Category Archives: Spiritual

The Road in Winter,Part II

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Posted by on in Inspiration, Spiritual, Striving

February 3, 2016, Prescott-  A deep freeze has visited us, these past two days.  I took my students in Chino Valley outside, yesterday. Today, it was a bit colder, and my special needs student stayed inside.  It’ll be more like Arizona, tomorrow, and for the next several days.  In fact, we’re expecting 65 on Sunday.

This brings me to the notion that some have, about one’s sixties being the start of the Winter of life.  I had a wintry start to my sixtieth year, and it did end with the passing of my beloved.  Since then, though, and not without her influence, I feel my own Winter is a ways off.  For one thing, I am far from ready to stop working.  For another,  my energy level has not gone down, and no one who really knows me is saying, “Slow down!”

I love helping children find their direction in life, and acquire the skills needed to do that.  I treasure being in nature, and trails abound, both here in Arizona, and increasingly, just about anywhere else.

So, what of the road in winter?  My own expectations, as previously stated, are that it will filled with wonder and constant learning.  I have been warned, by the constantly-hectoring elder generation, to “just wait” until I reach my 80’s and 90’s.  Then, I am told, “You’ll see how the cow chews the cabbage.”  Maybe so,and if it rolls that way, I’ll deal with it.  On the other hand, there are Dick Van Dyke, and Betty White, to show us that the cow not only chews the cabbage, but digests it well and comes back for more.

I wish, for everyone who has embraced their sunset, to have as many days of solid energy as possible, and not to lose sight of a dream.  I’d rather take after one of the two above-mentioned entertainers, or Kirk Douglas, seemingly back from death’s door, at least twice, or the late Bob Hope, who joyfully celebrated his centenary, before heading to a new stage.

Dylan Thomas was onto something.

A Touch of the Rio Grande

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Posted by on in animal and plant life, Hiking and Nature, Spiritual

January 31, 2016, Albuquerque-  One of the places Penny and I liked in the Duke City was Rio Grande Nature Center.  As the name implies, it celebrates the great river that plies Albuquerque’s west side, on its way to becoming the Rio Bravo and a feeder for the Gulf of Mexico.

The last time I was here, it was summer, my wife was alive and well, and our son was about 8.  Now, it’s winter, Penny has been at rest for nearly five years and Aram is pushing 28, doing just fine on his own.

I’m good, though, because of places like this.  These refuges, with their waterfowl and raptors, tangled trees of the bosques and True Believer hikers and bicyclists, work their magic, regardless of how bare the trees are, or how turgid the river tends to be.  The majesty of the place lies in the comfort it gives to the birds, and to those, like me, who can sit and watch their antics, for hours on end.

I didn’t have, nor take, those hours, today.  There was a storm to outpace:  One that the locals here were expecting, but which was still churning from California to western Colorado.  Nonetheless, this visit gave me a bench by the river, a picnic lunch at that bench, and the joy of watching the ducks, Canadian geese and lesser sandhill cranes compete for the silver minnows and other fish that Rio Grande serves up.

Without further ado, here are a few scenes of the Rio, its feeder Silver Minnow Channel and the bosque, in its own state of repose.

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Entrance to Visitors’ Center, Rio Grande Nature Center

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View of Silver Minnow Channel, from Rio Grande Visitors’ Center

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Rio Grande, Albuquerque, NM

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Ducks, trying to stay warm, Rio Grande Nature Center, Albuquerque

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Sand bar, Rio Grande, Albuquerque.  These spots are good places for insects, and other food sources for the birds, to hunker down and wait out the cold.

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Somnolent trees, along Bosque Loop Trail, Rio Grande Nature Center

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Rio Grande, Albuquerque

Rio Grande, Albuquerque
Jetty jacks, salvaged from Silver Minnow Channel, Albuquerque
Rubber heart, Aldo Leopold Trail, Rio Grande Nature Center

I have seen this river run higher, and have seen it at a trickle.  I have stood on its banks near Brownsville, TX and near its headwaters, in the mountains known as Sangre de Cristo.  Nowhere does the Rio Grande reach out to comfort its patrons more than it does here, at the western edge of a bustling, but heritage-laden metropolis.

Portrait of the Poet

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Posted by on in Education, Historical, Poetry, Spiritual, Striving

February 1, 2016, Prescott-

The Winter Scavenger Hunt prompt says “artist”, not “poet”, but a poet IS an artist.

