More Transition

2

October 4,2024, Manila- She was long a champion of civil rights, for racial minorities and women. “Sexual minorities” were a bit harder for her, but she was trying to understand. Michele was, nonetheless, a compassionate friend of 35 years.

It was she, and her late husband, Tom, who talked me into taking a road trip to San Francisco-Oakland, in 2012; of course, swinging by their then-home in Reno and caravanning to the Bay Area. From there, I headed north, after three days of commemorating ‘Abdu’l-Baha’s 1912 visit to that area. After Tom passed away, in 2013, I continued to visit Michele and her family, which I came to regard as an extension of my own. Her eldest granddaughter became a surrogate grand-niece, followed, seven years later, by her little brother.

Sis has been getting weaker, these past few years, though she did not lose any of her feistiness. On my last visit, three months ago, she stood strongly against what she regarded as a general moral laxity. She cautioned me, on a different note, against up and leaving the United States, for what she regarded as a pipe dream of living abroad again. I think she felt the hourglass was running out. Last night, it did. Michele Le Boutellier Smith passed away, at the age of 75.

Michele may yet turn out to have been right. I have pretty much hit a plateau, in several aspects, as to what I can accomplish in Manila, and after giving it a few more days, will likely move on to the provinces for a couple of weeks. It is encouraging to me, though, that a well-educated, savvy gentleman is stepping up as a moving and shaking force for the Baha’i Faith in the capital area. Today, at lunch, he articulated some solid practical ideas for making the Regional Baha’i Center a true locus for the betterment of the community. It is the local residents who must achieve the true greatness of a place. Visitors like me, no matter how loving or well-intentioned, wear out our welcomes after so many days.

Transitions have been at flood tide, in a number of respects, in this Eight Universal Year, which always seems to bring about drastic change. The number of close family and friends who have left my life, either through death or attrition in the past nine months, is jarring. It is also not entirely unexpected. The year is not over yet, by a long shot, so I hang on and continue to work for the best.

Somewhere, in the great energy field to which we all go, at some point, all my relations and extended family of friends are sending the energy that will guide me aright, as long as I pay attention. I will probably be walking that path largely alone, but that is okay. I can do this.

I Care Not; I Care

4

October 25, 2019-

The year,  of which I thought as a pinnacle,

when it was approaching,

now seems a plateau of focus,

as it begins to recede,

into the alpine mists of history.

Here and now have become

more urgent.

Past is  a glimmer,

whose lessons impact

the present stage.

Future is “that time”

of promises,

which only I

can bring to fruition.

Twenty-twenty

appears in my

mind’s eye,

like yin and yang.

In the heat of the now,

I care not for the culture

which glorifies drug use.

The mantra,

“This is better than crack!”,

is the cackling of the ignorant.

I care not for the powers

that pretend to be,

sending their tanks,

flame throwers and

armor-piercing bullets,

against unwitting defenders

of freedom.

I care not for the puppet masters,

who order the innocent

to stand down,

to step aside,

that the purveyors

of death,

may present their wares,

to the foolish and

the deluded.

I care not,

for those who

cry foul,

at being told

that an infant

has the right

to life,

the right

to be adopted,

instead of killed.

I care not,

for those who

start wildfires,

in the hopes

of returning later,

and building

cookie-cutter,

gentrified living resorts,

affordable only to

the favoured few.

I care,

for the struggling,

for the lost children,

kept in a prison box,

with no resources,

save the cement floor,

which they share,

with hundreds,

and with their reluctant

guards,

who are themselves

pariahs.

I care for those

who are beaten,

chased down,

hunted like animals

and then,

treated like filth,

by the jurists,

who look first

at the well-being

of those

who beat, menace

and hunt the innocent,

like so much prey.

I care for those

who have given

their all,

and end up

as footnotes,

in the journals

of narcissists.

Give us your tired,

poor, innocent,

that we may find room

in our hearts and

in our diminishing spaces.