Station V: Simon Cyrene

Let the world be crucified
where the light is lost,
far from our eyes.
Let my fear be crucified.
Let my death be crucified.
Because my eyes cannot see
the invisible kingdom;
Because my lips have forgotten
the godsong heartbeat eternal hum;
Because I build my cross
as I walk my path
as I betray my forgotten heart
as I lose the sweet secret room
where godsong prays:
Can we turn back?
Where can we turn back?
Please, Daddy, can we turn back?
Where godsong prays
under starlight
after betrayal
after being abandoned.
Godsong prays for the crucified.
I pray for the crucified
for those about to die
for the dreams I salute.

I am not worthy to bear the beam
because I do not come from Crete;
because I am not Libyan;
because I am not Roman;
I am not worthy to bear the beam
I am not dust from the Ten Cities.
I am less than a chink in the wall
of a ruined temple.
I accept the virtuous beam
let it burn my shoulder
let it incense the secret room
in the forgotten chamber
of my stony heart.
I will bear the beam.
I will watch the sky rend its curtain.
I will hear the Temple cry.
Though I am not worthy
even to speak your name.

Stations

Beginning Monday, I have been posting a series of works inspired by the Stations of the Cross. This is a Roman Catholic tradition, which some other liturgical churches also observe.

I had this idea last year, of conflating the Stations of the Cross with news stories. The method has been similar to Wm S. Burroughs' "cut-up technique": in other words, I slice paragraphs from the newspaper, interpolate descriptions of the Via Dolorosa, paste it all together, and then create verse from the "mash up". I think two of these have been successful experiments.

The problem is, there are 14 stations, I've only gotten as far as the fourth, and today is Good Friday. I'm not sure I have it in me to write ten more sections in one day.

We'll see. Work has already begun on Station V: Cross Laid on Simon of Cyrene.

---

Added Holy Saturday morning. Plan now is observe last few Stations, then one last entry tomorrow.

Station IV: Mother

We regret to inform you
34 people were killed in Iraq
On Wednesday.

We regret to inform you
The sick grow sicker and the hungry starve.

We regret to inform you
Your son may be held
In an undisclosed location
For questioning.

We regret to inform you
You may not touch his wounds
You may not speak his name.
Every moment is an eternity.

We regret to inform you
Four British soldiers were killed
Thursday
In an ambush in southern Iraq.
Five U.S. troops died in Baghdad.
An Army helicopter went down
South of the capital.

Renewed fighting in Afganistan:
Five Taliban and two policemen dead.
We regret to inform you
Dozens more were wounded.

We regret to inform you
Our patience is not unlimited.

We regret to inform you
Matthew, 18, and Alan, 20,
May have been killed
By friendly fire.

Gunmen opened fire on a minibus.
We regret to inform you.
Six men died. West of
Baghdad, 22 shepherds were abducted.

At least 34 people were killed
Or found dead in Iraq
On Wednesday.
Blessed Mother.
We regret to inform you
Your child carries a rifle
In Darfur.

We regret to inform you
Holy Lady
Your child is ready to kill.

We regret to inform you
You may not wipe the blood
From this face.

Holy Lady. Your children persevere
In hate and death worship.
We regret our regret.

We regret our information.
We beseech your love.
We beseech freedom
From our deadly dreams.

We beseech, Holy Lady,
Blessed Mother.

Station III: We Fall

Poetry Month: Mad Farmer

A friend just recommended Wendell Berry's poem "Mad Farmer Liberation Front". You can read it here. Here's the first stanza:

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.

Station II: Bearing the Cross

We adore thee, O Christ,
because we find Olivia
sitting on a bench outside
holding a bloody cloth
over her face.
The beam is a secret joy you carry
because the world is not quite as warm
as when police arrested Jeremy
for first degree murder.
It is an instrument of redemption,
so avoid worrying over past bruises.
A heavy cross.
A suicide truck crashed into a Kurdish neighborhood.
Nick lost a black guitar in last week's tornado.
Jason, 24, of Amelia, VA, died Sunday.
O Christ, your Holy Cross
with which you redeem
a suicide truck bomber.
Amish children return to school,
they survived the shooting
that killed five classmates last fall.
They survived to forgive.
Your heavy cross was born
for a man convicted of killing
two teenage girls.
You carry your cross with meekness
for an Oklahoma marine
killed while serving in Iraq.
A black guitar.
Jason died from wounds suffered in the attack.
The heavy beam.
Your bruised shoulders.
O grant us, by your virtue,
to submit to suffering.
Grant us, by your suffering,
to submit to peace.

Poetry Month: Recommended Poems

In another venue, I have suggested we spend Poetry Month (April) listing some of our favorite poems.

The first poem I listed was T.S. Elliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," which I memorized for a high school talent show:

Let us go then, you and I
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table.

The next poem that comes to mind is Diane Wakoski's "I Have Not Learned to Live With My Face." It was originally in The Motorcycle Betrayal Poems and is now in the collection, Emerald Ice. A girl introduced our high school English class to Ms. Wakoski's work, and I've been a fan ever since.

Ms. Waksoski is grouped with the "deep image" poets. As you might imagine, the emphasis is on the image rather than sound, narrative, or lyrical quality. At the same time, her poems have a confessional quality, with an admixture of personal and universal myth. Examples include her George Washington and Beethoven poems. Her most recent series, The Archaeology of Movies and Books (I've read the first two collections in this four-part series), takes this to the next level - mixing her personal history with the myth of Jason and Medea in the first two books.

Also worthy of study is her epic work, Greed, which appears to be a work still in progress. Future generations may well consider it an epic for the 20th/21st Centuries.

Station I: Born to Die

Clayton was five when he died.
His sister was three
when the flames
took her breath.
They were condemned to die.
The house was found
engulfed in flames
at 2 p.m.
Kent J was nine
when the tractor trailer
condemned him to die.
Douglas locked his children
in the trunk.
He judged them ready.
He condemned them to die.
Sean and Jeffrey were on patrol,
responding to a domestic dispute
when an unknown person shot
and condemned them to die.
An unknown person
made an unborn child
an orphan.
Page 13A is filled with
names and ages.
Lives touched, loves passing.
Each born to die.
Each condemned to die
from the moment seed mixed with water.
Eva Sue, Ella Mae, Kenneth Paul.
Each born of woman.
Born with ashes
already hidden on each brow.

Idée d’jour

A monk asked Ummon: "What is it that surpasses the Buddhas, surpasses the patriarchs?"

Ummon replied: "Buns."
— Zen Mondo

---

Zen stories can have an element of the absurd that Samuel Beckett or Woody Allen would envy. One question this story raises is whether Ummon is referring to something you eat (like hot cross buns) or to the posterior.

What do you think?

Friday Five: Passiontide

This week's theme suggested by Reverend Mother.

1. Will this Sunday be Palms only, Passion only, or hyphenated?
   Hyphenated, which seems to be the norm amoung Oklahoma Episcopal churches. My reading of the Book of Common Prayer suggests it could be separate services, but my memory it's been one service since 197-mumble


2. Maundy Thursday Footwashing: Discuss.
   The last time I experienced this was at St. James' As has been noted, it's easier to wash someone else's feet than it is to have your feet washed. By the end of the day, when such services are normally held, my feet can be a little sweltery, and potentially stinky. Plus, the toenails on my right foot are yellowed. So, footwashing can be quite humbling. Since humility is one theme of Maundy Thursday, it seems appropriate. As a typical Caucasian middle-middle class American, I need an occasional lesson in humility.


3. Share a particularly meaningful Good Friday worship experience.
   One year, at St. James', I stayed through the entire vigil which begins Maundy Thursday. When I felt sleepy, I went to the choir loft and laid down. I also was on a liquid fast until sundown Good Friday. When awake, I was aware of my own breathing. I occasionally read prayers assigned for the vigil from the St. Augustine Prayerbook. There was no question in my mind I was striving to keep prayerful watch that year.
   
      Not a discipline I recommend. Nor one I plan to repeat in the near future.


4. Easter Sunrise Services--choose one:
   1. "Resurrection tradition par excellence!"
   2. "Eh. As long as it's sunrise with coffee, I can live with it."
   3. "[Yawn] Can't Jesus stay in the tomb just five more minutes, Mom?!?"
   
   I have only experienced one Sunrise Service. I was one of the people in our congregation who lobbied for it. I did need my coffee. At the time, it was just Mary and I; her kids were on their own by this point, so option "c" would not apply.
   
      There is an amusing story connected with that service. Holy Apostles was a de facto rural church — there was a large field to the north of it, and horse ranches to the south. The service began in pitch darkness, with the service of the new fire — lighting the Pascal Candle and relighting the sanctuary light. As it got light, we heard hissing from outside. Choir members were facing the north window, and — along with certain acolytes — were the first to see what was going on. Harriet muttered, "It's my husband; I'm going to kill him."
   
