Approaching

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Posted by on in American Legion, Historical, Poetry, Spiritual

August 21, 2016, Prescott-

The indomitable warrior is looking at his last.

He was lying in his last bed,

looking into two worlds, simultaneously.

I’ve seen this look before;

five years ago, in fact.

He could not speak, beyond a whisper,

but his message was loud and clear.

“Thank you, for not  forgetting me.”

Then, came his salute,

followed by my own, in return.

In the end, when it comes,

he will have his wife’s love,

the admiration of his Legionnaires

and the small bottle of sand

from Utah Beach,

where he once commanded a battalion.

Too soon for Rest in Peace,

never too late for respect.

 

Becky Fest

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Posted by on in Community, Social

August 20, 2016, Prescott- The rain continued apace, today, though the lion’s share of it came towards evening.  Two events coincided with the storm:  A friend’s “End of Summer” gathering, which I attended for about an hour, and Becky Fest, organized by a local musician, Becky Dalke, for the purpose of empowering women in music.  The first such gathering was on the tenth anniversary of the attacks on New York, September 11, 2011.  That year, and for a few years subsequent, Becky Fest was held at a local bar, Coyote Joe’s.

This year found the gathering at Beastro, a crafts studio that supports animal welfare.  Beastro’s owners are local poets, as well, so I have some familiarity with them.  Their back yard served as the stage and audience pit.  It was jam-packed when I got there, at 5, and the group due to perform, Kaileena and the Originals, was just setting up.  Kaileena is a Prescott native, who has been performing as an indie musician, since 2006, being closely associated with the Austin music scene.  The group did some kick-ass Blues, including a lengthy rendition of “Cry Me A River”.

Then, came the “headliners”, Stella and the Phins.  Stella, attired in a frilly red dress, took the stage like a boss.  I felt like I was seeing and hearing what Grace Slick would have done, had she stayed closer to her hard rock roots.  Stella Lora Heiniemi has incredible range, from growling like Mama Bear to sizzling high notes.  The ever-present harmonica, in the hands and mouth of Haz7maX, was always her back-up “vocal”, from where I sat.  Guy and Caleb, the guitarists, had there own magic, with Caleb offering a sweet original song, devoted to his new wife.  I was happy to be sitting directly behind a young couple, for this one, and noting their tenderness towards one another, as Caleb sang his story.  Donna, the group’s percussionist, stayed in the background, but is second to none, on the drums.

Just before Stella and the gang got started, a group of us set up a canopy.  This is how we do things in Prescott- one of the features of life that endears me to this town, as that’s how it always was back in Saugus:  People cared for one another and worked as a team, on matters large and small.

The Fest was still going on, as I left to tend to a matter related to the “End of Summer” party.  As it happened, two birthdays were celebrated:  Judy’s (the E.O.S. hostess), belatedly and Becky’s (which is this weekend).

The Balm that Simmers

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Posted by on in children, Inner Struggles, Personal goals, Personal Values, Spiritual, Striving

August 19, 2016, Prescott- For two weekends in a row, going to a “free” concert by a local band, named The Cheektones, has been a fine way to unwind from a work position that requires every ounce of my energy and commitment.  More about them, later.

Simply put, most people have little or no understanding of the troubled.  I have listened to, and worked with and around,  two conflicting agendas, both of whose proponents purport to want what’s best for the kids in our care.  I have operated, for forty years of work with children and youth, on a gradually-established, and continually fine-tuned, intuition and sensibility.  I made all manner of errors, my first three years of teaching, and learned from every one of them, while being remorseful over those who fell behind, or fell through the cracks.  Those of my early students who are still living are in their mid-fifties now.  Chances are, most of them have gone on and lived fairly complete lives.

Nothing remains in stasis, for very long.  My current small group of children are, more than even the average child, all about the moment- and it could be the polar opposite of the moment before- or that which lies straight ahead.  Some adult observers “recognize” chemical imbalance; others see “parental spoiling”; still others just know the pain- and want to heal.

I tend to be in the last category.  Most of you know, by now, of my own having grown up autistic, somewhere on the Asperger’s spectrum.  “Emotionally-handicapped” people are, therefore, special to me.  I want nothing more than to win their trust and help them grow into, at least, a position of functionality.

