Sunday, April 23, 2006

Lost at Woods' Edge

Through these woods I once ran naked.
Under unfettered skies I spun beneath tree shadow.
My pale flesh was dappled
by early autumn sun.
Lost savage in public glade.
Pink ghost near the culvert seen.

I can see the ghost now,
running just past memory's limits.
My 9 year-old shade darting between trees,
between park and suburban homes,
between distant street & concrete culvert.

And I wonder if the ghost is true,
or a memory fragment,
or a dream.

The afternoons were Lone Ranger & Superman.
In the summer Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore
were my surrogate parents.

And breeze against bare skin was real.
Grass between bare toes was real.
Movement between dappled shadows was real.
More real than naps on thin plastic maps
or playground jeers or letters or
even thoughts.

I asked the trees what this poem wanted to be.
Alive, in the forest.
I asked the creek, thin shadow of the Canadian River,
what this poem wanted to be.
Laughing toward the ocean.
I asked the grass what this poem wants to be.
Growing to the sun.
I asked my ghostly dappled flesh
what this poem wants to be.
Alive, alive, alive.
Ignorant of history, forgetful of self,
lost, lost, lost.

Lost at woods' edge.
In DraftThe poem as it appears in my Moleskine Notebook. Two bits unrelated to the poem have been whited out: my last name, and a friend's contact information.
This poem is a companion to other "memory" poems such as "The 34th Street Flood"

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Magnetic Fib

Magnetic FibBe
a
birthday
masterpiece:
always bloom, woman,
flower like love's summer season
[Photo taken Friday morning, April 14, the second day of Passover]

(Belated) Friday Five: Faves

[From RevGalBlogPals' esteemed Songbird.
  1. fruit
    Strawberry
  2. song
    Holly Cole's recording of "I Can See Clearly Now"
  3. beverage
    Green Tea
  4. shoes
    my faux Birkenstocks
  5. flower
    Compass Rose

Friday, April 21, 2006

Jonah's "Fib"

I
was
swallowed
by a fish
this big — then I was
spit out three days later. Honest!

"Fib" is the name for a poetic form based on the Fibonacci sequence.

Quote d'jour

We must refuse to let [the OKC bombing] make sense – here, or anywhere else. We must steel ourselves against rationalizations and learned political analysis. We must hang on, as long as possible, to our sense of astonishment. Be astonished that ideology can make murder understandable. Be astonished that hatred can go unchecked until bodies burn. Let us not be misled by labels, as if calling someone a terrorist gives sense to madness.
— excerpt from a sermon by Rabbi Dan Shevitz of Emanuel Synagogue in Oklahoma City on the final day of Passover, three days after the bombing of the Alfred Murrah Federal Building on April 19, 1995 [from the A Little Joy, A Little Oy calendar, © 2005 Andrews McMeel]

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Recommended Reading

Dr. Omed's Flower War, a poem on the Aztec concept & practice. Not for the faint of heart.

Spidey Girl's Peter, Part Three. I'd like to see more of Peter's story. I've always wondered about transition from the impetuous "block head" protrayed in the Gospels to the more reasonable person portrayed in the Book of Acts. Just a thought.

Late Add:
The Anagrammed Bible
Clearly, this "Recommended Reading" list is becoming a semi-regular feature. Not filler, just things I sincerely believe will be of interest for folk who regularly visit this space.

Idée d’jour

The politician is an acrobat. He keeps his balance by saying the opposite of what he does.
— Maurice Barres, novelist and politician (1862-1923)

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Something About Two O'Clock

There's something about two o'clock.
Not sure what it is.
Somewhere, I have a quote from Scott Fitzgerald
to the effect that 4 a.m. is the dark night of the soul.
But this is 2.
Is this the hour God spoke to Samuel?
Should I rise from my bed
and say, "Speak Lord your servant is listening"?
I tried that.
Tried that at two a.m. Good Friday morning.
It was a chant: "I am listening, I am listening, I am listening."
Then, off course, I considered the fact
that I couldn't really be listening
while I was chanting.
The squirrel was lose in its cage.
What would God have with me?
No Samuel here.
I'm opinionated as hell, but surely no prophet.
So, hey God, what's up?

Maybe it's not God.
Maybe it's this intemperate April.
High hit 94° yesterday.
Record high, for the date.
But I've got the AC on (reluctantly).
I sleep atop the covers.

Maybe it's all my little ego dreams of fame & romance.
Like, I don't know, some editor will discover my blog
and ask me to write a book.
Maybe someone will hear me sing,
and offer me a recording contract.
Maybe the new girl at church
is the companion I seek.
Stuff like that.
I'm used to these ego dreams.
Sometimes I amuse myself by letting them play out,
like little movies projected on the inside of my forehead.
Other times, I look elsewhere.
Seek the Inner Light.
The thin place where my spirit meets the divine spirit.

Don't know what it is.
Try wearing myself out.
Try pushing myself right to ten.
Try not to —
Try to —
Doesn't matter.
I'm awake sometime between two and three.

So, God, if it is you, I'm ready for the message.
Heck, I'll probably do whatever it is you're asking of me.
Odds are pretty good.
I'm just tired of waking up at this hour.
I'm ready to sleep now.
Just tell me, in small words,
get it over with,
and let me sleep through through the night.

Idée d’jour

The question why there is evil in existence is the same as why there is imperfection... But this is the real question we ought to ask: Is this imperfection the final truth, is evil absolute and ultimate?
— Rabindranath Tagore, poet, philosopher, author, songwriter, painter, educator, composer, Nobel laureate (1861-1941)

Monday, April 17, 2006

Idée d’jour

What do you mean, you "don't believe in homosexuality"? It's not like the Easter Bunny; your belief isn't necessary.
— Lea Delaria

More Recommended Reading

[Two religious, two political; it's what I call balanced]

Part Two of Spidey Girl's Peter series. This is one reader hoping for a part three!

The Lost Gospel of Judas. Read for yourself what all the fuss is about. It's only seven pages long, and you can down-load an Adobe version of the document for free.

This next link comes courtesy of Brother Dave. Chickenhawks is a list compiled by the brave folk at the New Hampshire Gazette. There's much else worthy of note in their on-line edition. For example, their editorial Progress in the Wrong Direction reignited some depression in my spirit. Worthy of special note is "Ports, the Sequel", about 3/4ths down the page.

Finally, if you have not already read it, here's Seymour Hersch's article about administration plans to bomb or invade Iraq. This is what El Presidente was talking about when he referred to wild speculation this time a week ago.

Two things are scary about this. First, B*sh said efforts to prevent Iran from gaining nuclear capability did not mean the use of force - necessarily. If not for his choice of modifier, and his tone of voice when saying it, I might have given him the benefit of the doubt. One should be kind to children and the mentally deficient.

The second scary thing is that Hersch wrote an article very much like this some time before the invasion of Iraq. Got to ask yourself: who you going to believe? The respected journalist, or the guy who has been caught in at least two major lies that I'm aware of.

One last thing - unscientific poll:
Is B*sh stupid, a moron, an imbecile, certifiably insane, or just plain pure evil? Evil, that is, like the pure evil at the end of Time Bandits. Evil even more profound than Richard Nixon's evil. Evil which has a special circle of the Inferno reserved - right next to Brutus and our friend Judas.
Vote in the comments.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Definition d'jour

ChriEaster (n)[KREE-ster]
people who only attend church on Christmas and Easter

Easter Vigil

I had predicted that the Easter Vigil service Saturday evening would be about two hours long. As it turned out, it started around 7:30 pm, and we got out around 9:15 or so.

Not too far off.

I was serving as Lay Reader (which means I read the Epistle, Rom 6:3-11; and was on of four who served the wine during communion), so I wanted to get to the Cathedral early. I got there a few minutes after 7. Somehow, I was able to be of service to a couple of people before service began.

Also gathering early were people to be baptized, confirmed, reaffirmed, or received (from other denominations). A mother and her three sons were gathered in the courtyard. The mother, Shelly, was being confirmed. She asked me to take their picture. Which I was happy to do. After that, she asked for advice twice before service. Guess I earned some brownie points by helping her.

I kept looking for June, who was reaffirming. Reaffirmation is often a way to acknowledge a spiritual renewal within oneself. There are other reasons, and I'm not sure what June's reason was. I'd had the chance to visit with her a few times before, and enjoy her company. Not necessarily looking for or expecting romance, but I can always use another friend.

In any case, June got there about ten minutes before the service began. She was dressed in scrubs. June is an RN in a Palliative Care unit at a local hospital, so I assumed she was rushing in from her shift. I gave her a sideways hug, and mentioned my assumption. No, she said. Her cat had bitten her hard enough to require a tetanus shot. She had actually dressed in her Easter best, but it had been spoiled by blood. She'd gone to the ER for the tetanus shot, and borrowed the scrubs from the ER nurse.

