The Harvest and The Fallen Towers

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September 11, 2022- The glasses came, in dribs and drabs. My co-volunteer and I cleaned them, in drips and drops, and they were returned to the souvenir table. It was a smaller, more intimate Farm-to-Table Dinner this evening, with the emphasis on up-and-coming chefs, partnering with local farmers more directly. This marks the seventh time I have helped with the event, and the smaller affair was welcome, in that sense, as Hope Fest, which happened yesterday, and judged a success by the director and her management team, still takes a lot of energy. I am grateful to still have enough stamina to help in these efforts.

Farm-to-Table is planned, every year, to coincide with the autumn harvest and its attendant full moon. The team, mostly from Prescott Farmer’s Market, paired with professional servers from the Hilton Hotel’s banquet staff. This added grace to the affair, though in previous years we have had servers from local restaurants, who are certainly competent.

Earlier in the day, the focus was on the twenty-first anniversary of the attacks on American soil. There is a renewed focus on the role that some citizens and government officials of Saudi Arabia may have played in the horrific series of events. The complicated geopolitics that tend to limit a proper investigation may well need to be reviewed and their processes changed. As is being said, regarding another pressing legal matter, no one is above the law. The miasma has not been forgotten in the least, however, and those who claim it was a hoax are only finding themselves held in nearly as much disdain as are the perpetrators.

Sunshine is the best disinfectant.

A Cosmic Soaking

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September 10, 2022- Today was the latest, in what seems to be a series of auspicious days. This began, this past Tuesday, with the passing of one of my last four surviving paternal aunts, continued Thursday with the passing of Queen Elizabeth II and today, a more cheerful celebration of my mother’s 94th birthday. I was able to sing her birthday greetings, via Face Time-and she liked my singing voice. That’s not a given. Had I sung off-key, I’d have heard about it. Mother has kept us each authentic, over the years.

It was just before starting a day of service, at the Tenth Annual Hope Fest, that this brief phone connection occurred. Hope Fest, for those not familiar, is a large in-person celebration of community service, modeled by the life of Jesus the Christ. So, my own service was basically “serving the servants”, doing whatever was requested by the organizers of the event. I am always a “floater”, going and doing tasks that range from driving back and forth to pick up items overlooked by the Event Director to stomping on excess ice (reminiscent of helping a neighbour of Greek descent stomp on his grapes, as a child). Being the volunteer not as well-known by the Director as her closer friends, I generally keep busy otherwise by finding things that need doing and getting them done.

Today’s event was similar to that of the first year-in that it was punctuated, and interrupted three times, by heavy rain. The first downpour occurred at lunch time, pre-empting the opening ceremony, which is usually a welcome by the Mayor of Prescott and a group photo. The second was in mid-afternoon,just before one of the musical guests was to perform. The third was in late afternoon, and was accompanied by thunder & lightning. The intensity of that downpour led the electronics director, and the scheduled headliner band, to cancel the evening’s performance.

I think it is a good thing that those in charge have a deeply spiritual vision, These, especially the last one, seemed to be cosmic downpours, perhaps testing the mettle of the participants and audience. They did not seem to dampen anyone’s spirits, and those arriving in anticipation of the evening concert were quite accepting of the cancellation, and grateful that the safety of the band and the sound crew were prioritized. The concert artist, who usually paints energetically, in accompaniment to the music, went about her work with only the music in her head to guide her. She is magnificent, in and of herself.

It was a warm rain, and even the young children who were momentarily caught in it were delighted. The monsoon season itself is winding down, and is expected to mostly finish by this coming Tuesday, with a chance for one last sprinkle to accompany the Autumnal Equinox. The Cosmos has been kind to the Southwest, in terms of rain, this summer. Now, we look to whatever lies ahead for Fall.