I have thus tended to find myself in classrooms where such children are placed, in a group.  This grouping is not ideal, either for the students, or for the (usually small) team of adults who work with said grouping.  Adults of a certain age also tend to bicker, openly, then are astounded at the insolence of the children.  This happens between spouses, ex-spouses, co-workers and supervisors/subordinates.  I, admittedly, have done my share of bickering, in various settings, over the years.

I got out of the circular chase by stopping myself, and just listening.  Being now in a workplace where I am allowed to say very little, in the presence of my immediate supervisor, albeit enjoying freer speech at school-wide meetings, I have grown ever more comfortable with just being still.  With the children, though, as I get to know them better, I can, and will, impart to them  a code of decency and respect, which many of them have not known, other than intuitively, in their all-too-brief lives.

It is this year’s primary task to bring balm to the sore,  to heal the simmering wound.

 

“Until All Death Is Gone”

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Posted by on in Community, Education, Inspiration, Literary criticism, Matters of Faith, Personal Values, Spiritual

August 17, 2016, Prescott- The rain today, has been almost incessant, both at my workplace and around my neighbourhood.  Some dry spots exist,though, among the microclimates of Prescott:  The southwest forest, the grasslands around Glassford Hill and, at the far east end of our county, in Cordes Lakes.  I pulled bus duty, after school, and had a fine time juggling a handheld stop sign, a large umbrella and my waterproof bag, containing the clipboard on which I was to record bus arrival times.  All went smoothly, with parents, children and bus drivers following my instructions.

This evening, after our Wednesday evening devotional, I finished reading “The Shack”, a spiritually-themed novel by William P. Young, who tells the story of a man with a troubled past, whose youngest child is missing and presumed dead.  The man returns to the place where a serial killer is believed to have brought his little girl, and has an intense encounter with God, as a Christian might imagine Him.

There is a moment, towards the end of the man’s Divine experience, when God reveals a song, which He says was written by the child.   The song’s refrain is as follows:

“Come kiss me wind and take my breath

Till you and I are one

And we will dance among the tombs

Until all death is gone.”

This morning, I experienced a dream in which I was in a retail work situation.  I was improperly dressed for the job, and somehow had driven my car into the store.  When I got into the car, to go back home and change, the Customer Service lady, standing with a clipboard, gasped “You can’t get away with THAT!”

I woke, and my mind went back to every time in my life that I had made a serious error in judgment.  Slowly getting dressed for the day, I took care to remind myself that things were slowly and carefully coming together in my life.  There have been many fine experiences, greatly overshadowing any setbacks.  The day went just fine, even with a few challenges, faced and overcome.

I mention these, as the main character in “The Shack”, one Mackenzie Allan “Mack” Phillips, was, like me, a person who spent much of his life focusing on his mistakes and on how deficient he was, compared with how he saw others.  Thus, the course on which his life proceeded was meant to lead to his encounter with God- Who is presented as a Trinity: the stern, and occasionally derisive, Father; the loving Son, Jesus the Christ and the inspirational, ever-present Holy Spirit.  Each added to Mack’s growth and presented a model of forgiveness and wholeness.

I think of my own relationship with God.  He has shown me, through experiences both glorious and jarring, that I am a worthwhile child of His, no less capable of doing good in the world, than anyone else.  Mack learned that his human icons were fallible; so have I.  None of us is any less lovable, to our fellow humans or to the Celestial, for that fallibility.

So, it is my wish, hope and desire that each of us can see the Day, when we work to establish unity in the world, with a view towards the time when “all death is gone”.

 

 

Flow

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Posted by on in Poetry, Spiritual

August 16, 2016, Prescott- 

It’s said that heat enervates, stifles many things.

Metal can be an exception; loving the liquidity brought to it, by heat.

Man is largely made of water , however.

Water, and Man, evaporate with too much heat.

Physical relationships love warmth.

It’s no accident that physical attraction is often characterized by the term “hot”, to  describe an attractee.

Then again, scorpions are attracted to a steaming cup of coffee, when it’s left on a patio table, in a desert condo.

Friendships need warmth, too.

That is a fortunate thing- for dogs lying at their masters’ feet; for coffee house owners and barkeeps keeping their patrons’ lively tables well-plied; for the muscles that are so soothed by a respectful, but heartfelt, hug- and for me.

The ocean flows, largely warm, in its midsection and cold at its extremities.