"Thanks for the hug," she said, "I really needed that." Then she asked me to remove the plastic ID tag around her wrist. I've never been able to break one with my bare hands, so I went to the vesting room to get some scissors or a knife.

She followed me. The door was closed, so I knocked and asked for scissors. At which point, June started crying. Luke, one of the ministers, took her in his arms, and she retold her tale through her tears.

She went to the ladies' room to compose herself.

Then the ministers and acolytes and choir were off.

The Easter Vigil is one of my favorite services. On Maundy Thursday, all the lights had been extinguished and the sanctuary candle had been removed. So, the church is dark. The ministers proceed in silence. The officiant recites a prayer over a bed of coals, which are ignited; the Paschal Candle is lit from this. That bier of flames in the dark church is quite impressive.

The officiant, who was Luke, sings the Exultet, which begins "Rejoice now, heavenly hosts and choirs of angels."

This song is followed by the Holy History. A number of lessons are possible, primarily from the Old Testament, recounting God's relationship with God's people. Only two lessons were read at our service - the story of Israel crossing the Red Sea, and Ezkiel's vision of the dry bones returning to life.

The Epistle follows. I'm told I read it well.

Then came the baptisms, and so on. Three people were baptized. Twenty-six were confirmed. Three reaffirmed, and four were received.

The Bishop has a lovely tradition for confirmations, reaffirmations, and receptions. He invites people from the congregation who have a close relationship with those being confirmed (etc) to lay hands on these people at the same time he does. I laid my hand on a number of people, including Shelly. And June.

Now I had tears in my eyes. I'm moved when people choose this way of life. If you're serious about it, it isn't easy. It's the most challenging decision a person can make.

It's easy to be a TV Christian. It may be almost as easy to be a fundamentalist Christian, who often defines himself by how much better he is than all those sinners. It's harder to be a Christian who is neither of these, but who is judged by the worst of both camps. It's harder to seek to be Christ-like in a world that judges by standards 180° opposite of Jesus' standards.

Idée d’jour

I guess my whole story is about wanting men to love women as much as women love men.
— Diane Wakoski (1937 – ), from her poetry collection Jason the Sailor (1993)

Recommended Reading

From the Dark of Saturday by the lovely lady I call "Spidey Girl", but who calls herself Samwise Gamgee (among other things). Read it before going to service, if you can.

Saturday, April 15, 2006

Idée d’jour

If I'm not always happy, that doesn't mean I'm doing something wrong. It means I am doing something real.
— Laurie Seligman

Friday, April 14, 2006

Jesus Wept

If it be possible, let this trial pass me by.
Nonetheless, not my will, but yours.

Stay with me.
Remain here with me.
Watch & pray.

Let this cup pass.
Nonetheless, I am obedient to your will.

Stay with me.
Remain here with me.
Watch & pray.

Let me survive this time.
Nonetheless, my life is yours.

Remain awake.
= = =
Photo, taken this morning, of a statue located at St. Joseph's Catholic Church, to the west of the Okla. City National Memorial. The statue is, indeed, titled "Jesus Wept".

Idée d'jour

There is also an artificial aristocracy founded on wealth and birth,
without either virtue or talents... The artificial aristocracy is a
mischievous ingredient in government, and provisions should be made to prevent its ascendancy.
— Thomas Jefferson, third US president,architect and author (1743-1826)

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Recommended Reading

Stations of the Cross for Global Justice and Reconciliation - Courtesy of the Episcopal Public Policy Network

Went to the Dance by Gregorious. Be sure to check for part two on Friday!

One of the Monkeys by Nicholas Johnson (scroll down).

Holy Thursday from Songs of Experience by William Blake.

Just about anything highlighted on RevGalBlogPals

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

A Good Story

Even God likes a good story. – Rabbi Ben Kamin, chapter heading from his book Thinking Passover

The good Rabbi is obviously thinking of the Passover story, which most of us Christians know primarily through Cecil B. DeMille's The Ten Commandments. He is also thinking of the stories families share at the Seder meal.

It's fitting that we consider stories, and Passover. This year is one of the rare times when the Jewish feast falls close to the Christian feast of Easter.

Remember, the meal Jesus shared with his followers was a Passover seder. According to Rabbi Kamin, each family develops its own tradition, and sometimes says slightly different words. So perhaps it was not shocking when Jesus said, "This is my Body. Eat it in remembrance of me."

I wonder what stories the people in that Upper Room shared. Perhaps they retold stories from Jesus' ministry to that point. "Hey, remember that big haul of fish?" "Yeah, but what about all those fish and loaves? We must have fed 5,000 people, not counting women and children!"

By this point, Jesus knew he was doomed. He had embarrassed the religious authorities once too often. Their power was threatened by the strength of his teachings, and his popularity.

There was also the political problem - too many people thought Jesus was the military messiah they had been hoping for. It was possible an enthusiastic crowd would riot. Which would bring down the Roman army. The religious authorities knew that most of the Roman army had little use for their people, and that the soldiers would relish slaughtering a few Jews.

Their choice was: kill this guy, or risk having thousands killed instead?

I wonder which one of us would have made a different choice.

I'd suggest that a similar logic was used when it was argued that we attack the terrorists before we saw the proof of a mushroom cloud.

The person promoting that logic claimed to be a Christian. Many of the people who reelected that person claim to be Christians. Yet this logic of striking before you are even touched is a calculus that the Pharisees and Sudducees would have understood very well.

I digress.

Some people believe that Jesus was destined for Crucifixion from the dawn of time. They believe that God had this in mind from the time of Adam and Eve. They believe that God wanted a human sacrifice to redeem human sinfulness.

As far as I'm concerned, this is just so wrong on so many levels. How can we worship a God who would allow his only son to be tortured and murdered in the most barbaric manner possible? If Jesus' death was preordained, and we have been redeemed, then every Christian born since the first century of the Common Era is off scot free. We don't need to do anything, we don't need to worry. Jesus was our ultimate "Stay Out of Hell" card.

But the biggest thing wrong with it is that it makes for a lousy storytelling experience if you know from the dawn of time how it's going to come out. If God likes a good story, then don't you suppose God likes to be surprised now and then?

Don't you suppose God would have been just as happy if Jesus were not crucified. Every person in that intricate bureaucracy we hear about - the Sanhedrin, Pilate, Herod - had a choice. Any one of them could have said, "Wait a minute. This guy hasn't done anything worth crucifying him for." Either Pilate or Herod could have released Jesus.

The point of the story for me is not the crucifixion, but the mystery we know as Easter. I can't say for a fact that a man was raised from the dead. I wasn't there, and I don't know. What I do know is that something incredible must have happened to make people react as they did. Although the religious authorities hunted them down and crucified them, they still followed Jesus. Even though Nero sent them to the lions, they still followed Jesus. You don't suffer those sorts of hardships on a whim, or for a mere philosophy.

You suffer those sort of hardships because you have experienced something life-changing. Some had this experience through knowing Jesus during his earthly ministry. Others had this experience as they came to know the community who called themselves Christians.

The point of the story for me is the positive changes in people's lives that resulted from this profoundly negative event. It is still possible for lives to be changed today.

Pink Pesach Moon

Pesach MoonPink Pesach moon burns
a hole in the April night;
red grass arises
where the Angel has tread.
Sunrise: mothers are weeping.

Idée d’jour

Rare is the person who can weigh the faults of others without putting his thumb on the scales.
— Byron J. Langenfeld
Case in point — a few weeks back, I was complaining about how some Christians "cherry-pick" from scripture. Someone asked how I was any different. "I admit that I cherry-pick; I doubt that they do."

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

My Weekend

BumblebeeI spent some time in Will Rogers' Park this past Saturday. Will Rogers' is just an eighth of a mile or less from my house. This picture of a bumblebee is just one of the many shots I caught.

I suppose it's appropriate, because I kept myself pretty busy.

To begin with, I had a cup of espresso. Brewed in my very own stove-top espresso pot - a gift received from Sarah many years ago. About 9:00, I went to the Cathedral to learn how to (and help) make palm crosses. People might have thought I was on drugs, because I was "speed rapping"; but the rap was only inspired by the espresso.

I left the Cathedral at 11:00, drove to a book shop in south OKC.

The shop didn't open until noon, and it was only about 11:30, so I drove around a bit. Stopped into a Dollar Tree store, and picked up a biography of Abbie Hoffman by his brother Jack (Run, Run, Run). Paid cash - one dollar bill.

The bookshop is the only place I know of that sells bootleg CDs. I bought a bootleg of the demos for Dylan's Blood on the Tracks. I'm pleased to say the sound quality is mostly better than I expected.

The shop also sells new and used books. In observance of poetry month I picked up Twenty Love Songs by Pablo Neruda (the middling Merwin translation). Also got Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men and Zen and the Beat Way by Alan Watts. Wrote a check for that purchase.