      The field to the north of our church was often used by a local ballooning club. That hissing we had heard was the gas filling the great multi-colored balloons. The acolytes were getting quite restive, as were some members of the congregation. Acolytes on the other side of the chancel were rubber-necking to see what was going on. The minister, however, absolutely refused to turn around.
   
      Just as the opening hymn began, one of the balloons rose up quite near the north window. The balloon had a picture of Pistol Pete, the mascot of a local college sports team.
   
      The opening hymn was "He is risen, he is risen."


5. Complete this sentence: It just isn't Easter without...
   Dinner at Gary's. Gary hosts an annual dinner for everyone at the Cathedral who wants to come. It's primarily, I think, for those who have no other plans or other places to go, but it seems like a tradition for everybody to attend this event. It's potluck, and the food is marvelous.
   
      Another tradition at Gary's dinner is the Easter Egg hunt. The older kids hide eggs for the younger ones. Seeing the little girls in their cute Easter dresses digging under bushes and peering in the crannies of walls and fences should be enough to open every old heart.

Bonus: Any Easter Vigil aficionados out there? Please share.
This is my tradition. And it often happens that I attend the Vigil and the service the next morning. This year, I'm scheduled to do something at that morning service, so I have no choice. Rather, I choose to attend both, because the Vigil is so meaningful to me.

   I've already spoken of the lighting of the New Fire. This can be quite awesome, if one puts his spiritual imagination to work. Plus, at the Cathedral, this is the time (as of old) when people are confirmed or renew their baptismal vows. There are times tears come to my eyes during this ceremony.

Idée d’jour

Tung-kuo Tzu asked Chuang-tzu: "What is the Way? Where is it?"

"It is everywhere," replied Chuang-tzu.

Tung-kuo Tzu said, "It will not do unless you are more specific."

"It is in the ant," said Chuang-tzu.

— Taoist Mondo

---

Jesus said, "I am the Way." Which may also be translated, "the path." Another understanding of the word "Torah" is also The Way; we commonly translate "Torah" as "Law", in reference to the "Five Books of Moses".

The meaning may not be precisely the same, but I suspect this commonality points to a common understanding of spirituality. I suggest this story may also answer our question, "What is God" or "Where is God".

Prayer d’jour

Dear God, sometimes I can hear You, but I can't understand your words.
Please help me understand so I may do well.
Just think of me as an angel in training.
— written by a resident of Covenant House, a shelter for runaway teens.

Idée d’jour

A society that gets rid of all its troublemakers goes downhill.
— Robert A. Heinlein, science-fiction author (1907-1988)

---

Best known for his novel Stranger in a Strange Land. Heinlein was a Libertarian; some of his contemporaries characterized him as a radical conservative (the people in question did not intend this as a complement).

Idée d’jour

Better to meet a she-bear robbed of its cubs than to confront a fool immersed in folly.
— Proverbs

Idée d’jour

If you have no feelings about worldly things, they are all Buddhism. If you have feelings about Buddhism, it is a worldly thing.
— Zen Saying

---

St. Paul couldn't have said it better!

1B1 B Gone

I worked with Sheila for about 2 1/2 months in 2000. It was a wonderful working relationship. She respected my opinion, honored my creativity, and was good company besides.

Sheila was recently diagnosed with cervical cancer. She has been undergoing chemo as well as radiation. She's about half-way through the chemo treatments, and has 13 radiation treatments left.

Rob, who works in her office, created the slogan "1B1 B Gone". Purple plastic bracelets have been made; I wear one.

Her assistant, Rita, organized a meeting of the people praying and caring and sending Sheila positive vibes. We met at a church around the corner from Sheila's house. There were about 55 of us. I knew a few, and struck up conversations with new friends.

This was good.

We walked to Sheila's house. She was surprised. You can see us here. I'm the tummy at the far right.

Sheila seemed glad to see me. She thanked me for posting positive notes on her blog. She had good color, and good spirits.

I have confidence she will beat this foe!

Idée d’jour

Although the wind
blows terribly here,
the moonlight also
leaks through the holes
in the roof
of this ruined house.
— Shibiku

Friday Five: Rivers in the Desert

This week's theme is suggested by Songbird, who writes:

As we near the end of the long journey toward Easter, a busy time for pastors and layfolk alike, I ponder the words of Isaiah and the relief and refreshment of a river in the desert.

For this Friday Five, name five practices, activities, people or _____ (feel free to fill in something I may be forgetting) that for you are rivers in the desert.

1. Music. I've programmed a pair of play lists on my iPod, Ambient and Ambient – Night. Each consists primarily of music without lyrics, so I can listen while I work. To date, my employer has not complained, and I'm very grateful I have the choice to listen to music through the day.
      In any list of things I could not live without, music would be number one. It is the foundation of my spirituality.
      There are times, primarily when I've tranquilized my ego, when singing really does become a form of prayer. "The who sings, prays twice," to paraphrase St. Augustine.


2. My feline companion. There's no comfort quite like her small warm furry body curled up on my lap. The rumble of her purr soothes me, and is somehow reassuring.


3. A good book. A weekend afternoon spent sitting in my recliner with a book (I'm currently reading Gary Wills' What Paul Meant) is time well spent.


4. I wonder about "relief and refreshment". Some activities are relaxing, but are the spiritual equivalent of empty calories. I am thinking, of course, of TV. TV can give my mind a break, and is often a relief. But does it refresh, as Living Waters? Does it make my soul sing?
      Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Seems to me, much depends on the mindfulness I bring to it. Most art has a spiritual message - even drek like Two and a Half Men. It may not be a positive message, mind you, but it can be found.
      And discerning that message can be a fun game to play. Or, it can be a bit of work.
      So: TV is relaxing, and can offer temporary relief. Proper selection programming, or proper attitude, increases the possibility of refreshment.


5. Now and again, I can sit quietly and reflect on my breath. This happens most often Sunday mornings at church, as I empty myself prior to the service. The process is pure gift.

Idée d’jour

To draw, you must close your eyes and sing.
— Pablo Picasso (by way of the Mutts website)

The Episcopal Bishops' Proclamation

We proclaim the Gospel of what God has done and is doing in Christ,
of the dignity of every human being, and of justice, compassion, and peace.

We proclaim the Gospel that in Christ there is no Jew or Greek, no male or female, no slave or free.

We proclaim the Gospel that in Christ all God's children, including women,
are full and equal participants in the life of Christ's Church.

We proclaim the Gospel that in Christ all God's children, including gay and lesbian persons,
are full and equal participants in the life of Christ's Church.

We proclaim the Gospel that stands against any violence,
including violence done to women and children
as well as those who are persecuted because of their differences,
often in the name of God.

We proclaim a Gospel that welcomes diversity of thought
and encourages free and open theological debate
as a way of seeking God's truth.

If that means that others reject us and communion with us,
as some have already done,
we must with great regret and sorrow accept their decision.

The House of Bishops of the Episcopal Church, March 20, 2007

As formatted by The Rt. Rev. Dr. Omed. Who, by the way, wishes you an equitable equinox.

I Lost Your Mirror

Will we ever meet?
Or have I sculpted your image
from Morphean sand?
Yes, I built you from chance unfinished tales.
Yes, you built me from hints and visions.
Let us melt the mirror
and meet among our refracted reflections.
Spirited winds ride
the tightly woven strands
of your long dark hair.

I have seen death walk the old café.
She wears my mother's pale mask.
Her hair was once black, but is now all grey.
She is dark star hunger.
She is infinite need.
She is intimate chasm, intricate cataclysm.
Her porcelain mask has yellowed.
Her legs are gangrene trunks.
Her hands have wounds for fingers.

That is not your reflection.
This death mask is the sentinel I pass
to bring you from the mirror's mercury side.
Mercury melts the dust.
Your hand grows through the glass.
The protector stands to one side.
The sentinel has forgotten her false name.
Your face draws near to mine.
Our tale begins, again.
We return from the forgotten country,
being sure
not to turn our gazes back.

after seeing Cocteau's "Orphee"

Idée d’jour

Nothing will work unless you do.
— maya Angelou

Prayer for Today

Maya Stein's latest poem is worth reading, and praying. It begins:

if ever there was a time for laughter
let it be now
this perfect hour
this infinite instant
let us laugh at the world around us
whichever undying part remains
not verging on the lip [of] annihilation,
poised for the eternal forgetting.

Read the rest here.

Ms. Stein posts something once a week, generally poetry. I commend it to your attention. The link for One Paragraph at a Time is on your left under "Sites to See".

Don't Resign, Bertie

At my last count, three Republicans had joined a number of Democrats in asking Alberto Gonzalez to resign as U.S. Attorney General. And surface appearances would seem to indicate that it would be proper for him to do so. The whole business stinks.

If, however, this scandal concerning the firing of seven Federal Prosecutors around the country teaches us anything, it is that the B*sh administration values loyalty above competence. In fact, recent history ("Doin' a heck of a job!") suggests that B*sh values incompetence most of all.