Snakes like warmth. Fish prefer cold.  Birds take what they can get.    Man gets whatever he can take.

The Universe flows on.

Ides

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Posted by on in collaborating, Community, Education, Social, Striving

August 15, 2016, Prescott- Today and tomorrow mark what medieval Europeans would have called the Ides (divides) of August.  Most of us are aware of the concept of dividing months into fortnights (periods of two weeks), from Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar”. The Ides of March became associated with foreboding, associated with the death of Caesar.

Division, for me, is something we need to work hard at overcoming.  I am in a new work environment.  The three of us who staff the room are working to overcome differences in style, priority, and temperament, both among ourselves and with the 6-7 supervisory staff, who are in and out of the room during the day.  Then, there are differences that arise with, and among, our charges- the students in our self-contained unit. Finally, there are the other staff at the school, who are united in their little groups, but have a ways to go in opening up to those perceived as “others”.

Division, at its most innocent, is a coping strategy for making sense of one’s world.  At its most nefarious, it is a way of maintaining barriers.  This is something we all tend to do, to one extent or another.  My goal is to eliminate as many of “the Ides”, socially, as I can, without falling back into my former patterns of being pushy and insistent.  Those only closed up the circles more quickly.  This time, I will be more prone to careful listening and patience.

 

Rubicon

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Posted by on in Community, Education, Family, Personal goals, Personal Values, Spiritual, Striving

August 14, 2016, Prescott- I remarked to some collaborators-in-faith, this morning, that I have scrapped plans for most travel outside North America, until at least 2021. (South Korea, where my son is to be stationed, next year, being an exception.)  There were crickets in the room, so our discourse went on to things of more common interest.

Later today, I attended a gathering that was sponsored by Team Rubicon, the disaster recovery organization that is mostly made up of military veterans.  The very allusion to making a decisive and irreversible choice defines this group, whose impact is as great, if not greater than that of the Red Cross.  These are the people who remain behind, once the news cycle is over and the long-term work begins.  They choose to walk the celestial path, with practical feet. (‘Abdu’l-Baha admonished us Baha’is to do just that, in several speeches, when he visited North America, in 1912.)

I have plenty to do around here, during the academic year, and with regard to both my Faith and the needs of the larger community.  At 65 years, 8 months, it’s important to consider at least the seeds of legacy.  I’m in fine health, and I do want to continue with a full, contributive life.  Five years of gainful employment remain.  I will insist on actively taking part in the well-being of the Prescott area, both inside and outside my worksite.  Summers will still find me visiting friends and family, in various parts of this continent, starting with a second journey northwestward, next June. Christmas and New Year’s will still be marked by the presence of loved ones and good friends, both here and on the East Coast.  June, 2021 will still be the beginning of an extended journey to many parts of the globe, the only caveats being the needs of my son, any family he might have by then, and our larger family.

I will remain working to educate people on the Oneness of Mankind, on the need for an inquiring mind, and on the healing properties of Certified, Therapeutic Grade Essential Oils, and the imperative of wellness.  My Rubicon was crossed, years ago, when Penny pointed me towards the mountain with a shimmering star above it.

 

Three Verses

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Posted by on in Personal Values, Poetry, Social, Striving

August 13, 2016, Prescott- I have a lot on my plate, so today, and for the next two days, I offer three separate topics, in verse.

No Upgrade Needed

I was blessed with the gold standard, as my son and I con

Then, she was called to the Placeless, and physically alone, I demurred.

I am in a good place, nonetheless, living in comfort, at least as I see it.

The roof  does not leak.  There are no scorpions, skittering about.

My work pays the bills, and volunteering cheers my spirit.

I see the bright blessed day, the dark, sacred night; joy, within and without.

The Universe saw fit to present me with a new car.

Collaborators, colleagues and friends, are never far.

Years back, I longed for someone special.

Her spirit lingers, tells me to fear no ill.

No upgrade is needed, whispers my Shining Star.

 

Change/Constant

Reports of our demise are premature.

The desert shimmers; the sunsets dazzle.

Cars bunch up, each morning and evening.

Ants march in unison; each looks straight ahead.

The only surprise, day by day, is what the Maestro of Chaos has to say next.

There is no surprise, coming from the Lady of Hope.

Toys sit, unused.  Children stare into screens, bemused.