Saving Grace

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September 9, 2022- I woke this morning, after a vivid dream, in which I had overextended myself, while working in what was a mishmash of high school and university. My first hour class was a high level physics class, in which nearly thirty students submitted intensely detailed project synopses. As they left, I was organizing the submissions into a manageable stack, then realized that I needed to be across campus in short order, to conduct a physical education class, which had not met for two weeks-because I was too involved with the first hour. Surely, the P.E. students had given up on their wretch of an instructor. A visiting professor from Canada appeared and wondered aloud, as to why I had not delegated more to Teaching Assistants-“since that seems to be an American thing”.

It was then that I woke and realized that I had no such responsibilities, and was not going to let anyone down, today, and for the foreseeable future. My substituting tasks are pretty cut and dried, mostly at the upper elementary level, so there is scant chance that any such negligence will be my lot.

In other parts of my life, there is a nagging feeling that I have let people down, by not being where they seem to expect me to be. On the one hand, it is a fine thing to be needed, but on the other, I know that my obligations are primarily to the Creator, then to my own health and sanity, and to family, and only then to the outstretched hands. Someone I admire and respect has seemingly, and unfortunately, taken the brevity of my recent visit as a sign of disinterest on my part, and cut off contact. This is bound to happen, fairly regularly, as the world’s transition to a society at once more connected and yet composed more of self-reliant individuals, struggles to find the balance between those who are self-reliant and those who are needy.

The saving grace, as I was reminded by a dining companion at lunch today, is to recognize that not everyone’s demands of us have an inherent sense of urgency-even when histrionics are employed. My work in this community, and further afield, will stand on its own merits. This is the best that I, or anyone else, can offer.

Regina

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September 8, 2022- She passed, as she had lived-Stoically, without the pain that some blinkered souls had wished upon her and mindful of the overarching love that many, even in nations that are rivals to her own, felt towards her in life.

I was never much for the idea of colonialism-or paternalism, for that matter. That there are still countries which are “owned” by others, including the territories of the United States, seems quaint, in an insipid way. That there was ever a legal system that permitted one ethnicity to subject another to legal chattelhood, or to a second class status, seems sinister at the least, and pure evil at worst.

Some fuss has been raised at the fact that a 22-year-old Elizabeth Windsor visited Cape Town, at the inception of apartheid, and did not send thunderbolts down on its initiators. She was probably kept from the decision-making process, but no matter. A ceremonial royal can occasionally mount a bully pulpit, but not often. Her influence in most issues was far more sublime, delivered with a sly remark or a piercing look.

To most, Queen Elizabeth II’s life, and its end, have been occasions for catharsis-either love for how she conducted herself on the world stage, or vitriol for the way Britain treated some of its colonies, prior to the decolonization of the mid- Twentieth Century. She herself struck me as a benign presence, who nonetheless rose to greet her challengers and critics with the same stoic mien that she employed with well-wishers. She was also capable of listening to her Prime Ministers and Cabinet Secretaries, and of advancing with the times. How many nonagenarians keep a Twitter account or a YouTube channel?

When Donald Trump, on an official visit, walked ahead of her, the Queen just shook her head and kept walking at her own pace. She knew that certain people would just do as they’ve always done, and would have to reap the consequences of their actions, regardless of input from anyone else.

In seven decades, Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor, “Her Majesty” to most, and Elizabeth, to a select few, kept her nation’s image far more cogent and vital than a lesser personage might have. There may not be another like her, for a good many years.

Rest in Peace, Your Majesty.

Fresh Eyes and Heart

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September 7, 2022- There is no better breakfast burrito, anywhere, than a Red from Glenn’s Bakery, on Gallup’s near west side. At least, that has been my experience. I don’t like a BB filled with potatoes-starch upon starch, so there’s that factor. Glenn’s Red Burrito has bacon, red chili and scrambled eggs-nothing more, nothing less and there is a choice of spinach or pumpkin tortilla. I chose spinach. It had not long been out of the oven.