Went home and had a late lunch. Then drove to the north side of the city, to go to a garage sale. I was either at the wrong place, or they had closed down.

Drove out to the park and took a little over 20 photographs.

Went home, downloaded the pictures on my computer. Spent some time in the RLP chatroom.

Then I went to the OK Museum of Art movie theater to see Neil Young: Heart of Gold. Which I highly recommend, by the way. I was only yawning because the day was finally catching up with me.

Ran into a couple from church at the movie, and they invited me to join them. Another couple was also with them. The foursome invited me to join them for dinner, which I did.

We went to a restaurant called Cheever's, which is a converted floral shop. The food is excellent, with generous portions and reasonable prices. The service was slow, but I assume it was in the "European style" of many up-scale restaurants.

By the time we finished dinner, it was 10:00 and I was running on my last drop of adrenaline. Went home. Became one with the bed.

Monday, April 10, 2006

Lenten Discipline

Almost 40 days ago, a friend asked me what I was giving up for Lent, and I replied "Plastic". She never asked me what I meant by that. Perhaps she understood that I meant credit cards.

I have used my credit card once since Ash Wednesday - to buy gas. Since then, I have observed the discipline of paying for gas with cash. Since gas is closing in on $3 a gallon, this has sometimes been a challenging discipline. Somehow it hurts more to pay that much with cash.

Which explains why I needed to set the credit card aside. I seem to forget - in the moment of consumer infatuation - that I will have to pay for it one day.

This no credit card discipline has also led me to avoid places where I might be tempted to use one. Such as book stores, music outlets, and Target. It has also greatly reduced my on-line shopping.

The disciplines we adopt for Lent are not necessarily always this utilitarian. For example, the past few years, my Lenten discipline has been to reduce (or totally curtail) my time watching commercial TV.

The point is not whether our disciplines are utilitarian, or whether we "suffer" as we observe the discipline. I think the point is to observe the discipline. To get in the practice of starting something challenging, and seeing it through to the end.

Music or writing might be good analogies. As a writer, I am relatively undisciplined. My first or second draft is generally good enough to get my point across. Once I feel like an essay or poem is "done", I don't generally have the interest to go back and proof-read it, or hone it. It's done. I'm ready to move on to the next thing.

I don't generally write outlines before I start my essay. In the case of at least two essays I wrote for the Ordinary Time collection, I started off thinking I was writing about one thing, only to end up someplace else entirely. Thing is, I didn't always go back and change the beginning to reflect the new place I ended. I convinced myself that the reader might appreciate reading my thoughts as they developed.

Talk about hubris, right?

I've been told I'm a good writer. I have a number of fans (at least three known to me personally). Imagine how much better I would be if I wrote outlines, proof-read, and honed. Heck, I might become professional quality!

Here's another example. I have played a harmonica since I was a pre-teen. I bought my first Horner Marine Band (with Beatles' song/instruction book) in a pawn shop on NW 23rd Street. I learned the scale, I learned the tunes, I taught myself to play a number of things by ear.

Now, almost forty years later, I can play with just about any tune as long as I know the key and have the appropriate harp for that key. I know where the "home" note will be (the fourth hole), and instinctively find my way around from there.

The word "discipline", as you may know, comes from the root, "disciple" - which means "student". But this is a different sort of student than you find in the normal classroom. This student patterns her/his behavior on the teacher's. The obvious example is Jesus' disciples. He called upon them (and us) to pattern our lives and actions on his example.

Jesus' model is radically different than what the World teaches. Sometimes it's even different than what our Sunday School teacher might tell us. That's why it takes extreme discipline - because we are told by a vast number of other sources that we should be doing just the opposite.

Our Lent discipline may be just a sort of practice for the sort of discipline we are called to observe year round. Consider that. You're called to do more than just "give up" chocolate for forty days. You are called to daily strive to conform your life to the example Jesus modeled.

Sunday, April 09, 2006

Sample Prayer

Part of our assignment for the meditations we're writing for the Ordinary Time book is to close each one with a prayer. As much as I enjoy creating prayers (often extemp), this has sometimes been challenging. The following is a prayer I wrote at the end of my entry on Heb 4:12-16; in the course of my essay, I reminded myself of the Lord's Prayer and was inspired to write a variation on it.
Daddy, your Name is Holy. May I see your presence in all your creation. May I always recognize your grace in each grain of wheat. May I remember your mercy when I am hurt by others. May your Love become dominant throughout the world. This I ask in Your Blessed Name. Amen.
Post #1500

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Egg Rolling

If the church down the street can have an egg hunt a week early, surely the lady is allowed roll her egg. It was a gift from her Aunt Cherie (a kind-hearted co-worker).

Idée d’jour

If Tyranny and Oppression come to this land, it will be in the guise of fighting a foreign enemy.
— James Madison, fourth US president (1751-1836)

Friday, April 07, 2006

The Moral Christian

From the archive, a didactic poem written in 1980
Face of Death
The Moral Christian cries, "I know it All,"
& there his Soul takes her Fall.
For when Jesus comes with compass wide
& measures him by his own Moral's pride,
Then he shall utterly be lost
& on pride's torment be tossed.

Why were Adam & Eve from Eden cast?
Have we learn'd naught from the past?
T'was not from Knowledge, but from its desire
That the Angel was sent with sword of fire.

Jesus died for our sins, not our mind;
Yet today I oft-times find
Those who crucify their mind for His sake
& of Moral Commandments partake.

Say as you please, these
Are like the Pharisees:
Cruel Lawyers who chose
To have their faith in neat rows
Of firm commandments, unchanging Laws
Which was not our Redeemer's cause.
God's Love they would enumerate,
& with a compass draw its boundary,
& thus they seal their fate
As they pass judgment on me.

Does not God's Love speak to each Heart
In its own tongue? Are we not all part
Of the Holy Ghost, who lives in every soul
That we may be alive & whole?
Episc Ad
The true Saints are those
Who heed their Holy Ghost
As He reveals that Love
Proper for each moment. Love
Is not fix'd as is Moral Law —
Love is superior by far.
Love changes with each changing face
& so spreads, to save our race.

You may call it Sympathy,
But that is not the word for me:
"God is Love," I sang as a child
& only now is its meaning reveal'd.
This is the Revolution I seek most:
When each Heart & Soul heeds its Holy Ghost

14. December. 1980

Written after reading D.H. Lawrence's Studies in Classic American Literature, and influenced by Wm Blake. The nineteenth line is from an Episcopalian ad. The rest is me.

Cat Friday

Pleased kitty

What's Been Going On

So, there I was on Monday, with a little down time before lunch. I decided to pop in to the RLP chatroom for a few minutes, just to see what was up. I was pleased to note that Reverend Mommy was there. This was a rare treat. "Mom," as I call her, has been quite busy the past couple of weeks, and hasn't been in the chat room very often — at least, not when I happened to pop in.

However, once I was fully in the chat, I noticed there was a "BRB" by her name. This meant "Be Right Back", and implied she was not physically near her computer.

Imagine my surprise when the IM window popped up, and the person addressing me was Rev. Mommy. "Dearest Jonah" she typed.

"Uh-oh," said I.

As you may be aware, one of the things Rev. Mommy has been busy with is the compilation and editing of a book of meditations intended for "Ordinary Time" — that long green season between the feast of Pentecost and the beginning of Advent. I had initially volunteered to write two meditations.

Later, I met another one of the writers (again, in the chat) who didn't think s/he could complete two of his/her meditations. So, I volunteered to write those. If you have a long memory, you may recall I volunteered to do this just as I was trying to post my 1500th entry by my blogoversary.

Seems the book is still a few essays short. The esteemed Rev. Mommy asked me to take on 3 – 4 more. "I don't mind if you write on something other than the assigned reading," she typed, "I feel the need to get those dates filled."

So: most of my time this week (between sparse work projects) has been devoted to writing essays for the book. I wrote on Psalm 22 ("My God, my God, why have you forsaken me"). I re-wrote my essay on Psalm 23. I wrote about Heb. 4:12-16. I wrote an lengthy essay on Mark 10:17-31.

I'm in the process of adapting my thoughts about the book of Jonah for yet another entry.

So, if things have seemed a little sparse around here lately — now you know the reason why.

However, be assured that Cat Friday will continue as scheduled. The lady's pose will be posted later this morning.

Idée d’jour

We are all apprentices of the Buddha.
— Alexi Shotwell, "The Not-Me Generation," book review, Shambhala Sun, March 2006, 87

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Quote d’jour

Can we dare to be ridiculously confident that good things reach good people in good ways, although those ways cannot be wholly charted and documented?

