardino, Brussels and Manchester.
I am a relatively quiet man, who has lived alone for the past six years. This could very easily lead to people concluding that I am a threat to their safety, especially if I were to maintain a reclusive lifestyle. Indeed, there are a few restaurants in my town where I am not welcome, when dining alone. Thus, for the broader sake of becoming familiar to my neighbours, as well as for my own sense of well-being, I have chosen to be active in certain community groups. It also helps that I have no hidden agenda or any particular mental health issues, unless one regards my mild autism as such.
The latest national tragedy will only see the silver lining of reconciliation, if we as a nation begin to recognize that anonymity and excessive guardedness are what got us into this mess, in the first place.
October 2, 2017, Prescott-
We’ve lost another fifty or so, of humanity’s better angels.
People who just wanted to have a good time,
leave the rat race behind, for a day or three,
found the rats were relentlessly pursuing them.
I have no sympathy for anyone who thinks
that life should revolve around the Exalted Self,
even when that narcissism is cloaked in pain.
One whose life experience is one, in which he
has drawn pain to himself like a magnet,
does not get to decide, as a self-appointed demigod,
what others should do, when they may do it,
and whether they are allowed to live past it.
The weapon really doesn’t matter.
Last night, it was a plethora of loaded firearms.
In past bloodlettings, it was a bomb, or a number thereof.
Vehicles have been accessories of said explosives,
in Brute Fests, from Oklahoma City, through 9/11/01 (and 9/11/12),
to Paris, Nice, Berlin, Bali, Brussels, San Bernardino, Orlando and Manchester.
This time, the brute tried to rule, literally, from on high.
There needs to be an end to anonymity,
to the culture of fences, walls and locking people out.
The weapons are accessories.
It’s the mindset that slaughters.
September 30, 2017, Flagstaff-
I told an old friend that Penny has been gone,
for six years.
He spends lots of time,
off the grid.
So, he missed all that’s happened to us,
since 1997.
Twenty years have come and gone,
and he is a loving husband and father.
I was the former, and am still the latter.
After leaving this generous man,
and his fine facility,
lent us for our Baha’i gathering,
I turned on my laptop.
I went to cbs.com,
and selected
the most recent episode
of “Blue Bloods”.
In this one, it’s revealed
that a man has lost
his wife,
in a helicopter crash.
He wants to turn inward,
shut the world out.
He has two teenage sons,
to finish raising.
His family,
and the Universe,
conspire to keep him
afloat.
Today would have been
her 63rd birthday.
I told an old friend.
September 29, 2017, Prescott-
There was a man who said he loved women.
His idea of love was tied, tightly, with sexuality.
Sexuality was tied, tightly, with freedom of choice.
Freedom of choice was underpinned by epicureanism,
hedonism, the idea that life is for the living.
His idea became a machine that went of itself,
and would not stop,
even when he was getting tired,
on many levels.
He became a caricature of his younger self.
Young women thought of him,
and were sickened.
Older women looked back on the Bacchanal,
and wished they had been part of it.
He showed me, and many men my age,
what a woman with perfect features
would look like, in an airbrushed photograph.
Many of us bought into it, month by month.
Then, little by little, we met real beautiful women.
My love was never airbrushed;
her perfection was never unnatural.
She was as bright a sunrise,
as any the Fife of Finery could have conjured.
She was my sunrise, alone,
and I hers.
Our merriment was measured.
Our love was underpinned,
by a God who knew no Bacchanal.
There was a man who said he loved women.
September 27, 2017, Prescott-
NOTE: The title term refers to a tree, planted at a terminus of a road, in ancient Arabia. It could signify either an ending or a beginning.
What, exactly, is a barrier?
Which is the beginning, and which, the ending?
I recall that every walk around Saugus began at our back door.
So, too, did every journey end there.
My formal education began in September, 1956, at the Felton School.
It ended in August, 1987, when I completed my administrative credential, at Northern Arizona University.
My time as a Roman Catholic began with my baptism.
It ended with my declaration as a member of the Baha’i Faith.
Now, I live in an apartment, in Prescott, Arizona; work as a teacher aide, at Prescott High School; am a devoted adherent to the Teachings of Baha’u’llah.