That was the start of the home stretch, of a brief journey of stellar upliftment. The Colorado East Baha’i Summer School was not a treasure trove of scholarly talk, which so many Baha’is my age seem to expect. It was a re-connection of souls, after nearly three years of all COVID, all the time-and its attendant Zoom/Microsoft Teams “gatherings”. It had a devotional focus and considerable attention to our Nine-Year Plan, which itself already seems to dovetail with the enormous changes we have seen, these past two years. Mostly, though, it was a joyous reunion of hearts- and I was glad to be a part of it. To have followed that with an evening of equally heartfelt spiritual connection, along the West Rim of Rio Grande Gorge set my heart afresh.

Then came Taos and the return along El Camino Real, always refreshing to the eyes. I return to places out of love for those whose spirits shine-and there are more of those, with each stop along the way. It is that way in Cortez, Santa Fe, Madrid (NM), Moriarty, Albuquerque’s Old Town, Gallup-and Winslow. A little place called Sip Shoppe, across from Standing On The Corner Park, has been my go-to place in Winslow, for a few years now. I was delighted to get into town, in time for an early lunch.

There was, however, a pall on the occasion, as I received word that one of my paternal aunts, whom I had visited in Maine, a few years ago, had passed on. After lunch, I walked over to Route 66 Park, which Winslow has established along the Santa Fe Railroad tracks. I wanted only peace and quiet, hoping to sit in the gazebo and pray. The spot was taken up by a disabled man, who seemed to be needing solitude of his own. After some further walking along the sidewalk that featured three or four verses of doggerel, I chose a north-facing bench, and engaged in my prayer and meditation.

Thinking further, about a friend who had done a marvelous series of posts on Winslow, a few months ago, I took a few shots of Route 66 Park, before heading back to the Sportage and driving the rest of the way to Home Base.

Classic VW Beetle, Route 66 Park, Winslow
Sculpture in honour of Indigenous peoples of the Winslow area
Ode to Hubbell Trading Post, about two hours northeast of Winslow

The towns and cities of the Southwest are particularly given to being seen with fresh eyes, each time one passes through.

El Camino Real

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September 6, 2022, Gallup- Last night, it came to me that much of the messaging I’ve been getting of late, as to what course of action should be followed, has come to me through other people. This morning, though, the message was loud and clear-devote the morning to Taos and its surroundings, especially along El Camino Real-the “King’s Road” towards Santa Fe, along the East Rim of Rio Grande Gorge.

Taos has been a town through which I passed, not spending much time there-until today. With a commitment to myself to drive as far as this old mining town, I freed up a few hours to make friends in Taos, as well as time to stop and see people I love dearly in Santa Fe, Madrid and Moriarty.

So, parking KIA in a free dirt parking lot, I walked a long a row of art galleries, not purchasing anything this time, though I will spend more time picking out at least two art pieces, on a future visit, weather-permitting, in December.

Here are a few of the shops along Kit Carson Way.

View of Couse Center, a forum for promoting arts in Taos.
Garden in courtyard, Mission Gallery

As last winter’s New Mexico visit was centered on the O’Keeffe Museum, so I fully expect to devote a few hours to the Couse Center, in the days between Christmas and New Year’s. I will be able to get a good cup of hot coffee at World Cup, at the east edge of Taos Plaza.

Drink for thought, World Cup Coffee House, Taos
World Cup is the Taos link in my chain of connections

An energizing visit with a mix of very hard-working people and laid-back former attorneys and factory workers established this connection, much as prior encounters at Henry and The Fish and Double C’s Diner did for Santa Fe and Moriarty, respectively.

Like Santa Fe, Taos has La Fonda Hotel in its Plaza. Here is a look at the lobby and its hearth.

Lobby of Taos La Fonda Hotel
Fireplace, lobby of Taos La Fonda Hotel
Alley, off north side of Taos Plaza

After this, I went south, about three miles, to Ranchos de Taos, the original Spanish Land Grant settlement. Here, there is a smaller plaza, and Iglesia San Francisco de Asis.

This is the central church of Ranchos de Taos

Heading towards Santa Fe, I came upon a spot where Rio Grande is flowing rather rapidly, and another, where the river is more languid.