Today begins the month “officially” set aside as Black History Month.  African-Americans certainly are not limited to any given point along a year, in terms of their impact on our nation’s history.  Yet, why quibble?  We do well to reach as far back as possible, in comprehending the spirit and drive that gives each individual, regardless of ethnicity or melanin level, the capacity for great achievement.

The first published African-American poet, Phillis Wheatley, was brought to Boston at the age of 8, from either Gambia or Senegal.  She was given the name Phillis by her captor, Peter Gwinn, and sold as a slave to a tailor named John Wheatley.  The Wheatley family taught Phillis to read and write, encouraging her to study the Classics.

Phillis began to write her own poetry at the age of 14.  She drew the favourable attention of both British and American leaders of both politics and thought, having audiences with the Lord Mayor of London and George Washington.  Thomas Paine published her work in the Pennsylvania Gazette, and she drew favourable commentary from Voltaire.

Things went sour for Phillis, after her master died.  Though she was freed, under the terms of his will, and married a Free African-American grocer, John Peters, the prevailing view of society was not favourable towards African-Americans.  The Peters’ struggled financially, John was imprisoned, in 1784 and Phillis, along with their infant son, died shortly thereafter, she being only 31.

Here is a sample of her poetry, which drew on both Christian and animist influences, as well as ancient Greek and European Enlightenment thought.

“On Virtue”

O Thou bright jewel in my aim I strive
To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare
Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach.
I cease to wonder, and no more attempt
Thine height t’ explore, or fathom thy profound.
But, O my soul, sink not into despair,
Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand
Would now embrace thee, hovers o’er thine head.
Fain would the heav’n-born soul with her converse,
Then seek, then court her for her promis’d bliss.

Auspicious queen, thine heav’nly pinions spread,
And lead celestial Chastity along;
Lo! now her sacred retinue descends,
Array’d in glory from the orbs above.
Attend me, Virtue, thro’ my youthful years!
O leave me not to the false joys of time!
But guide my steps to endless life and bliss.
Greatness, or Goodness, say what I shall call thee,
To give me an higher appellation still,
Teach me a better strain, a nobler lay,
O thou, enthron’d with Cherubs in the realms of day.[9]

Phillis had conflicting feelings about slavery, recognizing, on one level that it was the cruelest of institutions, while simultaneously expressing the view that captivity had served her well, by bringing her to Christianity.

In any event, I see Phillis Wheatley as the first great African-American woman, in public life.

Black Canyon Trail: Ever Glorianna

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Posted by on in Hiking and Nature, Spiritual

January 17, 2016, Black Canyon City-  With the snow along Prescott Circle Trail slowly turning to mud, I determined that today was as fine a time as any to resume my journey down the Black Canyon National Recreation Trail.  Last spring found me stopping at a ranch in Bumble Bee, an old mining town-turned-have for off-gridders.  About a mile further east, along the old Crown King Road, lies Glorianna Trailhead.  It was there that I began today’s marathon:  12.5 miles, round trip, to Black Canyon City and back.

The crew of All-Terrain Vehicle enthusiasts, who greeted me at the trailhead, confirmed that this was the route I needed to follow-  a fact I had determined from looking on the BCNRT website, earlier.  It’s always good to have locals know where one is headed, the fantasy goons in “Deliverance” aside.  So, I bid them a fine afternoon, and headed out.

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Granite tower, near Glorianna Trailhead, Bumble Bee, AZ

Cholla, shimmering in the winter sun, near Bumble Bee, AZ.
Sahuaro Army, on the march, just south of Bumble Bee, AZ
View of Black Canyon City, from point four miles northwest.

Above, I encountered a cholla cactus, shimmering in the afternoon sunlight, a group of sahuaro, seemingly on the march, and, upon climbing a ridge, my first trailside view of Black Canyon City, still four miles further southeast.

The shared use portion of the trail ran for about two miles, before it split off from the road, and headed uphill, just west of the small shooting range, where a very focused young man was practicing,  and thankfully facing away from me.

About thirty minutes later, I came upon one of the two big treasures of the route:  The Agua Fria River.

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View of Agua Fria River, from a ridge to the northwest.

This used to be privately-held ranching land, and the old fence posts dot the trail.

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Old fence post, about a mile west of the Agua Fria.