Maybe he hopes he will look good by comparison.

The point is, the next appointee is not likely to be any better than Bertie.

By the way, I'm just guessing what mildly embarrassing frat-boy nick-name B*sh has given Mr. Gonzalez. For all I know, it might be "Taco."

This is the president, after all, who nominated Harriet Miers for the Supreme Court. The same woman who originally suggested the U.S. Attorney General office fire all 93 Federal Prosecutors around the country. I shudder to think who he would put up for nomination if Mr. Gonzalez did resign.

If Mr. B*sh were smart, he would nominate Robert Fitzgerald. Let it never be said that I accused Mr. B*sh of being smart.

There's another reason that Democrats should oppose Mr. Gonzalez' resignation, and the Republicans should favor it: the longer he is in office, the more protracted the scandal will be. The more information will be released as headline news.

There is still about 30% of the American public, some polls tell us, who think Mr. B*sh is doing a "heck of a job". These people were not convinced of the Administration's incompetence after the post-Katrina disaster. These people have not been convinced, even after the Pentagon admitted that U.S. troops are effectively shooting gallery pigeons between the sides of a Civil War. These last rosy-eyed hold-outs may require something more than a 2x4 to the side of the head.

There is at least a slight possibility that daily headlines will finally persuade them. There is some small hope that a few of those 30% are more intelligent than the man they admire.

This is not just a B*sh thing. It is endemic of how Republicans have done business since the Lewinski fandango. Any means necessary to maintain power. Not only do the ends justify the means, they prefer the dirtiest means possible. Perhaps, as some of them moan, the Democrats have done the same thing. Republicans, however, have perfected it.

With just a little effort, the Democrats can make Alberto Gonzalez and George II poster boys for Republican malfeasance and hubris.

77/365

Here I am in full-on photog mode. Got my snap-brim cap turned backwards. Concentrating on catching the shot under challenging circumstances. Picture taken in a reflective column at the east edge of Leadership Square in downtown OKC.

Friday Five: Whatcha Doin'?

This week's theme suggested by Reverend Mother, who has to work on a day she normally observes as Sabbath. She writes: "Name five things you plan to do today. Bonus: If today is about 'have-to' for you as well, share up to five things you'd like to be doing today."

But first, a comment on "Sabbath". The Jewish Sabbath begins at sundown on Friday. Most Christians claim to observe Sabbath on Sunday. Since clergy work on Sunday, they have to choose another day. We often confuse Sabbath with the notion of "a day off" but it's more than that.

True Sabbath means no labor, whatsoever. Especially observant Jews don't drive on the Sabbath. The Torah tells us not even to drive oxen on the Sabbath - even the beasts of the field get a day of rest.

Taken that seriously, few of us really observe Sunday as a Sabbath. We run errands. We attend committee meetings. Sometimes our search for relaxation can seem almost as desperate as our time during the work-week.

A review of RevGal blogs suggest that people in many congregations resent the time their minister takes off. People can get awfully persnickety about that one day a week (often Monday or Friday). People get testy about a minister taking vacation. And heaven forbid that a minister take an extended sabbatical!

The notion seems to be that the minister is super-human, and is capable of being on call 24/7, 365 days a year. This notion has been applied as much to male ministers as it has to women.

Ministers are human. There may be a slightly higher standard - which is why sex abuse scandals shock us so - but ordained folk need their rest just as much as I do. In this regard, at least, the standard should be applied equally.

End of sermon. On to the business at hand.

I am not an ordained person. My "sabbath" is - nominally, at least - Sunday. This Sunday, of course, I have a task scheduled (to walk for Peace). But today, as I write this, I am at work. Here's my plans for the next few days:

1. Play my guitar. Not associated with the Peace Walk. I'll be part of the chorus, and playing harmonica, for that event. No, I just want to play.


2. Watch Ragtime. I now own a copy of this movie, and plan to watch it this evening. I remember I made a point of reading the novel (by E.L. Doctorow) before seeing the movie the first time, and was thoroughly disappointed. However, the movie has grown on me over time (probably as I've forgotten favored details from the novel). The movie has the distinction of featuring Jimmy Cagney in his last role - and he does a fine job, too.


3. Saturday is up in the air. I've committed to edit a presentation of a First Century Eucharist. Basically, as I understand it, I'm supposed to paste the best bits from two existing scripts (both based on the best scholarship available to their separate authors). I may add a piece of my own - Gary Wills' translation of the words of institution: "... the Lord Jesus, on the night before he was betrayed, took bread, and, after blessing it, broke it and said: 'This is my body, which is for you. Do the same to keep the memory of me.'" (Wills' translation of I Cor. 11-23-26, from his book What Paul Meant, pg 46-47).
      I may also go to the peace rally Saturday morning, but that will depend entirely on what time I get up and where I'm at in working on that script.
      Time, money, and energy permitting, I may also take myself to the dollar movie. Otherwise, I may just content myself with checking a movie out from the library. The lastest version of Pride and Prejudice, with Keira Knightley looks appealing.


4. Would you believe I consider reading books like What Paul Meant fun? I'll probably read at least a chapter at lunch today. Quite possible I'll read more over the weekend. It's due to the library by next Friday.


5. "Let's go surfing now...." When in doubt, surf the Internet. Failing that, take a nap with my favorite feline.

Idée d’jour

Over the old wooden bridge
   no traveler
      crossed.
— Henry David Thoreau

Oklahoma City Peace Events

Sat.Mar.17  - Rally for Peace: State Capitol
Sun.Mar.18  - Spiritual Walk for Peace: Diocesan Episcopal Center

RALLY FOR PEACE OKLAHOMA: SATURDAY MARCH 17
Aligning with the National March on the Pentagon, Washington, DC
State Capitol: South Plaza
WE PETITION GOVERNMENT TO END THIS WAR!
10:30 a.m. Gathering Music and Drumming
11 a.m. Speaking:  Rev.Dr.Robin Meyers, Sen. Connie Johnson, Rep Al McAffrey, Col.Katherine Scheirman,MD,USAF(ret), Iraq Vet Brandon Johnson, Gold Star Parents Kay & Warren Henthorn, and Others

---

SPIRITUAL WALK FOR PEACE: SUNDAY, MARCH 18
Episcopal Center, NW 9th & Robinson, Okla.City
"Is this the time to say NO to more war?"
People of all faiths are invited to gather for a silent walk around the Murrah National Memorial to mark the date of the US invasion of Iraq four years ago. We call our leaders to begin withdrawal of US forces from Iraq, toward peace.

1:30 pm: Music by Mary Reynolds, Louise Goldberg, Elyse Angelo, Terry "Buffalo" Ware, and others (including your correspondent).
2:00 pm: Invocation, Speakers, Silent walk, Pause at Jesus Wept statue, return to Episcopal Center.
Speakers include the Very Rev. George Back, Rev.Dr.Robin Meyers, State Senator Connie Johnson, others.

More information at the Oklahoma Peacehouse website.

Emotional Composite

Composite 07Mar10

Reading right to left:
Happy, Joyous, Ecstatic, Elated
(Props to Gary Larson)

Post #1830

Haiku: Dogwood

Jonquils trumpet spring —
where gray grass once burned
snow petals now kneel

---

Cross-post from Jonah 365

Dr Omed Believes in Fred

Another make-good from the Friday Five. Here's the opening paragraph of Dr. Omed's essay:

I believe in Fred. Who, or what, you may ask, is Fred? Fred is the term my friend Kathy uses for her (unconscious) mind. I appropriated the name and apply a wider meaning: Fred is the personal representative, so to speak, of the collective unconscious in all of us. Fred is the psychopomp, a liminal guide, in many guises, of the soul to the underworld, the shadow you cast into the collective. Fred is transitive, that is to say, he gets around a lot. Fred is different for each of us, and he appears to each of us in many forms. Polymorphous perverse, that's Fred.

Read the rest at the "This I Believe" site, and judge for yourself whether "Fred" is all that similar to Carl Jung's theory of the Collective Unconscious.

Brother Dave Believes

In discussing "Matters of Taste" in the most recent "Friday Five", I make a statement regarding Brother Dave's beliefs. My statement was actually founded on a supposition (that Dave was an atheist) based on anti-religious comments Brother Dave has made over the years.

I should have known better; being anti-religious, or opposed to established religion, does not necessarily mean a person is an atheist.

Brother Dave posted an extended comment elucidating his views. It is so clear and well-written, I believe it deserves to be moved "up front":

I do, in fact, think (rather than believe) there is a non-material aspect to the world. I do not worship this aspect, do not build monuments to it and certainly do not advocate massive institutions with ordained orthodoxy, rituals and authoritarian structures.

