Last Weekend, and This

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October 8, 2016, Chula Vista-  It was a weekend of talk about change, and talk about commitments.  On October 1, a Baha’i Unit Convention was held in Flagstaff, and a similar gathering took place the following day, at the Native American Baha’i Institute of Learning, in tiny Burntwater, AZ, about 10 miles north of Sanders, along Interstate 40.

At these gatherings, we choose a person to represent our communities at the U.S. National Convention, in the Chicago area, the following May.  This is an important function, yet what is more important is that we are addressing the spiritual condition of our communities.  It is not a bland spouting of platitudes, and there are sharp opinions voiced, during the consultation.  Yet what we are, regardless of opinions, is respectful of one another’s value.  There is no one, among the gathered friends, who is discounted or seen as lacking value.  The goal, for each of us, is to extend this valuing to the entire community, not just committed members of the Baha’i Faith.

After an intense week at work, in which these principles of unity were put to the test, and which by the grace of God, I largely maintained progress,  I headed out to my son’s place, in this southern suburb of America’s Hometown.   He’s a bit laid up, from a fracture  of one of his left foot’s metatarsals.  So, my entire function, these five days in California is to help with his needs.  My usual meanderings up the coast will need to wait until the week after Christmas.

I set out from Prescott, last night, after a particularly strenuous day and a lengthy, soothing dinner at the American Legion Post.  The route this time took me to a very restful night at an economical motel in Blythe, then a drive through the Colorado Desert, through Brawley, to El Centro and over the Laguna Mountains to the coast.

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A 20th Century cowboy, circa 1992, downtown Brawley, CA

The weekend is off to a fairly restful start, and we can tend to tasks related to Aram’s healing, on Monday and Tuesday.

 

Unless and Until-Education

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October 4, 2016, Prescott- 

As our little classroom was not the right fit for a troubled child, I have to voice a few thoughts.

Unless and until:

Adult educators consistently place the well-being of children first;

People on a team eschew oneupmanship;

Children are empowered, according to their developmental levels;

Communication across hierarchical levels, and between colleagues, becomes and remains clear and consistent;

Downtime is minimized to almost nothing;

Spiritual (not sectarian) principles are infused into education, so as to strengthen character;

Cooperative learning becomes the norm;

Children are seen as a valid constituency, by elected officials;

Society places education at the highest priority;

We will continue to face repeated and familiar issues, in our collective mirror.

 

Two for the Ages

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September 26, 2016, Prescott- Sunday took two bookends from our midst: Arnold Palmer, with his “army” of fans from Fort Gordon, GA, near his beloved Augusta National Country Club, and his popularizing golf as a sport for Everyman; Jose Fernandez, an exemplary pitcher, at the top of his game and on the verge of winning 30 games in a regular Major League Baseball season.

Arnold was an elder, had lived a full, astonishingly varied life.  He lived it for his beloved first wife, and threw his reputation and his well-gotten wealth into a hospital, named for her and dedicated to the well-being of women and infants.  He lived it for his two daughters, letting them realize their own dreams and never abandoning them to a de facto celebrity orphanhood.  He lived it for his children’s children and for their offspring, and saw one of his grandsons excel at their shared beloved sport.  Most importantly, he lived it for the city, state and nation that he loved so much.  Pittsburgh returned the favour, during “The King of the Fairways’ ” last few days, taking loving care of him, as he prepared to take his final tee-off.

Jose was up-and-coming, in Major League Baseball.  He threw himself, with Little League style abandon, into every game he pitched for the Miami Marlins.This was a good thing,and he became the toast of the town. Here was a man on the verge of winning 30 regular season games, a feat not seen in the big leagues since Denny McLain won 31 games, in 1968.  The other 13 men who won 30 or more regular season games, all did so between 1900-1934.  Jose was due to pitch on Sunday.  He was, instead, moved back a day, in the pitching rotation.  He went boating, off Miami Beach, as a way of relaxing on his off-day.  The boat was speeding, due to circumstances still being investigated, and hit the dock at Miami Beach.  Jose died instantly, in the crash.

Although far from proficient in either sport, I feel both losses.  Many of my relatives are golfers.  My brother, living in Georgia, has attended the Masters PGA Tournament, several times and has often been on the links, in courses across the country- and around the globe. The passing of Arnold Palmer brings to the forefront all the triumphs and troubles which the Masters, and Augusta National, have endured, over the past five decades.

The death of Jose Fernandez brings to mind the tragic loss, albeit over several years of suffering, of another great young player, Tony Conigliaro, hit in the head by a pitch and never able to resume his march to destiny.  “Conig” was a hero, to my above-mentioned brother, and to me, as he and the great Carl Yastrzemski led the Boston Red Sox into the 1967 World Series.  Jose’s Marlins are a long-shot to reach that lofty height, this year.  With him, they might have surprised everyone. and done so.  In his honour, they may yet be inspired to do so, anyway.