Note the small rapids in two spots along the Rio Grande. (East Rim of Rio Grand Gorge)

A few miles south, here is a fishing spot, favoured by local residents.

I will be back, again, weather-permitting, very soon. The rest of the day saw short, but very genial visits with friends at Henry & The Fish, Java Junction (Madrid) and Double C Diner,where I got a take-out meal, as it was too early for dinner. The chicken enchiladas were just as tasty, when I got to Colonial Motel, here in Gallup, as they would have been had I dined in. Having good friends at a coffee shop or eatery is even more important to me than the fare itself.

Finding friends all around, this has been a marvelous journey.

Brightness, Under A Half-Moon

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September 5, 2022, Taos- About seven miles west of this town of Puebloans, hippies, cowboys and off-the-grid Libertarians, there is a bridge across Rio Grande Gorge. About a mile further west, there is West Rim Road, which takes people to old Apache campsites, new marijuana farms and a Buddhist stupa, atop a hill and past various homes built by Apaches, South Asians and the above-mentioned Libertarians. Among those who built a home, on ancestral land, is a friend, G. She and her surrogate grandson live in a comfortable solar-powered residence, about a mile off West Rim Road.

When I was leaving Colorado East Baha’i School, earlier today, I felt very strong energy, telling me to go towards Taos and G’s home, and to do whatever it took to visit them. So, after helping with the clean-up at CEBS, and bidding farewell to new friends, I headed down I-25, and arrived in Taos around 5:30 p.m. With my usual penchant for following general directions in a skewed manner, and for not checking my phone while I was driving, I missed a few last-minute updates-which came while I was on “Flag Road”, as her graded road is called. I also missed G, while going in one direction, only to turn around and see her, while driving in the opposite way. Call it lighting effect, fatigue or, as one local astrologer said, “the Taos effect”, in the end I followed G slowly up the driveway, and in short order was enjoying the delectable fresh garden vegetables, with chopped tuna and non-glutinous rice, that she had prepared in honour of my visit.

A half-moon guides us tonight, and with its energy, G filled me in on the events that have transpired since I last saw her, in Tucson, at her son’s residence. Grandson, M, proved a quiet, but congenial young man and seems like he will be an asset to G, in the months ahead. The time there was well-spent, and the house will not be hard to find, when I am next in this part of New Mexico. As the evening turned to late night, I headed back into town, and now am resting in Super 8, on Taos’ south side.

G’s brightness is always evident, no matter the phase of the Moon.

The Future of Power

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September 4, 2022, Colorado Springs- I had breakfast with a group of children, this morning. The topic of conversation (to which I was largely relegated to the role of listener) was the quality of schools and of those schools’ schedules. There was a fairly lively debate about the advantages of sacrificing an hour of sleeping-in, four days a week, for the joys of a Friday off. Siblings from a rural community, in southeast Colorado, have that reality. The rest, living in various communities along the Front Range, are attending schools with standard, M-F 8-3 regimens. Quietly, I empathize with the four-day week, though I would have to LIVE near the school that starts at 7 a.m., in order to work there-especially in winter. The children, ages 6-10, have definite expectations about what they want from their teachers-and recess is not their “favourite subject”.

Another aspect of child life these days is, as it has ever been, the angst of adults, especially of grandparents and their contemporaries, over “What will become of humanity?”, as they observe little boys fighting, throwing things from rocks to tantrums and being generally aggressive. “Where do they get that from?”, asked one grandmother, while fretting that the generation will become inherently violent in their own adulthood. The answer to the question is: We are, physically, animals, and thus have one part of ourselves that is territorial and defensive. The answer to the second fear is: It falls to us to nurture the rising generations, intervene, nonviolently, in the fracas and offer alternatives to trail by combat. It is going to take a long time to get past the genetic memory of spanking, a practice which I admit I used, albeit sparingly, in bygone days. Yes, adults who hit, with the best of intentions, sanction present and future hitting by their offspring. Thankfully, I saw only nonviolent firmness and loving care by parents, even when they thought no one was watching, these past three days. The toughest of men were as steel and velvet, and the women were, as ever, firm and gentle. The little boys will grow up, by and large, to emulate their fathers.