It is my sense that this thing we call "life" is a state of nature akin to matter or energy. Just as physicists are coming to suspect a sort of "connectedness" across space/time of matter and energy, I think it reasonable to posit such a connection of this thing called life. Such is the non-material aspect of life I think may well exist. Respect is due to that aspect, as it may serve to bind life across the universe (whatever that may actually be).

To hold this view, I long ago rejected the notion of the uniqueness of homo sapiens. Certainly our species has unique characteristics, we tend to suggest self awareness as among these, though how we would know if a horse is self aware or not eludes me. But those unique characteristics do not constitute a "specialness" that is posited in most of the belief systems that rely on a uniquely human deity of some variety.

Elevator Moment

— It's a beautiful day.
"Yes, it is," she said.
— I'm even warm,
in this black costume.
"You look good in it."
We traded names.
The doors opened
and we parted.

70/365

Memory suggests this picture was taken in the fall of 1984. All I can say for certain is, the picture was taken sometime shortly after I had acknowledged that I was an alcoholic. The date I've written down for that momentous date is Sept. 22, 1984.

This picture has a companion, posted at Jonah 365. That picture was taken yesterday, Saturday, March 10, 2007.

I remember I had gone to visit Andrea. I think it was Andrea. I know her husband who took this picture, but it seems like they were divorced by the time this was taken.

I'm going to remember the details after 20 years?

Actually, the picture was taken at Andrea's mother's house. It was on the west side of Norman. The good side of town.

I look happy. Compare it to the picture I took Saturday, I which I look very serious. I tend to look serious when I'm posing for myself. I'm focused on beating the timer to my chair. I'm focused on being posed just so before the camera triggers. So, the seriousness you see in that new picture may be misleading.

That's all I'm saying.

I don't remember the details of this day, but I remember feelings of the time. I was wound up. Tight as a cheap watch. I was wired for sound, as I like to say. Not that I needed a drink, per se, but I did have to reassess my identity as a person who did not drink.

And Larry asked me if he could take my picture. At the time, I didn't like to have my picture taken. So, I was nervous about that, too.

That's not necessarily happiness you see. I think it's a nervous smile.

I think I'm better centered now. I am walking a contented road. I walk the beauty path.

Not counting communion wine and the occasional O'Doule's, I haven't had a drink since that Sept in 1984. Not bragging. I have other bad habits; the difference being the other bad habits are not self-destructive.

I walk a sober path. Yet I also dance. I dance for sorrow, cry for joy. I breath cleansing air.

I know about resurrection. It's not much. Can't brag about that, either. I wasn't near death. I wasn't sticking needles in my arms. I had long before quit speed, and had stopped dropping acid. I hadn't smoked "wacky tobaccy" in a long, long time.

I drank to get drunk, is all. Even when I swore it would be only one, it turned into five. I passed out at parties. Nan still remembers the evening I wrapped around the large wooden spool - the kind used for heavy cables, then as post-hippie furniture - and feel asleep. Well, I was tired; the party was boring; I went to sleep.

I didn't die. I had a job that got the rent in on time. I had a room full of books and records. I had friends, and I had the proper proportion of spiritual hunger.

The last time I drank was at a church function. The college group at church. It was cheap box wine. I didn't get drunk. I didn't act inappropriately. I only had the one plastic faux stem-ware glass. I may not have even finished it.

Thing is, I had promised myself I wouldn't drink that night. I didn't even care for cheap box wine. May have been a sweet wine, which I don't like. But I still drank. I can't remember why.

Somehow, all it took to convince me I had a problem was an unfinished glass of cheap wine.

Yes, I didn't die. But I can truthfully divide my life into "before" and "after". But, isn't that a kind of resurrection. Can I say, as John Newton once did, "I once was lost, but now I'm found"?

Yes, I can. The path on this side of before/after is the better path. It is the healthier path.

Idée d’jour

Your soul isn't in your body; your body is in your soul!
— Alan Watts

Friday Five: Matters of Taste

This week's theme suggested by Songbird, who writes, "Name five things you like a lot that some close relative or significant other did/does not like. This could be food, movies, hobbies, music, sports or whatever springs to mind."

1. The first thing that springs to mind is a "Higher Power." I believe in a transpersonal existence beyond full human understanding which I choose to call God. Brother Dave and Dr. Omed claim not to believe in anything beyond that which can be delineated by the "senses five".
      That being said, sometime back Dr. Omed wrote an essay intended for NPR's "I Believe" series titled "I Believe Fred". I can't find the link at the moment, but as I recall, Dr. Omed's definition of "Fred " bears a remarkable similarity to Carl Jung's theory of the Collective Unconscious. Given my interpretation reflects my own prejudices, it seems to me the difference between "Fred", "the Collective Unconscious", and "God" is only in minor details (such as the preferred name).


2. Elsie, one time girlfriend, did not like raisins. I love 'em. Her dislike for raisins was so intense that she would pick them out of her cereal.
      Long-time readers may remember Elsie, who is a Methodist minister. She is currently a school chaplain in Tahlequah, and is reportedly very content in that placement.


3. Bob, frequent lunch companion, is a Civil War re-enactor. Not my idea of fun.


4. I like beer. Nancy did not like beer - she could not imagine anyone would like the taste. She believed the primary reason people drank beer was for the buzz.
      I now drink "non-alcoholic" beer (0.5% alcohol). It tastes as I remember beer tasting - it having been over 20 years since I've drunk even 3.2 beer. I know many recovering alcoholics would say I'm cheating, or playing with fire. I recognize the risk, but have yet to experience a problem associated with drinking one or two NA beers a week.


5. Jim, occasional music partner, loves opera. I have yet to develop a taste for it - although I do enjoy the occasional cantata. In fact, I hope to burn a copy of Bach's Coffee Cantata sometime in the near future.

Idée d’jour

History is a vast early warning system.
— Norman Cousins, editor and author (1915-1990)

---

Which some, sadly, choose to ignore.

Into the Labyrinth

Two different labyrinths were at the Cathedral this week. The first, which was at the church this past Sunday, had been borrowed from St. Dunstan's, and was as large as our parish hall. The second had been borrowed from a Methodist church in Norman, and was about a fourth the size as the first. The second was at the church last night.

I didn't walk the larger labyrinth on Sunday; just didn't feel like I could fit it in, what with my journey to Tulsa (see Jonah 365). Once I saw the smaller labyrinth last night, I knew I wanted to make a special effort to walk it.

During Lent, the Cathedral has regular Wednesday programs: Evening Prayer, followed by a light meal, a brief (~15 minute) presentation, then break-out "learning opportunities" or small groups. The presentation last night was on labyrinths. Christina, who had made the arrangements for the loans, showed images of labyrinths dating back prior to the Common Era. Something I didn't know until last night – even southwestern Native Americans had labyrinths.

Most of Christina's presentation focused on the labyrinth at Chartres, which is one of the best known. One tidbit I had not previously known was that the equally famous Rose Window was coordinated with the labyrinth in such a way that light from the window would shine on the center of the labyrinth (which is also a type of rose).

Both labyrinths which had visited the Cathedral were patterned on the Chartres labyrinth; I believe the first one had as many courses, or circuits, as Chartres (12). The second had seven courses. A course, incidentally, is the number of circles from the center (counting the exterior).

I went straight from dinner to the location of the labyrinth. I was the third or fourth person to arrive. I chose to wait until those people had gotten a ways into the labyrinth before I entered. As it turns out, I was the last adult to enter, and the last one to exit.

I stood with Christina for a few minutes watching a group of four or five walk the labyrith. It looked like a Renaissance dance, or a Mideval clock. There was something calming and meditative about just watching people walk the courses.

Christina had brought an Anonymous 4 CD which played as people walked the labyrinth. This heightened the prayerful atmosphere.

In time, I too entered the labyrinth. Within moments, I noticed something new: within a few feet of the entrance, one is immediately brought to the center. In other words, the path from the entrance goes directly towards the center. It would have taken a single stride for me to go straight from the path into the center – I would have stepped over only one wall.

This seemed to me a metaphor for what St. Paul calls "baby Christians". These are people new to the faith, full of the enthusiasm of newly discovered love and freedom. It's common, during this time, to think one has "arrived".

Yet, if one maturely continues walking the path, and does not get stuck in that first romantic blush, one quickly discovers s/he is far from the center. In time, one will come close to the center again, only to wander far from it. It is a sort of pond-ripple, which reflects not only our faith journey, but our life journey.

As if to prevent me from getting all high and holy, there were still plenty of worldly distractions. One could hear the children's choir, which was downstairs, drumming. The soda machine was just around the corner from the labyrinth, and I could hear money and cans dropping.

Of particular interest were the two pre-teen boys who were as drawn to the labyrinth as bees to a rose. They saw the paths as a course to be run, like a race. Yet, though they sped through the labyrinth with the energy of youth and typical male enthusiasm, they made a point to bow to me each time we passed on the path. One boy stopped to quickly say the Lord's Prayer each time he reached the center.