The river needed to be forded, but as you can see, the shallowness made this a minor task- and it was rather delightful.  The cast and stunt people of “The Revenant” would have been rolling on the ground laughing.

Just before I made my way down to the flowing stream, the ruggedness of the upper branch of Black Canyon presented itself.

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Upper Branch of Black Canyon, north of its namesake town.

Agua Fria River, north of Black Canyon City
Agua Fria River, north of Black Canyon City

Above are two views of the Agua Fria, before I crossed (right) and after (left).  Just after I forded, a mother/daughter hiking pair came down from the south rim, accompanied by their protective 1 1/2 year-old-German Shepherd, who let me know my presence was not appreciated.  The women were more gracious, though, and held the youngster by her collar.

Onward and upward, I headed towards the canyon for which the town is named.  It is a far more interesting sight than I had previously thought. On the lower right is one of the four spur canyons which one encounters along the Horseshoe Bend subsection of the Glorianna.  On the lower left is a good view of the limestone “wall” which distinguishes Horseshoe Bend.

Limestone “wall”, on Horseshoe Bend segment of trail
Spur of Black Canyon, west of the main canyon.

 

The canyon itself, which will be the focus of further exploration, next Sunday, is seen again, on the lower right.  I got a nice zoom shot of a cylindrical edifice that rises about three miles east of Black Canyon City, from the vantage point of Black Canyon’s north rim.

Cone-shaped rock, east of Black Canyon City
View of Black Canyon, from the west.

So as to get back to the wide road before dark, I did not tarry long at Horseshoe Bend, before heading in reverse.  Below are three examples of the mineral beauty to be seen along this trail section.

Limestone, with rhyolite inflections, Black Canyon, AZ
Limestone, with hematite, Black Canyon, AZ
Heart-shaped limestone, along Skyline section, Glorianna Trail

I encountered the three female hikers again, on my way uptrail, after recrossing the Agua Fria.  Dog was no happier to see me than she was the first time, but no matter.  I also met the ATV group, once back on the shared-use part of the trail.  They had been concerned for my safety, and once it was established that I was fine and knew where I was going, they headed on their way.

There are enough loose ends to be explored around Horseshoe Bend, that I will return here next weekend.  Stay tuned.

Everlastings

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Posted by on in Matters of Faith, Personal Values, Spiritual, Striving

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.

 

Un-Frozen

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Posted by on in Inspiration, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual

January 13, 2016, Prescott- The year is starting to show its own character, as years always do.  There is less of the despair that seemed to hang over from its predecessor.  Maybe the State of the Union speech both reflected the longing for a new rising of national unity, or maybe it will ignite the light of that coming together.

There are issues:  More people’s lives are being snuffed out, both by the forces of authority and by those of anarchy.  David Bowie had not been dead 48 hours, when people began speaking out, regarding a heinous crime he is said to have committed, I believe in the ’70’s.  The forces of irreligion, masquerading as an army of the faithful, continue to wreak havoc, just about anywhere they walk.

Yet, hearing my little 4 and 6-year-old neighbours, riding their tricycle and bicycle along the alley that they rule, I know that several right things will happen in 2016.  The work that I need, in order to accomplish a few immediate goals, is presenting itself, and I get the sense that the Creator wants me to achieve some key tasks.

Regarding the prompt of Winter Planets and Constellations (#5):

Most of us are frozen, far beyond Sol.

Earth’s antennae signal us, calling out for love.

Each of us has our own denizens, living ‘neath the cold.

Microbes and carbonites alike, rarely venture to the ice above.

Terrestrials shall not see us, until the Universe says  “Behold!”

Yet, below the surface, we live unfrozen, in constant communication, undubbed.

We are the Winter Planets, and the constellations who light the chill.

Some clear, cold night, sit by your fire, and let us share our thrills.

 

 

Epiphany

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Posted by on in Inner Struggles, Personal Values, Spiritual

January 6, 2016, Prescott- I woke this morning to two things:  There was a not totally expected, fresh coating of snow on the ground and I found an e-warning that taking down holiday decorations, before today, is “just plain wrong”.

Prescott being in central Arizona, the streets were cleared by late morning sunshine, though more snow is in the offing, between now and Friday. As for the rather stern warning to those of us on Facebook, it’s a non-issue.  I know all about the Twelve Days of Christmas, and have had my part in several choral renditions of the song, over the years.  I’m also familiar with the Shakespearean romantic comedy.