I am coming away from this gathering of Baha’is, and some of our friends from the wider community, with deep-seated hope. The emphasis here has been on cooperation and creativity, as well as the deepening of faith. The power invested in children, and the channeling of energy in a constructive direction, is being replicated in any number of communities, nationally and worldwide. It is this phenomenon which is actively competing with the acquiescence to the above-mentioned violence, and the use of electronic media as passive diversions, for the hearts and minds of young people. The children, based on what I heard this morning at breakfast, prefer the former.

Power thrives on encouragement and nurturing.

The Walls Continue to Shatter

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September 3, 2022, Colorado Springs- “Ye are the fruits of one tree and the leaves of one branch”-Baha’u’llah.

The above statement was written by our Spiritual Teacher to the entire human race, nearly 150 years ago. He asked what harm there was in recognizing the Oneness of Mankind, and never sought power, money or political influence. Those whose aims WERE rooted in such earthly concerns saw fit to attack him, both physically and socially. Their views were, and are, short-sighted, not even considering the true interests of their countrymen or even their own long-term best interests. He had every one’s prosperity and well-being in mind, throughout His Ministry and His Teachings will resonate for centuries to come, as do the essential Teachings of every Messenger of God. There is not a scintilla of difference between Them, in terms of spiritual truths.

So do those of us gathered this weekend ponder the application of Baha’u’llah’s Teachings for each of the problems facing the planet, in this Day, one hundred thirty years after His passing. From the youngest child capable of articulation to those older than me, we note that each of these issues stems from disunity, either deep-seated and “time-honoured” or based in momentary ignorance. None of us are perfect, and yet none of us need to separate ourselves from others, in either thought, word or deed. We mustn’t let others abuse or take advantage of us, nor need we build walls around ourselves.

As if to focus attention on the power of unity, nearly sixty people danced to the powerful music of a trio of drummers and singers who have moved here from Ghana, and are engaged in a vital building trade. Many of the children in attendance joined in the drumming also. It was one of the most powerful gatherings I have attended, since before COVID hit. We are indeed coming back to life as a society, as well as community.

Participants in a drum circle

The walls, both internal and external, continue to crumble.

“Manitou Likes You!”

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September 2, 2022, Colorado Springs- After edging along I-25, due to an unfortunate collision, I made a detour over to Manitou Springs, a most pleasant town west of Garden of the Gods and north of Seven Falls, as well as being a gateway to Pikes Peak. My once favoured lunch spot there, Hearts of Jerusalem, closed during the COVID period. In its place is Good Karma Coffee House and Deli, a thoroughly delightful husband and wife-operated spot, with a short, but well-conceived menu. After an “Inside-Out Grilled Cheese”, I walked on over to The Taos Maos gift shop and bought a nicely-made wind chime, which will accompany another that will get from Arcosanti, in a few weeks. Maos is as interesting as its name implies, and has small items that can enhance even the simplest home.

After that was done, I remarked to the parking lot attendants, two very agreeable and helpful ladies, how much I like Manitou. Their response was: “Manitou likes you!” Moments like that are always affirming. I got up to La Foret Conference and Retreat Center, just northeast of downtown Colorado Springs, in mid-afternoon, and checked in to Colorado East Baha’i School an hour early. We began study and discussion of meaningful social action, this evening and will continue over the next 2.5 days.

I am in a comfortable little cabin, with one roommate-a nice gentleman, and six other cabin mates, all very considerate and agreeable people. There is an abundance of children and teenagers here, also very considerate and high-functioning people. As we are preparing to get ready for sleep, thunder and lightning are all around us. Rain has come to CS to the first time in two weeks, a welcome easterly extension of the monsoon.

I bid you all good night, with a scene from Manitou Springs and one from La Foret.

Yes, Manitou is ONE of Colorado’s Christmas cities.
Inglis Hall, named for La Foret’s founders.