Those who are responsible for creative offerings have serious responsibilities — the greatest among them being to offer works of art, performances, or shared experiences that reflect, insofar as possible, the highest and best we know...

— Roger Lipsey, "Art Is a Record of the Heart", book review, Shambhala Sun, March 2006, p. 81

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Review: The Da Vinci Code

A recent satire reminded me of my low opinion of Dan Brown's novel The Da Vinci Code.

The book has received a considerable amount of free publicity this past year. At least one broadcast network (ABC) has aired a "news special" examining claims made in the book. It seems to have inspired a cottage industry of sorts, with a number of books claiming to either "crack the code", or debunk its theories. Of course, there's a movie version coming out this summer. And there is a copyright infringement case in Great Britain.

All of these events have given the novel a considerable amount of free publicity, and I hesitate to add to the list. However, if I save you the expense of purchase, I have served a valuable purpose.

The novel is part of a literary sub-genre that I have been aware of since about the 80s. This genre might be considered a variant of historical romance, in which the reader may learn some history while enjoying a fiction of flirtation, pursuit, and marriage. One example of this sub-genre is the Tony Hillerman novels, in which anthropological and historical information about Native Americans in the Four Corners region is conveyed within the context of a mystery novel.

There are a number of mystery series which fit into this sub-genre. The Rabbi Small mysteries conveys information about Jewish lore and beliefs. William Kienzle's mysteries include explanations (and opinions on) Roman Catholic beliefs. Andrew Greeley's Father Blackie mysteries serve as his means to explicate Greeley's theology.

The Da Vinci Code shares the most with Fr. Greeley's work, as Mr. Brown promotes a certain theological view through the course of what is intended as a suspense novel.

In the unlikely event that you have been asleep for the past year and a half, and have been unaware of the novel's theological premise, here it is: Jesus secretly married Mary Magdalene, and their union produced a daughter. Naturally, this information calls into question Jesus' divinity, and the Roman Catholoic Church's position on women in the ministry.

This is far from a new theory. That copyright lawsuit I mentioned above was brought by the authors of Holy Blood, Holy Grail, a book which asserts the same claim, and which was promoted as non-fiction. Gossip concerning Jesus and Mary Magdalene dates as early as the early Christian Church, if not even earlier.

Still, judging from the low-level controversy brewing around the book, it's a new theory to many people. And if the book delivers this theory in a pleasing way, what harm is there?

Honestly, I can find no harm, except for my opinion that the book fails as a novel. One of the major flaws is the manner in which the author delivers his theory: extended dialogues between characters. The action grinds to a halt about every-other chapter for these dialogues.

Another flaw is character development and consistency. I'm thinking in particular of the female lead, and this flaw is striking given the pro-feminist slant of the novel.

When we first meet the female lead, she is assertive and directs much of the action. About half-way through the novel, however, I became aware that she had ceased taking the lead. After this point, her primary function seemed to be as an audience for the men while they lectured on Da Vinci, Opus Dei, and so on.

So, check the book out of the library if you must satisfy some lingering curiousity about it. But don't bother increasing Mr. Brown's bank account by purchasing it.

Idée d’jour

Experience makes us see an enormous difference between piety and goodness.
— Blaise Pascal, philosopher and mathematician (1623-1662)
The image on your left was taken yesterday morning. The arch and clock tower are at the east end of a walkway that roughly defines the middle of the campus where I work. One of the perks of this job is the fact that this walkway is immediately outside my fourth-floor window.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Someone Else's Dream

White contrail unzips blue morning;
Grackles guard yellowed suburban lawns.

Black rubber spins on speckled asphalt
and shadows spin counter-clockwise.

Redbuds exploded under midnight Worm Moon.
Bradford Pears dust the street with snow.

Landmarks in someone else's dream.

Friday, March 31, 2006

Friday Five: As dad used to say

Songbird's assignment this week is to "Name five things you used to hear your mother or father (or even a grandparent) say, especially things you might be surprised to hear coming out of your own mouth." What immediately comes to mind are tones of voice, or world views. With that in mind, here's my list:
  1. Direct quote from Padre: "It's like my dad always used to say – 'If it doesn't work the first time, get a bigger hammer'."
  2. I remember mom as having a problem with her temper and being insecure. I recognize that I have similar problems.
  3. Very rarely, I'll hear a hint of mom's vocal tone when I say something — especially something judgmental.
  4. Now and again, when I'm singing, I'll hear an echo of Padre's voice in my own. I consider this a great gift.
  5. Padre was a man of reason. He could become frustrated with those who did not act in a reasonable manner. More so with political figures than with his sons. I also tend to "live in my head", and struggle with accepting reality as it is rather than wanting reality to match my concept of "reason".

Cat Friday

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Writer's Block

It's been a slow week for postings at "LDW", as my new cyber-friend, Will Smama, has posted out. I'm not even sure the cute thing about Kermit (immediately below) counts as an entry.

No doubt I would have counted it as an entry when I was trying to reach 1800 by my third anniversary.

Dr. Omed once told me a story about F. Scott Fitzgerald. It seems that he was having writer's block. His editor suggested that he write about why he couldn't write. One of his better short stories was the result — I believe it was titled "The Big Break Up" or something seriously, and was a fictionalized account of Zelda's emotional breakdown.

I've been feeling physically low the past two weeks. I'm sleepy an hour earlier than normal. I find it difficult to get out of bed in the morning. So, that's one possibility — and probably the most likely.

This begs the question of why I've been feeling physically low. The cause could be physical or psychological, right? I'd want to sleep more than normal if I were depressed, right?

The thing is, aside from the funky sleep cycle, I don't feel depressed. Sure, my job is a drag. And sometimes I feel lonely for romance. But that's been on-going for a while, and I regularly remind myself that it's very likely a temporary situation.

Maybe it's physical. Oklahoma weather has been pretty wild the past two weeks. A week ago I was able to post pictures of March snow. Today, the sky is filled with threatening dark clouds, and severe thunderstorms are predicted for this afternoon. There have been times I have seemed sensitive to barometric pressure — although I'll admit I have not scientifically tracked the phenomenon.

Plus, it's spring, which means an increase in certain pollens. I seem to be allergic to something that blooms around this time of year, so that is also a likely suspect.

There's one more detail that leads me to suspect a physical cause for these doldrums, a symptom which occurred just this morning.

Vertigo.

Right after I used the rest room, things seemed to be spinning. I proceeded with my daily routine — start water boiling for tea, turn on tap for shower (it takes a moment for the water to warm), pull covers up on the bed. When I got into the shower, the spinning sensation got even worse, especially when I lowered my head to rinse my hair.

By the time I was done with my shower, the spinning was making me nauseous. I set a record for drying myself off and rushed back to bed. The spinning continued even while I was on my back.

Then, I remembered my bad-old drinking days. Occasionally, my hangovers would include vertigo. My memory was the vertigo would stop if I "lay in the direction of the spin" (to paraphrase driver safety). In other words, if the spin seemed to be clockwise, I lay on my right; if counter-clockwise, I lay on my left.

The spinning this morning seemed to be clockwise, so I lay on my right side. And sure enough, the spinning stopped. I had understandably panicked in the shower, so I consciously slowed down my breathing, in case blood pressure was an issue.

I'm still aware of a slight spinning sensation even as I type this, but it had decreased enough that I felt safe to drive to work.

Once I got to work, I visited with a co-worker who has suffered from chronic vertigo (doctors believe hers is connected with an issue in the middle ear). She suggested my vertigo may have been caused by low blood pressure, or by congestion.

I've just recently been taking an antihystamine to prevent allergy symptoms, so would substantiate the "congestion" hypothesis.

Thanks for listening as I worked all this out. And — whaddya know — the technique of writing about why I can't write works!

Monday, March 27, 2006

Which Muppet Am I?

You Are Kermit

Hi, ho! Lovable and friendly, you get along well with everyone you know.
You're a big thinker, and sometimes you over think life's problems.
Don't worry - everyone know's it's not easy being green.
Just remember, time's fun when you're having flies!

Friday, March 24, 2006

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Happy Blogiversary

Three years ago today, I posted my first entry on this blog. I had been sending occasional essays to a select group of friends and acquaintances for some time prior to March '03, and began to think something like a blog would be more efficient. Plus, it had the potential of reaching a wider audience.

As I've mentioned before, the title of this blog was inspired by the Talking Heads song, "Life During Wartime", from their album Fear of Music. I probably free-associated to that song title because the United States had officially invaded Iraq a few days earlier, and I was dating Elsie.

The subtitle of this blog, "Chevaux de Bataille and Random Quotidian Thoughts," was inspired in two ways. "Chevaux de bataille" had been a featured word in the Word-a-day e-mail list; it roughly translates as "hobby horse". Since I was primarily ranting against the B*sh administration and its policies at the time, it seemed appropriate to acknowledge I was riding a particlar hobby horse.