Life has a rough way of marching on, regardless of who, young or old, drops off its awesome and beautiful chain.  It is, though, hard to imagine two more wondrous links in that line.  Rest in peace, Arnie and Jose, and look through the veil at us, with messages of hope and strength.

 

Love is Clarity

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September 25, 2016, Phoenix-

It’s cool here, today,

meaning it’s under 100 F.

There is a lot of love at the meeting

I am attending.

We are onto the notion

that love means communicating clearly.

Without hidden agendas,

such a thing is easy.

I have been, and am,

what I say I am,

feel what I claim to feel,

and no more.

Love is transparent.

Someday, When You Understand Me Better

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September 23, 2016, Prescott- 

My Christian friends,

who are convinced that my belief that all Faiths emanate from One God,

makes me an idolator, a Luciferian:

Someday, when you understand me better,

you will know the love I have for you,

for Jesus the Christ,

and for all who bring God’s Holy Word.

My fellow educators,

content in your small circles:

Someday, when you understand me better,

you will know the regard with which I look upon your work.

School administrators:

Someday, when you understand me better,

you will know that I AM dedicated to the well-being of children,

and recognize that I am not the enemy.

Word Press readers:

Someday, when you understand me better,

you will no longer disdain my spiritual writings,

and will realize that I am not out to “convert” anyone,

to my point of view.

The precious children,

who understand me better than do most adults,

already know these things.

They just know.

 

Equinox

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September 22, 2016, Prescott- 

The Moon keeps us on our toes.

Calendar dates change,

based on its phases,

year to year,

for equinoxes and solstices;

for Baha’i Holy Days;

for Ramadan and Eid;

for Lent and Easter;

for the Jewish High Holy Days

and Passover.

The hearts who celebrate

do not change,

with the phases of the Moon,

or even with the climate’s fickleness.

We remain connected,

even across thousands of miles

and hectares of fenced-in fields.

We remain unified,

soul to soul,

in the face of contrived divisions,

of walls which no one really wants.

Walls and fences,

that delude us.

The only real safety

lies in connection.

Blessed be Charlotte,

Tulsa, Milwaukee,

St. Louis, Manhattan,

Elizabeth, Seaside Park.

God, be watchful,

over Pakistan, Syria,

Afghanistan, Iraq,

Yemen, South Sudan.

Stay the hands of the dividers,

wherever they may be.

 

 

 

 

Souls Passed Through Him

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September 11, 2016, Yarnell- I read, in this morning’s paper, about a Port Authority policeman, his experiences on September 11, 2001 and his wrenching aftermath- a life no one should have to live.  He spoke of being knocked to the ground, after the second plane hit, the tower fell, and “souls passed through me.”

I believe the last part, having experienced my wife’s soul filling our bedroom, as she prepared to leave for the next life, 5 1/2 years ago.  I know much of the rest: The buildings were physically hit by two airplanes; implosion devices, already in place since the towers were repaired after 1993, were triggered and  brought the towers straight down; dozens of people jumped to their deaths, to avoid being immolated; there are over a thousand for whom there has never been any identification or accounting, as to their fates.

Fifteen years does not erase the horror anyone felt that day.  Most, like me, watched incredulously, on television, as the engineers’ devices went off, automatically, saving tens of thousands more people from dying- as would have happened, had the buildings EXPLODED outward.  Just as those who were alive during the attack on Pearl Harbor still have nightmares, on occasion; just as walking through Gettysburg, Auschwitz, Valley Forge in winter, can still give the average soul and eerie feeling, so I was off to a shaky start, just from reading a post by a friend who was in the first (1993) World Trade Center bombing.

My resolution was to go to this serene town, 25 miles southwest of Prescott, and itself the scene of one of our state’s worst nightmares, on June 30, 2013, when 19 wildland firefighters died in the Yarnell Hill Fire.  I went to St. Joseph’s Mission and Retreat, and walked up the Stations of the Cross trail, revisiting another of history’s greatest horrors- the Martyrdom of Jesus the Christ.  This place brings peace, because the love I feel for Christ, and for His Father, is  primally soothing.  As always, the walk brought me to a centered place, as I recited some Baha’i prayers, words which Jesus Himself would have given His followers, had they been ready to receive.

Terrible things will ever plague humanity, in a harsh world.  Nonetheless, the Sacred Teachers are with us, and having felt Their presence, along this replica of Via Dolorosa, I am able to return to Prescott, and later, to Chino Valley- observing the birthday of a good friend.

 

Passages and Markers

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September 10, 2016, Prescott- This was a day of gatherings and  of paying attention to “urgent” messages.  I have learned that the latter is usually a matter of perception.  The former is how we survive and thrive, as a species.