Those who erred on the side of wicked find there are precious few places to lay their heads.

Dulcet dreams, though, bring my heart and mind to solace.

Each dawn rises, and warmth awakens my heart.  I find the constancy fills my spirit, no less.

Playthings; Really?

Men in hardhats, men in suits, men on furlough

Same as ever, taunts and hoots

Come from many, without a thought.

I acknowledge the lovely, the “hot”.

The mind, though, is more captivating.

The snarkiness, the challenge, the striving,

These are what I most treasure.

I had the joy, upon a time, of long conversations,

Into the night-once until first light.

She made me promise not to let our words and thoughts stray so far again.

She made me promise never, ever, to lift an unkind hand, or give voice to an injurious thought.

I kept those promises.  The goal was the golden strands of the spirit,

the Heavenly Rapunzel, letting down the cascade of coiffure,

that she and I would, hand over hand,

hand in hand, achieve the eternal,

as one soul.

Women are never playthings; partners as objects is a mindless construct.

People are not implements; viewing the Other is a means to self-destruct.

 

Second Class

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Posted by on in Community, Personal Values, Social

August 10, 2016, Prescott- I find the ongoing raising of the issue of gun ownership to be one of the simultaneously most ludicrous, and most dangerous, activities of the political season.  The majority of firearms owners, which included my immediate family until 2011, and still includes my son, and several friends, are sober, careful people, who have had proper training in the care, use, maintenance and safeguarding of arms and ammunition.

I had my first class in firearms safety, in 1962, as an 11-year-old Boy Scout.  That class was offered by a Certified Trainer, at a National Rifle Association facility.  I  subsequently had training in a variety of weapons, as part of my overall training, whilst a soldier in the U. S. Army.  My son, in turn, had full certified training in the use of several firearms, prior to buying and properly owning a weapon of his own.

Although I  no longer own a firearm, I believe people are within their rights to do so, for the purposes of hunting, self-defense and target shooting, if that is their fancy. Where I draw the line is at the notion that the Second Amendment to the United States Constitution suggests it is permissible to rise in insurrection against a freely-elected President.

It does not.  The framers of our Constitution warned against tyranny- either of the elect, or by the electorate.  There are many non-legislated rules and regulations, emanating from governments at all levels, with which I disagree.  These have been promulgated by liberal and conservative elected officials alike.  There are some rules of which I approve, while others loathe them.  None of us, though, is so privileged as to kill or maim an elected official, or any law enforcement officer going about the day-to-day keeping of order.  Likewise, no government official or law enforcement officer can be so obstreperous as to randomly, or systematically, engage in acts of oppression against ordinary citizens.  There can be no second class citizenry.

There is a process, some parts of which are cumbersome, often tedious, for effecting change.  Protest is a legitimate part of that change agency.  Rebellion is not.  No person, therefore, can legitimately swear to uphold and defend the Constitution of the United States of America, if his/her intention is to cherry-pick its provisions.  Our next  President must be…..presidential.  The people he/she defeats, must remain loyal to our government- and to our country.

Sensitivity

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Posted by on in children, Education, Inspiration, Personal Values, Service Activities, Social, Striving

August 9, 2016, Prescott-  This is a fine “home stretch”, thus far.  I have had dinner with a Young Republican, with a friend of three years and, on a couple of occasions, with several Baha’i friends, at various gatherings.  I have started work again, helping special needs children in the schools, here in town- first at the high school, before being transferred to Grades 5 & 6, for the needs of the District.  It’s gratifying to know that my skill set is valued  at the higher levels.  It hasn’t always been that way.  I am getting settled financially, as well, and will be fine, especially as Autumn gets into full swing.  Physically, my exercise routine is on track, and diet is healthy. The Fall hiking season is about a month away, and lightning will not be a deterrent to being on  mountains. Most importantly, I have ditched the occasional tendency to lapse into conjecture and innuendo, when dealing with criticism or opposition.  “Say what happened, and no more” has become my mantra.

I am working with troubled children, once again.  Their struggles are very much the same as mine, when I was those grades.  Like me, they struggle, despite having loving parents.  Like me, they need more listening and less “by the book” judgment.  So, this I provide, to the best of my ability.  I find myself vindicated by their amazing curiosity, awakening intellect and sensitivity to those around them, who are suffering.

It will be a full, energizing and revelatory year.