But I was also, in one way or another, observing my everyday life, with occasional reports or photographs shared from things Elsie and I had done together. This was a record of ordinary dailyness, of the "quotidian".

Since then, I have focused on primarily three "hobby horses" — religion, politics, and poetry (not nesessarily in that order).

This past year, I joined the RevGalBlogPals webring, and have noticed a marked increase in my hit-rate.

In preparation for this anniversary, I have been reviewing my entries for the past year. Surprisingly, I still like much of what I wrote.

Those of you with memories that stretch back at least a month may recall that I set myself the goal of posting entry number 1500 today. Since this is entry 1480, I have fallen short of that goal.

I predicatably got a case of writer's block almost as soon as I set myself that goal. And though I threatened to "pad" with more photographs or with recycled journal material, I couldn't bring myself to do it. The closest I came to padding was with "The Story of the Lost Son," which I had originally written in June 1980; and the five-part poem I posted last Friday (I posted each part as a separate entry).

I am slightly disappointed that I fell ~20 entries short of my goal. Yet, I am glad I tried.

Post No. 1479

The snow is spread upon the ground –
what must the roses think?
The sky is a silvered photo
and the wheat still needs a drink.

It seems modern life is defined by a series of squares. Computer screens are rounded squares. TV screens are squares. Many of us work in cubicles, defined by file cabinets and shelves and other detritus.

With some notable exceptions (the vaulted arch, the geodesic dome), our living spaces are defined by squares, rectangles, and straight lines.

Movie screens may be modeled on the Golden Rectangle, which I suspect is inspired by the average field of vision. But doesn't it seem as though our field of vision should be round? Our eyes are round, our eye sockets are (roughly) oval — as are our heads.

The human body has more circles and curves than straight lines. The natural world is full of curves. Is there a tree that produces a branch that is perfectly straight, whose sky-ward progress would satisfy a plumb-line?

What sort of dissonance does it create when we force ourselves into these squares? We know the consequences of forcing a square peg into a round hole, but what happens with the reverse?

Pretty Spring Morning

Facing east:

Facing west:

Post #1478

Idée d'jour

A great many people think they are thinking when they are merely rearranging their prejudices.
— William James
Post #1477

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Current Events

Apparantly, the "liberal blogosphere" is still rumbling about Sen. Feingold's attempt to censure the president for his illegal NSA snooping program. As a nominal member of that tribe, I feel a certain responsibility to weigh in — but doesn't that issue seem so last week?

First off, I suspect even Sen. Feingold recognized how quixotic his motion was. Granted, an increasing number of Republicans are trying to distance themselves from the president; but none are going to go on the record as censuring the de facto leader of their party. And since Republicans are still in the majority, there's no way a censure measure could have passed.

With this bit of political theater, Sen. Feingold has positioned himself as being in the brave, and liberal, wing of the Democratic party. Whether his bravery will translate into votes remains to be seen.

As for the snooping, there's no question in my mind that it was illegal. Further, given the nature of the FISA statute, I wonder why the administration felt it was necessary. The existing FISA statute makes it possible to wire-tap someone for 48 hours without a warrant.

In other words, NSA could start wiretapping my phone right now, sans warrant, and wait 48 hours to obtain a warrant. Additionally, the FISA court has never yet denied one of these post-facto warrants.

Part of the argument is the administration couldn't afford to wait to wire-tap various folk. But FISA doesn't make them wait. The government can wiretap anyone at anytime and ask for forgiveness 48 hours after the fact.

This snooping is just the latest example of Presidential over-reaching in the B*sh administration. So far as the Prez is concerned, if he says so, it must be true. If he says he has the power to do something, he must have that power.

The folks at Talking Points Cafe have been debating whether B*sh is the worst president ever. I've recently been wondering whether Georgie Porgie is more like LBJ or Nixon.

It's become fairly commonplace to compare Iraq with VietNam. And, with GWB's faux-Texas accent, he could occasionally sound a little like LBJ. In fact, I heard a GWB soundbite on Saturday wherein his voice did sound eerily like Johnson's, and he was making an argument for staying in Iraq which sounded extremely similar to LBJ's reasoning for staying in VietNam.

While VietNam is significant black mark on Johnson's presidency, the Civil Rights Act almost outweighs it. His administration achieved other accomplishments which make it more effective — and less destructive overall — than the current regime.

The administration's love of secrecy is closer to Nixon's, though. Many refer to the current regime as an "imperial presidency", because B*sh seems to think his "political currency" gives him imperial powers. Many also perceived Nixon's term as "imperial", because of his love of pomp and his perception of the reach of executive power (and priviledge).

Perhaps B*sh is just the worst of Johnson and Nixon combined, with none of the redeeming qualities of either.

Post #1476

Monday, March 20, 2006

Idée d'jour

I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can't see from the center.
— Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., writer (1922- )
Post #1475

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Something Rare

I did something yesterday I haven't done in quite a while.
You cleaned the bathroom?
Well, yes I did that, but this is even more exciting.

I turned on the windshield wipers. Not on intermittent, either. It started as a fine mist, but by the time I left Borders, it was a full-fledged rain. I didn't have my umbrella or rain suit, and I didn't care. Blessed, blessed rain.

You've probably heard about the fires in Oklahoma - which inspired the five-part poem below. Not only has a significant amount of farm land been affected, the flames have touched urban areas as well. Just a few miles south and east of here, for example, a neighborhood was burned.

I don't know if it was enough rain. As I understand it, the primary crop around here is wheat - and the rain has come a bit too late to help the wheat. So, many farmers will be planting something else. I heard the report as I was rushing out the door, so I'm fuzzy on the details.

But "mysterious wet stuff" came from the sky all day long. So the ground in my tiny part of the world got a good soak.

The Peace Walk is later today, to mark the 3rd anniversary of the U.S. invasion of Iraq. I will be there, singing at least one song, and possibly playing mouth harp as Mary Reynolds sings other songs. I will walk, with many others, around the OKC Bombing Memorial. People will have ponchos and rain suits and umberellas. The wetness will make it feel a little cooler. But we will walk.

Nothing can stop as we walk toward peace and justice.

Not even the blessed, blessed rain.
Post # 1474

Saturday, March 18, 2006

Shuffle Game

Via Beth
Instructions: Go to your music player of choice and put it on shuffle. Say the following questions aloud, and press play. Use the song title as the answer to the question. NO CHEATING.

How does the world see you?
Ship in the Sky (Woody Guthrie)

Will I have a happy life?
My Warfare Will Soon Be Over (Ginny Hawker)

What do my friends really think of me?
The Briar & The Rose (Holly Cole)

Do people secretly lust after me?
Tea for the Tillerman (Cat Stevens)

How can I make myself happy?
Jesus Christ (Woody Guthrie)

What should I do with my life?
Biggest Thing Man Has Ever Done (Woody Guthrie)

Will I ever have children?
Accussi Va La Barca Al Mari

What is some good advice for me?
Etude in C Min (Chopin, performed by Horowitz)

How will I be remembered?
Brownsville Girl (Bob Dylan)

What is my signature dancing song?
Amazing Grace (as recorded by Dave Grisman & Jerry Garcia)

What do I think my current theme song is?
Child's Play (Edgar Meyer)

What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
The Wanderer (U2 / Johnny Cash, from Zooropa)

What song will play at my funeral?
When I Grow Up (John McCutcheon)

What type of men/women do you like?
So Long, It's Been Good to Know Ya

What is my day going to be like?
Why, Oh Why (Woody Guthrie)
Pam and Alexandria sometimes check up on me through this page. I can't wait to hear what they think of these random responses!

Post #1473

The 23rd Psalm

(Arr. by Bobby McFerrin; ©1989 ProbNoblem Music/BMI)

The Lord is my Shepard, I have all I need,
She makes me lie down in green meadows,
Beside the still waters, She will lead.

She restores my soul, She rights my wrongs,
She leads me in a path of good things,
And fills my heart with songs.

Even though I walk, through a dark and dreary land,
There is nothing that can shake me,
She has said She won't forsake me,
I'm in her hand.

She sets a table before me, in the presence of my foes,
She anoints my head with oil,
And my cup overflows.

Surely, surely goodness and kindness will follow me,
All the days of my life,
And I will live in her house,
Forever, forever and ever.

Glory be to our Mother, and Daughter,
And to the Holy of Holies,
As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be,
World, without end. Amen
When you say "Psalm", this is the one most people will think of. You're likely to hear it in depictions of funerals in movies and on tv. Granted, you're much more likely to hear the King James' Version than this one. But you get the point.

The Psalms have survived a number of different translations, and variations. Some translations are better than others; some seem dead (e.g., the Revised English Bible). But the music of the psalms still shines through even the flattest translation.