I made my usual visit to the Prescott Farmer’s Market, buying a bit more than usual, so as to bolster the contents of my evening healthy shake.  A trip over to a yard sale, organized by Baha’i friends, gave me a chance to pick up some books and other items that should capture the interest of the children in my care.

Then it was off to a memorial service for John A. Mortimer, about whom I wrote, two weeks ago.  The chapel service was solemn and done with military honours.  I found it touching and lovely.  The gathering at our American Legion Post, afterwards, was packed, as befits his memory.  One who fully lives, until the age of 96, is unlikely to be bid farewell, without fanfare.

John had the full send-off, and 87 or so people gave him all the love and respect he had earned.

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The above was part of the 70th Anniversary of the D-Day Landing, June 6, 2014.

Today is my mother’s birthday.  No one has been, and is, more of an influence as to how I have turned out as an adult than Lila Mae Kusch Boivin.  She it was, who kept after me to pay attention to my surroundings, to be proactive, to not use my affliction as a crutch, to not wait for an invitation to be of help to those around me.  She it was, who did everything on my behalf- from getting after a hard-edged teacher and a know-it-all school counselor, when she felt they were failing to meet my needs, to seeing that I didn’t wallow in self-pity, on any one of a dozen occasions in my adult life, not the least, when my beloved wife passed to the next plane.   On all the occasions when she thought I was tuning her out, it turns out that I was actually storing all that instruction, and have put it to full use, ever since.  She it is, who is behind my survival and relative success.

She wants to live on, fully, and no one is more behind her on this, than yours truly.  Happy 88th, dearest Mother. (My nephew is conveying our collective sentiments, in this photo of three years ago.)

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Once Upon A Time, In St. Cloud

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September 6, 2016, Prescott-

Once upon a time, in St. Cloud, a trio of boys went on an errand.

An unsettled, angry man went on an errand of his own.

Two boys made it home that night.

So did the man,

but not before he had made sure that the third boy

would only go home to his Lord.

Once upon a time, in Boulder, a little girl looked forward

to her seventh Christmas.

Someone, still unknown to us,

had other ideas.

She now spends her Christmases, and all her days,

at the right hand of her Lord.

Once upon a time, in Salt Lake City,

a young woman was imprisoned,

in plain sight.

Sharp-eyed people noted her burden,

and freed her.

Now, she has a husband who loves her dearly.

In these days, how many remain in “prison”,

or are interred, with no clue in the public mind,

as to “whodunnit”?

RIP, Jacob Wetterling.

RIP, JonBenet Ramsey.

Elizabeth, glad you’re still among us.

Whose Truth?

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August 28, 2016, Prescott- I attended a couple of spiritual gatherings, this weekend. Last night, several faith leaders and community activists gathered at Scottsdale Baha’i Center.  The purpose was a delayed Race Unity Day.  The weather has cooled, just a tad, from June’s more extreme temperatures, thus making a late August version of “Juneteenth” more palatable to many.

The array of speakers was far more concerned with solving the ongoing problem of race relations, than in any semblance of showmanship or exclusive claim to truth.  The gathering of about 100 people were able to engage in well-balanced discourse, without resorting to recrimination.

This evening, I joined a much smaller group, at an observance of  Janmashtami,(Krishna’s Birthday), one of the key Hindu religious observances.  It had been 32 years since I last attended any kind of Hindu gathering.  Prescott’s small community is made up of white Americans- an anomaly, with the South Asian community here seeming to be mainly Christian and Muslim.  They are no less fervent, though, than the multitudes of India and Nepal.

The swami, who hails from Sedona, is, like me, a child of the 1960’s.  His inspiration to become Hindu came from the Beatles and others who flocked to the feet of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.  I must say, he has done a fair amount of homework on the body of Hindu  Scripture. Anyone who can cite the data of the created Universe that is listed in such detail ,as it is in the Bhagavad Gita, is worthy of profound respect.

There is, though, a common thread woven through all the religious traditions, from time immemorial.  Each does build on those before it, as Man becomes more conscious of, and in tune with, his unique station on this Earthly plane. Truth, to me, did not stop with Hinduism, Christianity or Islam.  It has not stopped with the Baha’i Faith.  There will be other Spiritual Teachers, Avatars, Buddhas or whichever name one sees fit to apply to a Divine Messenger, and They will come when mankind needs them.

Truth, though, remains One- and none can claim a corner on its entirety. I was gratified to see that the swami and his community has sensed this, and dispelled some misgivings I was about to have, about their faith and its possible trend towards fundamentalism.  I will be able to maintain the same dialogue with the Hindu community that I am still working to establish with devout Christians.

It was a fine, useful weekend.