It seemed to me that those boys were going slow, in relation to their normal pace. It's all relative, y'know?

I completed the labyrinth shortly before the children's choir was dismissed. Once they were, the whole group flocked to the labyrinth and transversed it in their own unique ways. Two children sat at the center, with first finger touching thumb - a classic meditative pose.

Mother Susan reflected how her three year old granddaughter danced the labyrinth, the last time it had been at our Cathedral.

What a marvelous image!

May I have the grace to dance through life. May I have the grace to walk my life-path with the same equanimity and peace I found in the labyrinth last night.

May the Lord of Life, the Prince of Peace, hear my prayer. May it be granted to all pilgrims.

Idée d’jour

Humanity, take a good look at yourself. Inside, you've got heaven and earth, and all of creation. You're a world – everything is hidden in you.
— Hildegard of Bingen

Libby Falls Toward Sword

The big news of the day, of course, is that the wrong man was convicted of the wrong crime.

Well, no doubt Libby lied. And, sure, perjury should be punished. But it's such small potatoes compared to the bigger crime committed.

However, Libby should have been convicted of revealing the identity of a CIA agent. That is a federal offense.

The man who really should have stood trial, IMHO, was the shadow master with the bum ticker. The man who declared Joe Wilson and his wife persona non grata from the moment Mr. Wilson published an editorial that revealed the American people were being sold a bill of goods regarding Nigerian yellow cake.

Again, revealing a CIA agent's identity is a federal offense. Don't matter if you're the VP or his aide. Doesn't matter if you revealed the identity under orders, of if you're the one issuing the orders. It's called a conspiracy.

Republicans didn't invent conspiracies. They have perfected them, from the time of N*x*n to the present.

Send the guy with the bum ticker to the slammer. Send his boss, who is guilty of aiding and abetting the enemy, to Gitmo.

Do it for our brave military heroes! Do it for freedom! Do it for democracy!

Do it because they deserve to reap what they've sown - whole out-houses full.

---

Commenter "C", below, questions the phrase "whole out-houses full". Think about what is in an out-house. Consider how this phrase may be more appropriate for general viewing than the more common phrase referring to buckets.

The Words

This past Saturday, I bought Rickie Lee Jones' latest album, the sermon on exposition boulevard. The lyrics are based on a project begun by Lee Cantelon, to present the words of Jesus in modern rendering. According to this article, Ms. Jones improvised the lyrics after reading a portion of the text.

All I know is, the hairs stood up on the back of my neck the first time I heard the opening track, "Nobody Knows My Name."

The Words is available on-line at The Words. This is not only a modern rendering, the text is arranged thematically. The first chapter, The Problem of Religion, is striking - especially when the words echo what I'm reading/hearing in other sources (e.g., Gary Wills' What Jesus Meant, the Intelligence Square debate, "Is America Too Damn Religious").

Recommended.

Friday Five: Artsy Crafty

Suggested by Reverend Mother, who says, "[Our church is] working on the notion that everything we do can be considered a beautiful thing — a creative offering to God — whether it's gardening or scrapbooking or accounting or sorting clothes at the clothes closet or child-rearing."

1. Would you call yourself "creative"? Why or why not?
      Yes. Whether individuals on the RevGal list acknowledge it or not, they are all creative; they create entries for their blogs on a regular basis.
       Here's one way to look at it: the ancient Edenic myth has it that God created us in God's image. Since God is creative, we can't help but be creative as well. It might be even more accurate to say (a) we are co-creators with God; or (b) God continues to create through us.
      Now, we often belittle our own creative efforts. "I'm not an artist or a writer," we might say, "so I'm not really that creative."
      The psalmist extolls us to "Make a joyful noise until the Lord"; notice the emphasis is on "joyful", not "tuneful". Even the word "noise" could be instructive.
      I think the same applies to all our creative efforts — when we find joy, we find the place where we meet Divine Spirit. The quality of our creative effort is not necessarily ours to judge; not even society or history is the judge, if it comes to that.
      When we offer God our joy — however it is expressed — God is well pleased.
      All that said, on my more egotistical days, I think of myself as a sort of renaissance person: singer, poet, writer (witness the current page), photographer (see also Practicing Patience), artist.


2. Share a creative or artistic pursuit you currently do that you'd like to develop further.
      Photography.


3. Share a creative or artistic pursuit you have never done but would like to try.
         Hmmm. Seems like I've tried most things that appealed to me. Some more successfully than others.
      For example, I tried to knit early in February, and learned I don't seem to have a knitting gene. Either lack of coordination or tendency to overthink.


4. Complete this sentence: "I am in awe of people who can Dance with ease."
      Likely, another one of those Y chromosome type things.


5. Share about a person who has encouraged your creativity, who has "called you to your best self." (I'm pretty sure that's from the Gospel of Oprah).
     So many to choose from - Padre, Kathleen, Dr. Omed. Who should be on that list I haven't talked about in the past?
      Brother Dave. Last time we visited, in looking at my photographs, he said "Your camera has really expanded your creative palette." Sometimes I think of Dave as a complement to Van Gogh's Brother Theo, because Dave has supported me financially (he loaned me the money for a down-payment on my house). Happily, I have not needed to call upon Dave's financial assistance as often as Vincent did, but he has always been there.
      His support has gone beyond the financial, however. His house is a loving retreat space. His admiration and love are sincere. We had our years of sibling rivalry, but it seems to me the worst of that is behind us. If not ended altogether (which seems to me to be the case).

Ideé d’jour

Everyone who delights in a multitude of words, even though he says admirable things, is empty within. If you love truth, be a lover of silence.
— Isaac of Nineveh

Idée d’jour

I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections.
- John Keats

Idée d’jour

Infinitely more important than the answers are the questions, the choice of them, the inner form of them.
— Oswald Spengler

Idée d’jour

Loneliness, my everyday life.
The sweeping winds pass
on the night-bell sound.
— Ching An

What Do Trees Dream?

Drawn using a "widget" at Birdie's new site.

Get well soon, beloved friend.

Idée d’jour

Do not seek God. Rather, make yourself available to receive God, who is already present and awaiting us.
— Jason Shulman, form Instruction Manual for Receiving God

Idée d’jour

The most perfect technique is that which is not noticed at all.
— Pablo Casals

Friday Five: Companions on the Way

I'm pleased to say this week's Friday Five is based on a suggestion I made via e-mail last week. I'm also pleased by how Songbird expanded on the idea; to whit:

Dante had Virgil as a guide. Before he had younger siblings, my oldest child had an imaginary friend named Patrick. Betsy had Tacy. Laura Ingalls depended on her brindle bulldog, Jack. All of them were companions on the way.

As we take the beginning steps of our journey through Lent, who would we take as a companion? Name five people, real or imaginary, you might like to have with you as guide or guardian or simply good friend.

1. Kathleen, my maternal grandmother. One family tale suggests that she was more loving to her grandchildren (Brother Dave and I) than she was to her own daughter. My mother rarely spoke about Kathleen, but she had more positive memories of her father.
      When I think of the divine feminine, I think of Kathleen. When I think of the "cloud of witnesses" who surround me (whether in spirit or reality I know not), I think of Kathleen. When I think of those saints known to God alone, I think of Kathleen.
      She is a companion through many days in my life, as an icon of agape – pure, non-judgemental love. She is a companion who supports and praises. She is a companion who inspired and nourished my love of music.


2. Francis of Assisi. Like Jesus, he calls me to an uncomfortable level of sacrifice. His life and discipline may seem harsh or frightening (viz., the stigmata); his life may seem a judgement. If it is a judgement, it is spoken in love.


3. Gil, a friend at church. He smiles and gives me a big hug each time I see him. This past Wednesday, his wife mentioned how much he loves me. I have no idea why. I do feel a great deal of affection for him as well. Rather than try to suss out why he likes me so much, I have chosen to bask in it, and be fed by the affection. It, too, is an icon of God's love for us. We can't earn it; God gifts us with love "just because".


4. Dr. Omed, who I once called Parsival. His wife calls him an evangelical atheist, a title he somewhat begrudgingly accepts. He is what I call a "recovering Southern Baptist", which is evidenced by his rejection of God or any notion of a supreme being (regardless of what name one choses for same).
      Dr. Omed has known me since high school. He can call me on my foibles better than anyone. He challenges my unexamined assumptions. His own faith, that cannot be named or categorized, is also an icon of grace.


5. My constant companion, the fierce wild beast, Dame Julian. St. Anthony, as well as other Desert Fathers, is often pictured with a cat. The original Dame Julian also had a cat as a companion. I have a theory why this is so.
      There is no creature like a cat to keep a human humble. And their purr is an icon of the "constant prayer" St. Paul calls us to observe.

Last Nerve

Somehow, he found my last nerve,
ripped it out of my body,
threw it on the floor,
then jumped up and down on it.