McFerrin's version of the 23rd Psalm, included on his album Medicine Music, is very nice. Musically, he works with a relatively limited scale, similar to plain song or chant. The power of the song, musically, is in the harmonies realized within that limited scale.

Poetically, it's a nice variation of the original. Since McFerrin dedicates the piece to his mother, it makes since to use the feminine pronoun when referring to the divinity. Since I believe the Godhead either transcends gender, or incorporates both genders, I don't mind the use of the pronoun.

There is one striking difference between McFerrin's version and the original - his is in third person throughout. If you read the original, you'll notice the pronoun changes from "he" in the first three lines to "you" from the fourth line to the end.

There is another subtle shift in the poem, which we might miss. In the first four lines, the speaker is (by inference) a sheep. If the Lord is the speaker's shepherd, then the speaker is a metaphorical sheep. Then comes the fifth line "You annoint my head with oil". A sheep's head is not normally annointed with oil - this is an action performed for kings (e.g., David).

The dominant structure of the psalms is chiastic. That is, the first half of a line makes a statement, and the second half repeats it in a different way. It's as though you were shouting the line across a chasm, and the echo had a mind of its own. For example, the second line of Psalm 24: "For [the Lord] hath founded [the earth] upon the seas / and established it upon the floods." (KJV)

The "echoes" in the 23rd Psalm are more subtle than normal. For example, "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; / he leadeth me beside the still waters" is an echo of theme rather than of meaning.

I've begun to suspect that a similar chiasm exists within certain psalms as a whole. That the second half of a psalm is intended to comment on the first half. In this instance, verses 5 and 6 are a reflection, if you will, of verses 3 and 4 (with verse 1 being an introduction). Obviously, it's not an exact reflection. The juxtaposition of "king" and "sheep" forces the reader to compare and contrast the ideas. How might a king be like a sheep?

The psalm implies, through this juxtaposition, that even a king relies on God as a sheep depends for its survival on the shepherd. Even the king, who is narrating this psalm, accepts a position of vulnerability.

As Dylan sings, "Even the President of the United States must sometimes stand naked."
Post #1472

Friday, March 17, 2006

I.

Fire on the east
Houses melt like wax
Jackals circle

Post #1471

II.

Storms to the north
Cleanse the forgotten heart
Ravens sit in judgement

III.

Drought on the west
Astmatic air gasps
Vultures study philosophy

IV

And in the secret north
The blinded king speaks false
The castle door is hollow

V.

We draw our maps
on torn paper sacks
and forget mother dust

Friday Five: Spring Break

As suggested by Songbird.

The challenge is to list five places I have been to on spring break, or vacation. The problem is, I'm such a workaholic that I don't normally go on vacation unless it's goal-oriented. In other words, I'll take off a couple of days to attend a conference, or a week to attend a music festival, but I rarely take off "just because." Mental health days are far and few between.

Two childhood trips stand out, although the details are sketchy. Sometime after Padre remarried, the three of us went on a trip west. We visited Carlsbad Caverns, and the near-by desert. Both made an impression on me, especially the fact that my sweat evaporated before I could feel it form.

The second childhood trip was earlier, probably dating prior to my parents' divorce. Which means I was under six years old. My maternal grandmother and I rode the train to a farm owned by some friends of her. I primarily remember the smell of the livestock, and the appearance of the cotton.

The closest experience I had to one of those "Spring Break" movies was the summer I spent in Princeton, NJ. I lived in a two bedroom apartment with three other guys. The apartment was upstairs from a hoagie shop, right on Princeton's main street. I dated a high school senior for most of that time, until my drug use (alcohol and speed) became more than she cared to deal with.

I've visited Denver, Colorado, three times. The first was as part of a wedding party (groomsman), and was an over-night stay. I immediately fell in love with the architecture in that city. The next two times were 4-5 day stays, with the couple whose wedding I had attended. The wife served as my tour guide the second trip - we drove all over that quadrant of Colorado. The following trip I was my own tour guide, and had a great deal of fun exploring the back streets and 'burbs.

Of course, my annual trip to the music festival in Winfield, KS, each September. About once every other year or so, I make the treck to west Texas to visit Brother Dave. I've spent long weekends in Seattle, WA and Springfield, MO. Then there's the two trips I've made to Kansas City, MO; I got lost both times.

Songbird offers a bonus question of where I might like to travel in the future. It may seem too easy an answer on St Paddy's Day, but I've always wanted to visit Ireland.

Post #1466

Cat's Eyes

DJs Eyes
As promised, a close-up of the lady's eyes. Yes, this is a detail from the previous picture. The nice thing about my new camera is the original image is so big, I can capture smaller details such as this without losing quality.
1465

Cat Friday (I)


Later today, we will see an extreme close-up of those lovely eyes. Stay tuned.
Post #1464

Idée d’jour

The writing of a poem is like a child throwing stones into a mineshaft. You compose first, then you listen for the reverberation.
— James Fenton, poet and professor (1949- )
Post #1463

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Jesus Is The Answer

The bumpersticker reads, "Jesus is the answer." I pass the car in the parking lot, en route to my own car, at day's end. The car is a four-door sedan, a pinch smaller than a land whale. I'd guess it dates from the late 80s or early 90s. The car isn't in bad shape, but the paint no longer has a new sheen. There's a fair accumulation of stuff inside the car, a bit more than my car – which often serves as a traveling briefcase.

I want to ask the driver, if Jesus is the answer, what's the question? It's like a perverse Jeopardy question.

I can imagine that person would respond that Jesus is the answer for all life's problems.

Which immediately reminds me of a portion of Kurt Vonnegut's novel, Breakfast of Champions. The narrator is talking about his mother, who committed suicide by drinking bleach. He notes that this precedent makes suicide seem like an elegant response to many hard questions; for example:

What is your great-grandmother's maiden name?
I think I'll kill myself

A train leaves the station, traveling north at a rate of 60 mph; a car is traveling west at 35 mph. When will the crash occur?
I think I'll kill myself

Why is a mouse when it spins?
I think I'll kill myself
Post #1462

Idée d’jour

A poet looks at the world as a man looks at a woman.
— Wallace Stevens, poet (1879-1955)
Post #1461

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

The Little Altar

Little AltarPicking up from my previous entry, this is an "altar" I made the first weekend of February at a "Nurturing Weekend" for "Sunday School" teachers. The base is a glazed ceramic dish — similar to the base for a potted plant. The stones are intended to represent major life events.

Slightly below center is a clear stone, which represents my birth. To the right of it, at about the two o'clock position, is a red stone — representing the years immediately following W–'s attempted suicide. Continuing counter-clockwise, there is a large black stone which represents dark times in my life - especially times I have been tempted by suicide.

At the nine o'clock position is a blue stone, representing the hope of a blue sky. Just below it is a white stone, which symbolizes the presence of the Holy Spirit (or generic divine, if you prefer) in my life.

The final elements in this little altar are the shell (nearest five o'clock) and the dirt everything rests upon. The conference took place at St. Crispin's Camp, a place I have mentioned several times the past few days (and weeks). I found the shell on the camp grounds, and used it to dig dirt from the river bank.

My first experience at St. Crispin's, when I attended the camp as a teenager, was not entirely positive. Believe or not, even kids at a church camp can have a herd mentality programmed to attack a weak member. For some reason, I was chosen as the weak member that week.

However, I have been at St. Crispin's several times since then, and new memories are supplanting and superseding the old.

If you compare this picture with the image in the previous entry, you might notice one subtle addition: another shell. This shell represents St. James' church, which was a profound part of my return to the Christian tradition.

Post #1460

My Home-made Altar

Altar 1
  1. Mom and Apple Pie, or, Pandora's Ark ; a "Scissor Dance" by Dr. Omed
  2. Altar built in church camp, circa 1967
  3. Sacred Heart prayer card
  4. Anglican prayer beads, made in February of last year
  5. Christus Rex, purchased in late 1960s
  6. Angel
  7. Little Altar (more to follow)
  8. Fossil from Dr. Omed
  9. Small statue of St. Francis, also purchased in late 1960s
  10. Another fossil from Dr. Omed, which had been a part of his labyrinth. He gave it to me as a "seed" toward my own labyrinth.
  11. The program from Padre's funeral
Post #1459

Idée d’jour

Courage is not the absence of fear, it's the control of fear.
— Dickey Chapelle

Post #1458

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Infant Jesus of Prague

Over the past few days I have been sharing photographs I took in early February, when I attended an event at St. Crispins', a camp in southeast Oklahoma.
Infant Jesus of PragueThis most recent photograph reflects an indulgence I allowed myself on the way home from this conference.

I have driven east on I-40 several times, most often to visit Elsie. Almost every time, I have noted a weathered sign advertising the "Infant Jesus of Prague".

