Auxillery Blog

I have started a blog in TypePad, mostly as an experiment. TypePad is offering a free 30-day trial, so I thought "What the heck".

I started the blog primarily to try out their software. This was in order to provide some tech support to Alexandria. All this is explained, in somewhat more detail, in the Welcome message I posted on Tuesday.

I sincerely doubt that I will have the energy to maintain two blogs for any period of time. And I have no intention of paying for a service I currently enjoy without charge from Blogger. So "Practicing Patience" will only exist for the 30-day trial period.

And, on the theory that focus will make a difference, that blog will be solely devoted to my artistic efforts (there are three images posted there now). "Love During Wartime" will be focused on my remaining interests, primarily politics, poetry, and religion - though not necessarily in that order.

Speaking of Jonah....

My church recently completed its Stewardship Campaign. This is the time of year when people tell the church how much money they plan to give the church during the following year. Each year, the church’s finance committee tries something new. This year, the committee sent a little booklet with a story loosely based on the Jonah story. It was written and illustrated by Meredith, who is married to the Associate:

God said to Jonah, "Go this way"

But Jonah went that way, with all his stuff.

Jonah's stuff soon sunk his boat.
Jonah's soul sank. His life was stufficating.

Jonah found himself surrounded by Sell Fish.
They consumed his stuff faster
than he could pay it off.

Feeding on Jonah's stuff,
the Sell Fish grew so big
that one swallowed Jonah.

But God saved Jonah
and brought him to [our church].

And Jonah sailed God's way
with the Spirit.

God's Gifts Are Immense!
(they can't fit into this world)
[Long list of God's gifts, some particular to our community]

How glad I am not be stuck
inside my own little bowl
stufficating
among the Sell Fish.

I can't give God little pinches
of leftover stuff.

God said to Jonah
"Give this way."
[Chart showing percentiles of salary, from 10K - 200K, and from 2% - 14%, emphasizing the Biblical tithe of 10%]

Be a Stewardship PRO
and give in PROportion
to your blessings
in a real world
with a real GOD
on a real Steward Ship.

Now, since I use Jonah as my nom de blog, this naturally caught my eye. Additionally, it got me to thinking of my understanding of the original story.

I started calling myself Jonah because I often feel like I'm living in the "belly of the beast". The beast, in this instance, is American consumer culture. Which makes my usage very similar to Meredith's re-telling.

But the Biblical Jonah's time in the "great fish" is something different. I've told the story before, but I'm happy to re-tell it yet again.

The Book of Jonah is included with the minor prophets, but it begins much as the Book of Job does: "Now, there was a man..." Both books might as well begin "Once upon a time."

The Lord tells Jonah to prophesy to Nineveh, whose wickness is well known. Jonah agrees that the Ninevites are pretty bad folk, but he knows that if they repent, the Lord will spare them. The Lord is just kind-hearted that way.

And he doesn't want the Lord to spare Nineveh. He'd rather see it fry. So, he catches the first boat going the opposite direction.

The Lord isn't going to let him off that easy, and sends a mighty storm to delay the boats. Before long, the captain and crew make the connection between the dour prophet and the storm, and throw the prophet overboard.

In the normal course of things, Jonah would have drowned. But the Lord sends a "great fish", which swallows Jonah. Jonah sucks it up and prays to the Lord, and ultimately agrees to go prophesy to Nineveh.

He gives them the full fire and brimstone treatment, like Billy Graham in his glory days. And sure enough, we're told the ruler of the kingdom rends his robe, and puts on sack cloth and ashes. In those days, if the ruler did it, the remainder of the kingdom followed.

And sure enough, the Lord spares Ninevah - just as Jonah expected. Jonah pretty pissed, because he was really looking forward to witnessing some hard-core smiting. So, he goes off and sulks under a tamarask tree.

Initially, it's comfortable under that tree. It's nice and shady. But then the sun comes out and dries up the fruit that has been providing the shade. So now Jonah hot and sulking.

The Lord asks Jonah why he mourns for the tree. "After all, you didn't have anything to do with creating it. Yet, you chide me for sparing Nineveh, which I did create."

---

The great fish in the original story plays, at worst, a neutral role. It is far from negative, for if the fish had not swallowed Jonah, the prophet would have drowned. One could argue the fish plays a very positive role, in fact.

Maybe there's more to Stewardship, just like there was more to that fish. Maybe Stewardship is more than money.

Now, I understand some emphasis must be given to money. The gas and electric companies aren't going to donate their services to the church. Roofers won't fix the roof for free. Additionally, like many Episcopal Churches, our church currently has a deficit. So - as long as we live in an economy which uses money as a vehicle of trade, the church will need money.

But people have much more to give the church than just their money. They have time and talent, as well as treasure, to share. Most people in the church offer their time and talent without any hope of recognition. Yet, the church needs to know its potential volunteer base as much as it needs to know how much money will be available.