I've been told I don't suffer fools gladly.
And, as the days grow short,
as I mark days in black between now
and the beyond,
I suffer less gladly.

At this rate,
I'm sure to become a misanthrope.

I Fought the Bed

Sleepin' late is ... such fun!
I fought the bed, and the bed won,
I fought the bed, and the bed won.

I got my baby and the ... late sun...
I fought the bed, and the bed won,
I fought the bed, and the bed won.

Don't call me lazy, don't call me mad,
the day's not yet begun.
I'm not crazy, or feelin' sad...
I fought the bed, and the bed won.
I fought the bed and the bed won.

I shot the clock with my ... zip gun.
I fought the bed and the bed won
I fought the bed and the bed won.

Ash Wednesday

Remember, O child of God, that you are dust and to dust you shall return.

If you prefer a less Christian post, I direct you to today's picture at Jonah 365. I also recommend the latest icon and Scissor Dance by Dr. Omed.

Bearing The Cross

Jesus told his disciples: "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me" (Mk 16:24, NRSV).   In order to take up our cross, we must bear the cross.   Our Lenten discipline this year challenges us to examine our lives and discern whether we merely wear the cross, or truly bear the cross.

Being Jesus' disciple has a cost. Bearing the cross may bring us into conflict with our own ego needs.   Bearing the cross may bring us into conflict with modern notions of comfort.   Bearing the cross may bring us into conflict with the morals and values of our social set.

The cross is a powerful symbol for our Lenten journey. At one level, it reflects the painful choices we must make. At another level, it may represent how we stand at a crossroad whenever we chose between our pilgrim life and the demands of the world.

It is at this crossroad that we examine how we proportion our time, talent, and treasure.   A healthy human life seeks a balanced and proper proportion between work, leisure, and spirit.   Only you (and God) know how well-balanced your life is!

I would not be so bold as to suggest daily minimum requirements. If there were such a thing, it would likely be our whole life. "What does the LORD require of you," asks the prophet Micah, "But to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?" (Micah 6:8, NASB)

True humility would lead us to recognize the One who created us, created this world and all that sustains it, and whose Spirit grants us fullness of life. Owing so much, how can we hold back any part?

That is my challenge this Lent: will I bear the cross, even as I wear it? Will I take an honest and rigorous inventory of how I spend my time, talent, and treasure? Am I willing to make the sacrifices true proportional giving might require?

Padre's Rocking Chair

Cross-post from Jonah 365


One of the many objects I have to remind me of Padre. Padre made this from a kit, sometime in the early 1960s. This was sometime after Kennedy became president, but before he was assassinated. Rocking chairs enjoyed popularity because Kennedy liked a rocking chair; it gave his back needed support.

You can't see the claw marks in this picture. The lady in the lower left-hand corner has left her mark on the chair. Hard to know why she responds to it this way. It endured the dust of Midland, West TX, for over two decades. But it may still have retained the scent from two dogs (Frieda and Gidget) and a cat (Sam).

Idée d’jour

It would imply the regeneration of mankind, if they were to become elevated enough to truly worship sticks and stones.
— Henry David Thoreau

Idée d’jour

Poems are not beer commercials . . .
They need to bring down presidents who
Start wars they themselves wouldn't go to.
— Nikki Giovanni, from her latest collection of poetry, Acolytes

Friday Five: Tourist Edition

Suggested by Reverend Mother

1. What is one place you make sure to take out-of-town guests when they visit?
   The Bombing Memorial is a place many people want to visit. There's a pair of local parks I think are outstanding. Within the first year of Alexandria's moving here, I took her to the Wichita Wildlife Refuge.


2. When visiting another city or town, do you try to cram as much in as possible, or take it slow and easy?
   Depends on the amount of time I have available. When I visited Seattle for a few days years ago, I mentally listed two or three places, and made it to those (plus a few extra).


3. When traveling, where are we most likely to find you: strolling through a museum, checking out the local shopping, or _________________?
   Musuem, book store, or local shopping. However, if I'm attending an overnight conference (as I will in April), I'm likely to stay near the conference location.


4. Do you like organized tours and/or carefully planned itineraries, or would you rather strike out and just see what happens?
   With the exception of a chartered fall follage tour, and ear phone docent tours in museums, I've never been on an organized tour. Can't say I've missed the experience.


5. After an extended trip, what do you find yourself craving most about home?
   Her royal catness, Dame Julian.

A Modest Proposal

The latest administration talking point is that the Iranian government has authorized the sell of weapons to insurgents in Iraq. What B*sh and his team are likely counting on is that the American public is as ignorant about the religious politics of the area as Mr. B*sh is.

Mr. B*sh likes to frame things as "fer us" or "agin us", so I'll make it simple:
The Iranian government is primarily Shia. The majority in Iraq (Mr. Maliki, et al) are Shia. Our forces insured the election which put Mr. Maliki (as Prime Minister) in power, so the Shia in Iraq are, de facto, our allies. They are "fer us".

Most of the insurgents killing Americans are Sunni, the minority Islamic group which enjoyed power and privilege during Saddam Hussein’s regime. They are "agin us".

If the Iranian government were providing weapons to the Sunni, they would be aiding a force they see as apostate and enemies. If they are providing weapons to the Shia, they are helping to arm our allies.

Doesn’t make much sense, does it?

Many on the left are concerned that this talk about weapons coming from Iran is a replay of the WPM "intelligence" which got us into this mess in the first place. That is, there is a concern that members of the administration are attempting to build a case for invading Iran (or to run covert forays across the border).

Aside from the fact that our military force is stretched to the limit, I share this concern. I am now convinced there is no action too stupid or foolish for this administration to attempt. If B*sh, or any of his minions claimed the sky was blue, I’d be convinced the sky had suddenly turned purple.

It may be time to consider where insurgent groups really are getting their weapons. I have no doubt there’s a healthy black market from a variety of sources, including Iran. However, I’d be willing to make a small wager regarding the source of the majority of those weapons (or the components thereof): weapons depots. The very depots that were not guarded or protected following our invasion of Iraq.

Now, who’s fault is that? Well, Rumsfeld is an obvious choice, but who hired Rumsfeld?

I trust you see where this logic leads. If being the source of these weapons is grounds for attack, then there is only one logical conclusion.

The President, Vice President, and a majority of their advisers (including Ms. Rice) are enemy combatants. I do not suggest that we declare war on these people. There is a fitting and proper place for enemy combatants until the end of hostilities.

Send 'em to Gitmo.

---

Edited to add:Seems I'm not the only one who had an idea along these lines. See Robert J. Elisberg's satire in the Huffington Post.
Post #1800

Idée d’jour

It is an ironic habit of human beings to run faster when we have lost our way.
— Rollo May, psychologist (1909-1994)

Tom Paxton

Pictured is the first Tom Paxton album our family bought. Padre bought it in late 1971 or early 1972 on the strength of a record review. And it was good. Not a bad introduction to Paxton's music.

Tom Paxton was among the group of singer-songwriters in the early sixties sometimes called "Woody's Children"; that is, this group (e.g., Bob Dylan, Phil Ochs, Judy Collins) carried on Woody Guthrie's folk tradition, not only by singing traditional songs, but also by writing and singing new songs. These new songs would often address concerns of the common man or current political issues, as Woody's did.

How Come the Sun is a good example. The opening track, "I Had to Shoot That Rabbit", addressed the Viet Nam war as well as the sport of hunting. The title track addressed ecology as well as the folly of human warfare.

Tom Paxton was raised in Oklahoma (his family moved here when he was 11). He attended the University of Oklahoma, where he majored in drama. He returns to Oklahoma sporatically, the most recent trip being this past Friday (Feb. 9) when he performed at Stage Center.

He played two 50-minute sets. He played a lot of favorites, including his best-known songs, "Ramblin' Boy" and "Last Thing on My Mind". I didn't recognize every song he played, but I enjoyed all of them. In particular, I was pleased to hear him play "Jennifer's Rabbit" from his Morning Again album.

I did hope he would sign autographs; I brought the How Come the Sun album cover in case he would.

As you see, he was kind enough to sign the album cover.

While signing the cover, he explained the child on the cover was his daughter Kate. Then he named the group on the back cover: Kate, Tom, his wife Midge, and his daughter Jennifer.

Iran/Iraq

This weekend a press conference was held in Bagdad to substantiate administration claims that Iran is providing weapons to Shia insurgents in Iraq. The press was allowed to take notes, but all the speakers spoke on the condition of anonymity. Mortar shells with serial numbers were displayed, but the paper trail which connected those serial numbers with anyone in Irani leadership were not shared.

Once again, the international community and the American people are being asked to take the administration's word for it. Once again, we are being asked to trust intelligence assessments. This is one member of the American public who must say, "You didn't fool me with your ginned-up 'evidence' of WPM in Iraq, and you aren't going to fool me with a few mortar shells which may or may not have come from Iran."