Prague (pronounced with a long "a"), Oklahoma, does have a kinship with the capital of the Czech republic (pronounced with a short "a"). As the linked article mentions, the town was founded by Czechs, and many in the town are of Czech descent. In fact, the town hosts a kolache festival every May.

Something about the sign – perhaps its somewhat beleagured condition – intrigued me, and I've always wanted to go to Prague to see what it was all about.

As it turns out, the closest north-south highway to Seminole is Highway 99, which also goes north to Prague. The map indicated that Prague was only 19 miles north of I-40, which did not seem like an extreme detour. So I decided to drive to Prague on my way home from St. Crispins'.

Happily, the "National Shrine to the Infant Jesus of Prague" was on the highway, which was also Prague's main street. The shrine is at St. Wenceslaus Catholic Church.

I suppose the statue (pictured above) is modeled on the statue described in this article. The article says the original statue has a bird in its right hand. The Oklahoma version of the statue is definitely holding something in its right hand — at first, I thought it was the cosmic egg. This close-up suggests that there might be a bird in there.

In any case, I gave the young king the proper homage, and am pleased to share him with you now.

Post #1457

Today's Disciples — Oklahoma Style

On March 3rd and 4th , Oklahoma's Department of Christian Formation sponsored an overnight conference titled "Today's Disciples in Today's World — Oklahoma Style." This conference is the third of its kind, patterned on a conference held in Kansas City, Missouri, in the spring of 2005.

These conferences model a new way to consider Christian adult formation. This model has several dimensions. First, it asserts that people are in a continual process of being "formed" as Christians, and confronts the misconception that our "education" ends shortly after confirmation. Second, it recognizes that many of our members are previously unchurched . Last, it recommends a dynamic program, with at least one class (or Learning Opportunity) for every 25 members — which would necessitate a break from the traditional norm of one adult class being led by a clergy person.

The conference began Friday evening with a Faith Sharing exercise patterned on the Quaker model. It continued Saturday morning with a presentation by Vycke M—, which introduced the participants to basic educational concepts, as they apply to Christian Formation. During the remainder of the day, participants had a number of sample "Learning Opportunities" to choose from. Individual small groups met three times during the day, so members could compare notes and discuss which of these Opportunities might work in their individual church communities.

The conference was attended by 37 people, representing churches from Tulsa, Oklahoma City, Durant, Muskogee, Norman, Shawnee, Ada, Bartlesville and Seminole.


Post #1456

Monday, March 13, 2006

More on "The Lost Son"

Luke 15:11-32

On Sunday, I posted a version of the parable of the prodigal son which I originally wrote a little over 20 years ago. I made some minor alterations as I typed it, but it is essentially unchanged from the original.

The post inspired a rather strongly worded comment from Dr. Omed, to whit:
In my experience, the prodigal son doesn't get a big welcome home party when he comes home. One must renounce one's prodigiousness, I imagine, to get the steak dinner. But the story of the prodigal son is one of the biggest pieces of Horsesh*t in the Bible — if he crawled on his knees his Dad might give him the job as a hired hand, and a chance to work his way up. And the faithful son would be his supervisor.
The evangelical atheist has a point. The story is not believable today, and I doubt that it was any more "reality based" when Jesus told it. My version has a fairly obvious "fairy tale" quality — "There once was a farmer" is certainly a variation of "Once upon a time."

Although the notion of fairy tale might have been foreign to Jesus' audience, they did know what a parable was. Parables were popular teaching device with prophets as far back as Elijah. They would not have expected verisimilitude in the same way we might.

You'll notice that, in my reworking of the story, I title it "The Lost Son" rather than "The Prodigal Son". The parable is one of a series in Luke 15 which have to do with lost items: first the Lost Sheep (a.k.a., "The Good Shepherd"), then the Lost Coin, then the Lost Son. This context suggests that the emphasis is on finding what has been lost, rather than the son's prodigality.

In fact, there is more than one prodigal in the parable. The son is prodigal is the sense of being "recklessly wasteful"; the father is prodigal in the sense of being extravagant, or profuse in giving. The first instance of the father's prodigality in the original story is the fact that he gives the son his share of the inheritance so willingly. I suspect this would have been contrary to the experience of any in Jesus' audience. At the very least, the father would have argued the point.

The father is then extravagant in welcoming the son home. The best of everything — the best clothes, the best food, a big party. This by itself defies all reason. And, as Dr. Omed points out, it's highly unlikely the father would have welcomed the son back as a full member of the family without some kind of test or means of proving himself.

We are often tempted to read parables allegorically; which is to say that each character in the story exactly represents something else. In this case, we might say the Lost Son represents the average sinner, the Older Brother represents the judgmental Pharisees, and the father represents God. I think this is an accurate, if incomplete, reading.

One of the draws of the parables is the fact that the roles may be fluid; in other words, we may find ourselves playing different roles at different times in our lives.

It must be admitted that most people seem to identify with the younger son in this story. I think part of this reflects the fairy-tale quality of the parable. Fairy tales always seem to favor the smallest, or the youngest, or the plainest. And, as participants in the tale, we are more likely to identify with Cinderella than the stepsiblings or stepmother.

Additionally, many people of my generation share the experience of turning their backs on organized religion for a time. Some of these may indeed perceive themselves as one who has strayed and been reclaimed. Others may have had times in their lives when they felt distant from God, for example during major life challenges (deaths, divorce, etc), and they now feel close to God again.

I just mentioned that we are unlikely to identify with the "villains" of a fairy tale — the stepsiblings, et al; we are equally unlikely to identify with the Older Brother in this parable. But it is a role many of us play, from time to time. We may want to set standards for inclusion in our denomination. We may expect newcomers to quickly adopt our beliefs and customs. We may feel resentful of a newcomer who is quickly entrusted with responsibilities.

We may feel reluctant to even broach the idea of identifying ourselves with the Father in the story. It might feel sacrilegious, if indeed the Father represents God. Elsewhere in the Gospels, Jesus tells the disciples to be perfect even as God is perfect (Mt 5:48). While this may seem an impossible goal, we are certainly called to strive to imitate God (or, to paraphrase Thomas a Kempis, Imitate Christ). So, it may be that we are to imitate the father in this parable. Rather than focusing on how we have strayed and returned, or on how others need to measure up to certain standards, perhaps we are meant to rejoice for those who join (and rejoin) us on the journey.

Post #1455

February Dawn


Another picture taken in early February, a few miles east of Seminole, OK.
Post #1454

Sunday, March 12, 2006

The Story of The Lost Son

[Rewritten from an old notebook; the entry is dated 29.June.1980]

Now, there once was a well-to-do Kansas farmer who lived with his two sons. He loved them both very much. One day, his youngest son came to him and said, "I want my share of the year's receipts." And the farmer gladly gave it to him, and it was no small sum.

The next day, the youngest son packed his belongings and ran away to New York City. He was in such a rush to get out of Kansas, he didn't even say goodbye. Now, he learned his money could buy him many things in New York City: booze, to make you silly; drugs, to make you crazy; and a woman's favors - if only for one night. But, as often happens in the Big Apple, his money quickly ran out. It wasn't long before he got himself in trouble with the law, and was sentenced to a year's hard labor on a Correction Farm in upstate New York.

One day, as he was slopping the hogs, he thought to himself that he'd gladly eat their leftovers. The meals on this farm left much to be desired. Then he remembered his father's farm, and how the hired help never went without. It was then that he came to his senses. "I will go to my father, and ask him to hire me as a farm hand. For I don't deserve to even be called his son."

So, when his sentence was up, he went back to Kansas. But as he came to his father's farm, his father saw him and recognized him. In his joy, the farmer ran to his son and hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. Then the son said, "Father, I have wronged you. Hire me as a hand, for I have no right to be called your son."

But the farmer called to his housekeeper and said, "Go get my clothes some clothes to wear." Then he called his hired hands together and said, "Slaughter the finest calf, and make merry, for my son who was as dead is alive, and returned to me." And all was done as he had asked.

Then his oldest son came to him, saying: "Dad, why do you carry on this way? My brother nearly broke your heart, and cared nothing for you as he spent time with whores and drunks. On the other hand, I have stayed with you, and helped on the farm, and have asked nothing. Yet, you never killed the finest calf for me, or threw me this kind of bash."

The father answered: "Why are you so jealous? You know I love you, and always will. It's a good thing that we celebrate this way. For my son - your brother, mind you — who once was as dead is living. He who had strayed from me, has returned."

Post #1453

Sign o'the Season


Post #1452

Saturday, March 11, 2006

Idée d’jour

It's hard to feel middle-aged, because how can you tell how long you are going to live?
— Mignon McLaughlin

Post #1451

February Sky


I took this picture in early February, at St. Crispin's just east of Seminole, OK. It's about 6:00 in the evening.