Like Saul, who became Paul, I have had my share of divine revelations.   The most significant of those led me to accepting the Baha’i Faith, thirty-five years ago, next month, after nine years of holding it at arm’s length. Those were nine rather futile years, as  I recall, with nothing to show for them, other than a Bachelor’s Degree, and a middling Grade Point Average.

I am presently reading a book, “Extreme Ownership”, which describes the Navy SEALS method of dealing with challenges, and applies it to business models.  I have done my share of blame-casting, over the years, so a beloved family member thought it would be good for me to read, and absorb, lest I be tempted to resort to further ascribing of my difficulties in life to others’ actions and attitudes.

There is always SOMETHING that a person can do, to turn adversity into a beneficial lesson.  Saul the Tax-Collector determined he would do better to be a servant of God.  The SEALS who wrote the above-mentioned book determined they would do best to seek to understand the reasons for the actions of their superiors.  I am learning, from them, that coping and transcending all conditions, without blamecasting, is not only doable, but is far superior to the almost Pavlovian tendency to hand off responsibility.

Joyous Epiphany, one and all!

Solstice

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Posted by on in Family, Social, Spiritual, Uncategorized

December 22, 2015, Saugus-  So, to mark the shortest day of the year, it is raining.  Many here, though not all, are bemoaning the lack of snow. To me, though, given how so many drive, on these all-too-narrow streets of my home town, with their dearth of left-turn accommodations and over-stressed fellow motorists, the lack of snow and its step-child, ice, is a blessing.

The four of us, my brother, Glenn, sister-in-law, Barb, our Mom and I, will mark the longest night of the year at Borders Cafe, a local Mexican food establishment.  I get my adventurous nature, at least with regard to food, from Mother.  We have long agreed that spice is the variety of life, to twist around the old bromide.

Wiccans, and those who toast the Sacred Geometer, have ever given us a special sense of this auspicious time, as well as of its opposite, the June Solstice, and of their arms, the Equinoxes.  Then again, I enjoy anyone’s celebrations, and our family’s turning the holidays into a virtual fortnight just makes for a sense that rain and a gray sky are irrelevant.

So, Splendid Solstice, everyone!  Northerners, rejoice as the days get longer, and Southerners, enjoy your still-long days at the beach and in the pool.

A Thin Line of Defense

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Posted by on in Community, Inner Struggles, Social, Spiritual

November 30, 2015, Chino Valley- A couple of things happened yesterday, which made me realize, again, that life and fortune are fleeting things- if for no other reason than that we might come to value them.

The New England Patriots lost their first game of this season, which was not surprising, given that most of their marquee players are injured.  I hear and read so many sports commentators rail about injuries, and how they “cheat” good teams of victories- as if there is some sort of injury puppet master out there, just waiting to mess up everyone’s good time.

The fact remains, professional sports, especially  American football, and ice hockey, are intensely physical sports, given to the sorts of injuries that derail golden dreams.  The film, “Concussion”, which enters theaters on Christmas, will outline some aspects of the nature, and impact, of injury on the practice and business of professional sports.  The recent revelations about the injuries suffered by the late, legendary Frank Gifford underscore the media’s spotlight on the matter.

The second reminder came as I was driving.  A mobile home, pulling a flatbed trailer, with a motorcycle on it, was about 500 feet in front of me, on a lonely stretch of road, between the small towns of Aguila and Congress, in west central AZ.  The driver either was nodding off, or misjudged the width of the road, because the trailer’s front right rim hit a signpost, and bounced a bit.  Shards of metal flew back, but fell to the road in front of my safely braking Nissan.  The driver of the mobile home slowly, but steadily, brought the vehicle to a stop on the shoulder of the road.  Two vehicles behind me were able to more safely pull in behind the RV, and render assistance.  Everyone must have been okay, as I didn’t see any fire trucks or police cars headed from Congress, which has the nearest First Responders.  My cell phone had no service, in that area, so the best thing I could have done was to keep on going, which I did.

I thought of how narrow a skin of life we have, and of how close I was, being saved from harm only by staying a safe number of car lengths back.  Time must have more in store, for all concerned.

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

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Posted by on in Community, Family, Hiking and Nature, Historical, Matters of Faith, Personal goals, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Travel

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.