I recognize my opinion echoes that of the Iranian leadership, for whom I have little affection. It is possible for them to be right on this point, while they are wrong on so much else.

I contended early on that B*sh had confused Iran and Iraq. The man practically bragged about his ignorance of the world and world affairs when he first ran for office in 2000. It seems likely that he confused two countries that are geographically close together, and whose names differ by only one letter. One really has been seeking atomic weapons (Iran); the other, Iraq, likely would have been happy to get one, but lacked the means to do so.

If B*sh had really intended to attack a country which sought nuclear weapons, and which might have desired to use them on the U.S., he really should have attacked Iran back in '02. But that ship has sailed. Even if this were a just reason for war - which I don't think it is - it's too late now. Our forces are stretched too thin as it is.

Hopefully, even B*sh is not so foolish as to stretch our forces to the breaking point.

Idée d’jour

It is said that there are seventeen hundred koans. Actually, there are as many koans in life as there are individuals, and each individual's life is nothing but koans.
— Koryu Osaka

---

I am reminded of my introduction to Zen. It was through the comedian Shelly Berman. I forget the context, but in the midst of a routine, Mr. Berman mentioned a koan (a sort of unsolvable riddle used in Zen) – one of the best known – "You know the sound of two hands clapping, but what is the sound of one hand clapping?"

From that tease, which I first heard as a pre-teen, I became curious about koans and Zen. So I was receptive when I saw Alan Watts' "Conversation with Myself" on PBS in my early teens. Later, I bought my first Watts' book, Beat Zen, Square Zen, and Zen. Later still, I bought Paul Reps' collection of Zen writings, Zen Flesh, Zen Bones (which included the original source of the "one hand" koan).

Shelly Berman also introduced me to Franz Kafka; one of his records had a routine, "Kafka on the telephone." From this, I collected Kafka stories, and read chunks of his novels.

I guess I was an autodidact from an early age, following my curiosity where-ever it would lead. Still do, thank goodness.

Volkswagen Graveyard

I went on a retreat this past weekend, just a little east of Seminole, OK. While there, a couple of participants, who had come from Tulsa, mentioned passing the Volkswagen Graveyard. Padre and Brother Dave both owned VW Beetles. In fact, Brother Dave sold me his during my first or second year of college. I have especially fond memories of riding with Padre in his Beetle, which was a gift from his older sisters.

I was carpooling; happily, the driver had overheard the discussion and asked if I'd like to stop by. Oh yes. Yes, indeed.

The driver counted on me to act as navigator, since I was the one interested. Obviously, she was unaware of my long and colorful history of misdirection (although I have told her the story of getting lost in Kansas City). I sat with the people who had talked about the graveyard and we looked at a map of Oklahoma. It appeared as if the place was south of I-40.

I asked what town it was near, and was told "Ixl", which was not on the map we were perusing. The town, and the "graveyard" were on Hwy 48, which was a few miles out of our way. But the driver was still willing to check it out.

We left the lodge a between 11:00 and noon. It wasn't long before the driver expressed concern that we missed our exit. I assured her that it was marked on the map as a state highway, and would therefore have a road sign.

Driving east on Hwy 9 is very pleasant because eastern Oklahoma tends to have more hills and trees than western Oklahoma, and the road meanders much more than the interstate.

We finally came to the Highway 48 exit, and started north. And drove. And drove. We passed several salvage/junk yards, and the driver would ask, "Do you think that's it?" And I would respond that I couldn't see a single Volkswagen.

We passed I-40, at which point I figured my talent for misdirection had reared its puckish head. We drove. And drove. And drove some more. Lots of hills. Lots of cattle - even a longhorn. Winding road.

After a while, the driver said, "I'm going to give it x more miles, then we'll turn back." By the time we had traversed the set number of miles, we came to Hwy 56. The directions had included the fact that the "graveyard" was north of Hwy 56, so we kept on going.

Not long after we passed the intersection of Hwys 48 & 56, we saw a sign for Ixl. Ixl consists of a few houses and one quick mart. About ten minutes north of Ixl, we came to the Volkswagen graveyard. I jumped out of the car and started taking pictures (the shot above is one of about six pictures taken).

The owner of the yard drove out in his pick-up truck and chatted with us. His father had started the business, about 56 years ago. As you see in the picture, most of the vehicles are Beetles, but there are a few vans and campers off in the distance.

In the 50s and 60s, the Beetle was similar to the Model T: it was an affordable and reliable car. A person with modest mechanical skills can maintain the car with little trouble. If one takes good care of the car (primarily by keeping it fed with oil), it will last a good long time – unlike most American cars.

The story goes that Hitler designed the Beetle; this is likely Nazi propaganda. For one thing, the Volkswagen that was built in Nazi Germany looks more like a large sedan than the Beetle we loved in the 60s. However, it's probably true that he named the company "Volkswagen", which translates to "the people's car".

The owner of the yard said the place was less popular now than it once had been, although he has started collecting the modern Beetle. He told us stories of people who paid for parts, then never collected them. The saddest story was of a motorcyclist, who seemed very excited by the Beetles, and paid a good sum for one in fair condition, yet never returned. "I've always thought he must have crashed that cycle somewhere on the road."

I'm quite thankful to the driver for driving out of her way to view this unique "tourist attraction". It's good to share such adventures with a friend.

Friday Five: American Idols

Theme suggested by Songbird.

Songbird admits she has been watching the latest season of American Idol. I haven't been able to watch more than 15 minutes worth. It is symbolic of the worst of American culture (appealing to the lowest common denominator), the worst of the pop music industry (playing it safe with the same old mid-stream pablum), and the worst popular vocal styling (melisma). With that caveat, here's the game:

1. If I could sing like anyone, it would be myself.
   Now that I've recovered from the worst of my cold, I'm so pleased that I can sing again. I know there's plenty of folk who can sing technically better than me. I know there's some who are more soulful, or whatever, but this morning as I type this, I like how I sing. I like how people respond to my singing voice. It's a gift, and I'm glad to share it.


2. I would love to sing the song "The Guests," by Leonard Cohen.
   I start singing practically from the time I wake up. Some songs become "ear worms" and follow me throught the day.
       Other times, I'm woodshedding a song for performance - which means memorizing the lyrics (primarily) and playing with the melody.
      "The Guests" is a song I come back to frequently. I've already memorized the lyrics, which are profoundly beautiful:

   One by one the guests arrive
   The guests are coming through
   The open-hearted many
   The broken-hearted few.
   And no one knows where the night is going
   No one knows why the wine is flowing
   Oh, love, I need you, I need you, I need you
   Oh ... I need you now
   . . . .
   All go stumbling through that house
   In the utmost urgency
   Saying, "Please reveal yourself"
   Or, "Why hast thou forsaken me?"

      It took me a couple of years of living with this song to realize it could be about our lives. God is the host who cries, "Welcome, welcome, let all my guests come in" as we wander through God's house mystified by the torches flaring.


3. It would be really cool to sing at Carnegie Hall.
   Why not aim high? You thought maybe I would say "My shower"?
      I have sung on stage many times. It's typically an enjoyable experience, although I rarely know how to respond to people praising my performance (beyond saying thank you).


4. If I could sing a dream duet it would be with Natalie Merchant.
   Which was about the fourth name that came to mind. Interesting that all the names that came to mind were female – Streisand, Sheryl Crow, Joan Baez. Why Natalie? She's the one I have the biggest crush on. And she writes some amazing songs.
      I do miss Sarah, the singing partner I had several years ago. She was a class act. She was much more knowledgable about music theory than me, but she was gentle in directing me. She was a trained vocalist, but didn't disdain the pleasure of "folk" music. Our voices blended perfectly.


5. If I could sing on a TV or radio show, it would be The Tonight Show.
   Although I would prefer to have appeared with Johnny Carson than on the Jay Leno iteration. I'm not a fan of Leno.
      However, if I were to give full reign to my fantasy, my dream would be to be a guest host - ala John Denver. Experience in leading group discussions suggests I would do well as a talk show host (if my face were TV-worthy).
     I actually did serve as a guest host on a local cable-access show, so I have some minimal experience.

Celtic Rune of Hospitality

I saw a stranger yesterday;
I put food in the eating place,
drink in the drinking place,
music in the listening place;
and in the sacred name of the Triune God
he blessed myself and my house,
my cattle and my dear ones,
and the lark said in her song:
Oft, Oft, Oft,
goes Christ in the stranger's guise.

Quoted by BP Katharine Jefferts Schori in this reflection

Status Report

I took my last steroid on Tuesday. My mental attitude is still positive. I don't feel like I'm on speed anymore. In fact, yesterday afternoon, I got extremely tired at work. As soon as I got home, I changed then lay down on the couch I slept for an hour and a half.

Now, part of that tiredness may have been due to "coming down" from the steroids. The other part may have been due to my assisting with a project which was due today. I have been working straight through the day (except for lunch break), with minimal "Internet breaks". This is actually a pleasant change of pace; I'm not paid a lot, but I do like feeling that I've earned it. And I appreciate feeling useful.