Post #1450

Somehow

Somehow, it seemed like a good idea to stay in bed this morning. Sure, I woke up at 5:30. But I went back to sleep. Sure, I listened when the alarm/cd player spun 30 minutes worth of Isle of View. But I went back to sleep. Sure, the cat was using my bladder as a launching pad as she ran to the east window-sill. Sure, I got up and used the rest room. Sure, I turned on the overhead light. Sure, I read my daily meditation, and caught up on yesterday's. Sure, I sat up in bed for a few minutes after I read those meditations. I went back to sleep anyway.

It's not that this past week was all that tiring or stressful. Pretty much the opposite, truth to tell. Only worked four days. Didn't have any deadlines during those four days, so I could take things slow. Heck, I fell asleep in front of the tv Thursday and Friday both. Wouldn't think I was sleep-deprived.

But, the week before was hard. Insomnia several nights in a row. No rest Friday night. Sleep-walking through Saturday.

Then there was the conflict with a friend and respected mentor on Tuesday. That was an emotional tsunami. We were equally at fault, and by Friday we had equally admitted our fault.

Maybe that was it. Maybe that's why the bed felt so good this morning. Maybe that's why I curled under the covers. Maybe that's why I drew my right arm over my eyes.

Maybe that's why I slept until 10:00 this morning.

Somehow, it seemed like a good idea.
Post #1449

Friday, March 10, 2006

Friday Five: Hair

As suggested by Songbird
  1. Do you like your hair?
    Yes, although I'm sad that my hair is thinning. One day, I fully expect to have a natural tonsure.

  2. Have you ever colored your hair? If not, would you consider it?
    I have never colored/dyed my hair or beard. I have chosen to allow my beard to go natually grey. No grecian formula for me!
       Padre asked me once if I died my beard, because my beard was dark and my hair is blonde. My beard just happened to come in dark!
       Now, the grey hairs in my beard out-number the dark hairs - so I appear to have a goatee or soul patch. There's a certain irony to this, because - when I first started trying to grow a beard (senior year of high school) - all that would come in was a goatee.

  3. What's the longest you've ever worn your hair? The shortest?
    From highschool graduation through the first few years of college, my hair was shoulder-length. Once I became a wage-slave, I adapted the traditional "business man's" cut - above the ears, and blocked in back.

  4. When and what was your worst. haircut. ever?
    I guess the worst haircut might have been when I let the young lady at the style shop talk me into a mullett. This was in college, and I was young & foolish.
        Worse than that might be the style I adopted a couple of years ago, when I decided to finger-comb my hair back. It took me a while to realize this looked less like a natural duck-tail than it did a bad comb-over.

  5. Tell us a favorite song or scene from a book or movie dealing with hair.
    The first thing that comes to mind is the title song from the musical Hair. As I recall, the scene in the movie was fun.
Post #1448

Cat Friday


Post #1447

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Of Time and Leaf

This is another image which was orginally posted at my temporary Typepad site. It is essentially a composite: the background is a building in Oklahoma City's Leadership Square, and the foreground is a leaf which had blown into my driveway last August.

Aside from compositing, I have not altered either image in any way. The building has mirrored windows, which are reflecting another building.

Post #1446

Typographics

There are a few poems in my back-catalogue which I consider "typographics". By which I mean, that at the time I wrote the poems I was very concerned with where the words fell on the page. These poems were originally printed in notebooks, then recorded using a Selectric typewriter.

It's a challenge to reproduce these poems on the web; the difference in pixels-per-inch from one computer screen to the next make it impossible to predict where the words will appear from reader's point of view. Aside from complex coding to cover all potential platforms, I can think of three potential solutions: Flash, image (or PDF), or accepting the limitations of HTML and cascading stylesheets. For the poems in my on-line chap-book, The Saturn Sequence, I have chosen the last solution — creating something on my personal screen that I find satisfying, and accepting the reality that it will not appear exactly the same on every other screen.

These typographic poems seem to fall into two categories. The first category cover instances where a word or phrase begins a new thought, but I want it to be "counted" as part of the preceding line. This is a technique I picked up from certain editions of Shakespeare's plays.

As you are probably aware, Shakespeare's plays are written in iambic pentameter [see Wikipedia entry]. Occasionally, one character's line will consist of one part of the line of pentameter, and another character will complete it. These editions of Shakespeare's plays make this clear by printing the lines thus:
One: Blah, blah, blah.
Two: Ah, but blah blah blah blah blah.


In "Farmer of the Night", an attempted sonnet, my motivation for word placement is the same:
Now I am autumn.
 And I was the sea.

Whether the two halves of this "line" combine to produce true iambic pentameter may be debatable, but there is no question that the second half introduces a new idea.

A free-verse poem in which I use this technique is "Never Thunders in Hades". Here, the word "watching" serves as one of several repetends, and seems to float back and forth across the page. The intention is that different subjects are "watching" throughout the poem — "when the night is full" in the first four lines; "for starry evenings" in the third paragraph (assuming the indention of the word "watching" defines the beginning of a new paragraph).

Two other poems use typography in a different way. Both "Poetry Tonight" and "The Green House" have blocks of words which appear in different areas of the page. These block of words are stanzas. The intent of the technique seems most obvious in "Poetry Tonight," where the stanzas are juxtaposed with black-and-white photographs, as if to suggest the stanzas are themselves a type of emotional photograph. In fact, the penultimate stanza reads, "Just faces in a crowd scene / Painted in gouache / By George Grosz."

"The Green House" is the most experimental of this set. Sentences are broken apart. One line is spread across the page/screen. The title appears at the bottom of the poem, rather than the top. One might reasonably charge that the typographic format is more self-conscious display than poetic device.

As in "Poetry Tonight," the stanzas are grouped by sense-unit. The scattering of these sense-units might reflect the fact that the history of the house in question is scattered and fragmentary.

The poetry I've written over the past two years has been more typographically traditional. I suspect this is primarily because I do most of my composing on screen, rather than on a page.

1445

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

An Eyelash of Time

I heard her story last night.

Her greatest concern, as a mother, was who would care for her children if she died. She has no doubt her husband had the same concern – who would care for their children if he died – but it is her story, and she can only speak for herself.

She had suffered a stroke. She was taken to the hospital, then to the ER. While on the operating table, she died.

She described that period between life, death, and return to life as "an eyelash of time."

She did not exactly see Jesus, but could sense his presence. She could feel Him through her whole body, through her whole being.

He did not speak, but she could hear him.

He said, "Wait. Do not be afraid."

In that moment, she was no longer worried about her children or her husband. She was content to remain in His presence.

He said, "Wait. Do not be afraid."

But she did not want to return to the world she had known. She did not want to return to her children or husband or house. She wanted to remain with Him, to know his pure love.

He said, "Wait. Do not be afraid."

She described that period between life, death, and return to life as "an eyelash of time."

Her experience of life has been brighter since then. In every step, she recognizes the echo of his voice: "Wait. Do not be afraid."

She told the story. I heard her tell the story.

It has been said that the most common phrase in the Bible is "Don't be afraid", that it appears 365 times. I don't know.

All I know is, I heard her story, and glimpsed an eyelash of time.
Post #1444

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Idée d’jour

You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.
— Anne Lamott, writer (1954- )

Post #1443

Weekend

The Christian Education conference this weekend, titled "Today's Disciples in Today's World – Oklahoma Style," was a success. I was not in best form, but (happily) the success of the conference did not depend on what form I was in.

I had been suffering insomnia for several nights, and was tired when I arrived at the conference. I think the insomnia was related to the conference in that I was excited about it, and had made several commitments related to it.

It's entirely possible that I over-committed. I don't always recognize my limits until I hit them.

I had committed to provide music for a Friday evening service, lead one of the classes, and write two articles about the conference. And, oh yeah, I was going to take photographs as well (this last did not happen).

That class was a special stressor, as I was supposed to introduce people to a book I did not see until two days before the conference.

My sleep deprivation was made even worse Friday night. My room was apparently near a malfunctioning air-handler. I was awakened at 2 a.m. by a grinding sound which seemed to go on forever. Then, even the normal sound of the system moving air seemed loud.

I was pretty much brain dead through most of the day. Unfortunately, this was the day I was supposed to give that class. I think I did OK, but I was definitely less than 100%.

At three o'clock, I was supposed to be part of a panel discussion. I was doing well to remember my name, much less what I was doing there or what I had hoped to accomplish.

Participant response was positive, both for my individual class and for the conference as a whole.

And I did get home in one piece.

Post #1442

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Quote d’jour

If you know how to practice mindful walking, then you enjoy walking in the pure land of Buddha in the here and now.... When I talk to Christians I say that the Kingdom of God is now or never. You are free, and then the kingdom is there for you. If you are not free, well, the kingdom does not exist, even in the future.
— Thich Nhat Hanh, Shambhala Sun, March 2006, 101

Post #1441