Do I still consider Saugus a place in my heart?
Am I still learning?
Do I still revere Jesus the Christ?
In each case, the answer will always be “Yes”.
Will I not again travel?
Will I close my mind to new ideas?
Will I turn aside from the Creator?
In each case, “No”.
What, exactly, is a barrier?
It occurs to me, that each barrier is a self-imposed ending.
September 26, 2017, Prescott-
All my life,
I have practiced honesty,
as my place on the spectrum,
has never let me
sweep anything under the carpet.
So, I have let things out
about what I’ve done,
and taken my lumps
or, as has been the case lately,
taken the lessons
behind the admonitions.
If we view correction
as savaging,
then debilitation results.
If it is seen as pushing
one upwards,
then strength happens.
So, today’s meeting,
with lovingly issued
advisement,
accompanied by solid
background information,
was a textbook example,
of how any issue
can be resolved.
It all comes down to will,
or the lack thereof.
September 24, 2017, Prescott-
I began today, with five things on my agenda.
Two of them ended up not happening.
The middle of the day brought honours
to a man who has unselfishly worked hard
on behalf of our community’s veterans,
over the past twenty years.
The evening brought a lovely dinner.
Then a group of us studied some spiritual guidance.
I was mildly upbraided, in the middle of this,
for my own teaching style.
Maybe, I’ve made progress,
on the often lonely road.
It was not difficult to see the critic’s point.
She will get a chance to flesh out
what she wants, instead,
at a gathering in her own town,
tomorrow night.
I look at my admin page, here,
and see that one of my critics
from last week
liked two of my posts,
today.
Goes to show,
sometimes I get
overwrought,
about nothing.
September 18, 2017, Prescott-
A writer whom I recently began to follow has written, of late, about the concept of the Dream Pack- essentially, a way of life, place, group of close people which, collectively help each being realize the fullness of his/her particular dream.
The outpouring of love I have felt today, in person and online, brings me to reiterate what I have said on occasion, in the past. People have come, gone and, in a few instances, returned. I have found places, near and far, which bring me inspiration, for a time, and while some have lost their allure- others have drawn me close. My way of life remains pretty much the same, though the accent, of late, has been on service, rather than a trail-side regimen.
My Dreampack , then, is large and varied: My son, in Korea, is a phone call and an ocean away. My siblings are a mere continent apart from me. I have a nephew, in Los Angeles, who is a full schedule, or two, distant. Mother is East Coast-bound, but will get a letter a week from me, and will respond, when she can, with reassurance that she is just fine, and inspirational comments. My solid network of friends, in the Prescott area, and across Arizona, make it certain that, if I feel lonesome, it’s my own doing. The same is true, all over North America. I am never far, when in my car, from someone who at least has time for a cup of “joe”, or tea, or Jamba Juice.
There is a teen boy, who I am sponsoring, across the Pacific. Someday, I will visit him. My Dream Pack is large and varied, and includes kindred souls in the Philippines, South Korea, Australia, India, Zimbabwe, South Africa, Tanzania, Iran, Russia, Romania, Italy, Spain, Germany, Luxembourg, Belgium, Netherlands, Scotland and beloved France. Yes, that’s a lot of turf, for one who lives on a shoestring, but since when has that been an impediment?
My Dream Pack has been a series of Chinese boxes, opening up to yet another, and a series of amazements, (yes, I just made up a word), which will continue. The Universe is endless in its provision of many kinds of wealth.
September 15, 2017, Prescott-
After a moving project,
this afternoon,
I offered to help a friend,
with a huge task,
this coming weekend.
Her response was:
“You work hard enough,
during the week. It’s
my mess, and I’ll clean it up.”
This person believes that
grown people take care
of grown people’s matters.
I go along with that, in general.
I also believe that there are times
when people of all ages
can bring truth to the adage,
“Many hands make light work.”
We did, this afternoon,
and in the event my friend does
feel overwhelmed,
she has my phone number.
Speaking of grown people
handling grown people’s matters,
I have a pile of work left,
in my back yard.
This weekend looks to be a full one.
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