Between being busy at work and cat sitting, I haven't had time to revamp the appearance of "Love During Wartime". My goal is to work on it this Saturday.

Meanwhile, I've been posting pictures from this past weekend at my alternablog, Jonah 365. Go take a look and leave a trace.

Idée d’jour

This snow,
 that wafts softly down –
  I could eat it!
— Issa

Idée d’jour

My greatest skill has been to want but little.
— Henry David Thoreau, naturalist and author (1817-1862)

Housekeeping

I recently "up-graded" to the new Blogger. The initial step of this upgrade did not affect my painstakingly designed layout. The second step did; the system assumes most people who use Blogger are not familiar with xhtml (probably a safe assumption) or Cascading Style Sheets (css). There are a relatively few prefab templates this type of user is required to select. The one you see now is the least objectionable.

It's taken some digging, but I've found the instructions to create one's own design within the new xhtml requirements of the new Blogger. I anticipate it will take me at least a week to recreate the design according to their specs.

Another thing I lost in the "upgrade" was the Haloscan comments. I prefer this system, as people can sign a name without the requirement of a Google account.

One last thing: it's occurred to me I may have been overly enthusiastic in setting up a separate site for my Project 365 entries. This page has suffered (in a sense) because energy has been focused on the new site. I'm seriously considering consolidating the two pages; in other words, once I've fixed the layout of this page, I'll start doing Project 365 entries here and stop posting on Jonah 365.

If you, dear reader, have a preference, record them in the comments. Note that anonymous comments will be accepted.

Idée d’jour

Those who understand the Tao delight, like cats, in just sitting and watching without any goal or result in mind. But when a cat gets tired of sitting, it gets up and goes for a walk or hunts mice. It does not punish itself or compete with other cats in an endurance test as to how long it can remain immovable – unless there is some real reason for being still, such as catching a bird.
— Alan Watts

Idée d’jour

Want to know how to catch a mouse?
Don't try to learn from a pampered cat.
To know the nature of the world,
Don't study fine-bound books.
— Shih-Te (Zen Calendar, ©2007 Workman Press)

Friday Five: ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Suggested by Reverend Mother.

1. Share, if you wish, the biggest change you experienced this past year.
   I think one reason I became depressed toward the end of the year is because there had been so little change. No romantic relationship; same job with same daily routine. Same words and phrases getting recycled in my poetry. Same pictures of the same cat. Same nightly routine with the same night-time soap operas and comedies. Same, same, same.
   
   Yes, it did become a cycle of sorts. The sameness fed the depression, and the depression lowered any energy I might have devoted to changing the routine. Some changes within the past month:
   • With the worst of my cold behind me, my mental attitude has improved
   
   
   • This attitude has also gotten an artificial boost from the steroids I'm taking for inflammation in my Eustachian tube.
   
   
   • I've started power-walking once a week at a local mall. I hope to maintain this discipline (the iPod helps), and increase the number of times I walk each week


2. Talk about a time you changed your mind about something, important or not.
   I am reminded of the first time I went to Kansas City, MO. I had gifted my former wife a trip to the jazz festival there, including a stay at a nice hotel. I seemed to have an exceptionally poor sense of direction. If I chose to turn left, I should have turned right, and vice versa. I even started playing mind games: "I think I should turn left, so I should actually turn right." Murphy's Law dominated, and in these instances it would turn out my initial instinct had been correct.


3. Bishop John Shelby Spong wrote a controversial book [titled] Why Christianity Must Change or Die. Setting aside his ideas – what kind of changes would you like to see in the Church?
   In the history of the early church, it's clear the church was not afraid of adopting ideas and images from other traditions. The earliest example of this is Paul's "To A God Unknown" sermon recorded in the Book of Acts. The church would "baptize" symbols, traditions, and concepts from other religions as a means of encouraging people to convert to Christianity.
   
   Many today have a distrust of those "pagan" symbols (e.g. Halloween). This is unfortunate. Others refuse to engage modern culture on the grounds the church will become "polluted" by it. There's no question regarding the Christian content of U2's lyrics, as one obvious example, but might there be a Christian (or at least spiritual) layer in other popular media?
   
   Can we find new meaningful titles for God and Christ? How meaningful is it to say "Jesus is Lord" when our popular concept of a lord is a relatively powerless figurehead? How meaningful is to say "The Lord is my shepherd" when most Americans have no experience of sheep outside of a zoo? Though the phrase "Jesus is my CEO" grates on my ears, it is at least a step in the right direction.


4. Have you changed your hairstyle/hair color in the last five years? If so, how many times?
   No. However, my hairstyle has changed naturally. My forehead real estate is rapidly increasing (advertising available at reasonable rates!) and I have gained a natural tonsure (as shown here).
   


5. What WERE they thinking with that New Coke thing?
   They counted on the thrill of the new, and discounted generations of customer loyalty. Fear of the new is not limited to certain denominations; the general populace tends to be resistant to rapid change.

Idée d’jour

The night light is sooty —
  a cold evening
   of snow.
— Etsujin

Riding High, Now

I have detailed some of my health issues over at my alterna-blog, Jonah 365. For the purpose of this entry, all you need to know is my
eustachian tube was congested, resulting in tinnitus.

I went to an ORL specialist (ear, nose & throat) a week ago Monday (1/22), and he prescribed steroids to relieve any swelling in my eustachian tube. This is my first experience with steroids.

A co-worker (whose husband is a Physician's Assistant) told me a side-effect of steroids is that one "feels good": less muscle aches, no joint pain, and so on. For me, this also translates to improved emotions. I don't mind; after being depressed from sometime in November through early January, I appreciate the change.

The first few days of the steroid script, I was just this side of manic. I had already gone almost a week without a full night's rest due to the tinnitus. The steroid-related mania made this worse: I had difficulty getting to sleep; would wake up at 2 or 3 in the morning, then have difficulty getting back to sleep.

After a week of this, my brain was pretty fried. I had poor concentration, and was beginning to jabber like a speed freak.

Just the idea of insufficient rest makes me anxious. Going for over two weeks with less than 8 hrs/night was really getting to me. So I called the Physician's Asst, he prescribed Ambien, and suggested I try half a tablet a night.

Happily, that has worked. No hangover. Still feel emotionally positive. Mental accuity and concentration greatly improved. I've been taking the Ambien every other night, on average.

I recognize that I have an addictive personality (to use the most recent politically correct formulation). I've had a history of alcohol abuse, along with less legal mood-altering chemicals. Gertrude Behanna, author of The Late Liz, aptly describes one symptom of the addictive personality as the belief that "if one is enough, twenty must be better." Consequently, I tend to be very cautious about using any mood-altering medications.

The experience of the past two months suggests to me that I may need to reassess. At minimum, if I still want to avoid prescription meds, I might want to start taking St John's Wort again (which has helped in the past).

Steroids have two other side-effects that have gotten significant notice in the popular media: erectile dysfunction and rage. I have had little opportunity to test whether I suffer the first side-effect (*ahem*), but I have a theory about the second.

When I first started taking the steroids, I felt like I was running 90 miles an hour, and the rest of world was running at 5. Everyone else was going too slow, for no discernable good reason. I can understand how a person might feel frustrated, and respond violently. I personally had sufficient accuity to remind myself that this "racing" feeling was a side-effect of the drug, and that I should not respond to reality based on it.

So, life feels good at the moment. My ear is still ringing, but it is less intense. I have hope it will resolve by the end of the steroid script. My iPod is getting a lot more use than normal, because I'm playing it at work. I use wordless music as a form of white noise to distract me from the tinnitus. I keep the volume low, so I can hear the phone ring, and am aware when someone wants to get my attention.

But — a day with music is 100% better than a day without. How lucky am I that my immediate superiors (implicitly) allow me to do this!

Idée d'jour

Man's last and highest parting is when, for God's sake, he takes leave
of God.
— Meister Eckhart (Zen Calendar, ©2007 Workman Press)

Ideé d’jour

Knowledge comes but wisdom lingers.
— Alfred, Lord Tennyson (Zen Calendar, ©2007 Workman Press)

Idée d’jour

It gets late early out there.
— Yogi Berra (Zen Calendar, Workman Press ©2007)
Post #1780

Idée d’jour

Lose your mind and come to your senses.
— Fritz Perls (quoted in Zen Calendar, Workman Press,
© 2007)

Netflix Que

By request, here is my Netflix Que.

Quote d’jour

The question now before the country is the one confronted by the man afraid of finding out he's been robbed. How much longer do we wish to pretend that nothing really happened, or that nothing really valuable is lost; that the crime is the losing of the Iraq war, not the making of it?
— Lewis H. Lapham, arguing for investigation of the first six years of the B*sh administration (Harper's Magazine, January 2007)