By asking people to make commitment of time and talent, as well as treasure, the church honors those gifts equally. The current system implies that the church honors our money alone.

Idée d'jour

Zen does not teach, it points.
— D.T. Suzuki (Zen Calendar, Workman Press, ©2005)

Hallowe'en Me'me

1. Favorite Halloween Candy
   Mmm...chocolate. Anything chocolate.


2. Least Favorite Halloween Candy
   Candy corn. However, since Peeps now has a Hallowe'en line, I may have to reassess that opinion.


3. Best Costume Ever
   "Cereal" killer. I used poster board to create a cereal box. The back of the box had a cartoon of cereal coming out of a bowl and killing someone — it even had a little homage to "Psycho".
   Surely a few of you remember when the back of cereal boxes had nine-panel cartoons on them?


4. Worst Costume Ever
   The idea was good, the execution not so much. I dressed as a "Lounge Lizard". I bought this makeup which was supposed to crack and make your skin look scaly, like a lizard's, but it didn't work. I looked more like a zombie, or someone who was sick.
   
   I wore a tux, and carried a microphone around. Now and again, I would do a variation on Bill Murray's lounge singer act. "Hey, babe! How's the steak?"


5. A Saint you treasure (please feel free to use the definition of "Saint" that is meaningful to you and to your faith tradition and life experience)

(a) Saint Francis; (b) Grandmother Kathleen, who was essentially my primary care giver in childhood.

Bonus: What am I dressed as this year?
My work-day costume is not likely to be recognized. I am dressed as Steven Keaton, the character played by Michael Gross on the 1980s sit-com "Family Ties". If I had a dollar for every time I was told I look like him, I could drive to California and audition to be his stand-in. My costume, aside from the supposed resemblance, consists of a sweater vest.

Autumn Scene

Moon's smile in the south-east
Cardinal stands in the ash pile
North wind mortar fire

Cat Friday

DJ silhouette

This shot was taken under available light. I've replaced the background with one of the colors from the Lady's eyes. I think it makes for a nice contrast.

Idée d’jour

That which has been successfully defined has been successfully killed.
— Christmas Huphreys (Zen Calendar, Workman Press, © 2005)

Idée d'jour

You cannot talk to a power politician
As if he were a wise man.
If he seeks to understand you,
If he looks inside himself
To find the truth you have told him,
He cannot find it there.
Not finding, he doubts.
When a man doubts,
He will kill.
— Chuang Tzu (c. 3 BCE) as rendered by Thomas Merton
[The Way of Chuang Tzu, New Directions, © 1965]

Lost October

Her heart like mercury on Oklahoma's barren shores
Her midnight hair clouds the forgotten morning
Her clay-foot cake walk across broken asphalt

Uncle John and Aunt Jo knew her youth
They tended her spider webs and
fed her intimate serpents

She has no opera sunglasses
She has no late tea cups
She has no patchwork dreams

Table cloth draped to the floor
Shadow fortress for afternoon tea
She hears the bees whisper

She finds her form in volcanic ash
She finds her voice in whirling winds
She finds her hands in the furnace

Her father is a giant, he drives the train
He carries her from station to station,
a talisman in his pocket

She tastes like vinegar
She haunts the feline alleys
Her shadow slithers from the past

---

Think there may be more to come. "Lost October" is a working title – a place holder, if you will.

Piles of Paper

I sit at this desk I have had since I was a teenager. I've jerry-rigged it for use as a computer desk by pulling out the main drawer and balancing the keyboard it, and setting the mouse on a manuscript book which is then atop an opened side drawer.

I'll never forget the day I panicked, thinking I had misplaced that manuscript book. I had forgotten that it was the foundation for my mouse pad.  

The desk is cluttered. It would take an evening to catalogue all the stuff collected here, and to tell the tale of why I keep it all.

Atop one pile at the right-hand corner is a "Christian Pocket Diary" for 2005 and a Moleskine mini-journal. The latter is empty, the former is mostly empty.  

There are islands of spiral-bound notebooks scattered through-out the room, some filled. Most not.  

What an amazing pile of paper.  

I do have one full “thesis” book, begun in my first year of college (1976-77). It really is a “common-place book”, as it has quotes and poems from a number of quarters, along with original writing and journal entries. For example, somewhere in the middle is a page of quotes ending with one from Elizabeth Hardwick (as memory serves): “Oh, yes!” Elsewhere is one of my darker short stories, titled “The Funeral”.  

In many ways, that thesis book was a precursor of this space, where I try out drafts of poems and vignettes. On dry days, I simply copy from my Zen Calendar or a quote “borrowed” from Word a Day.  

I have another “thesis” book which has 101 out of 124 pages filled. Almost a third of this book collects essays written for a church newsletter in the mid to late 80s.

This may seem excessive, or wasteful. Am I collecting notebooks (etc) as some collect coins or baseball cards?

Many of the spiral notebooks were remainders or strays obtained when I worked at the Infernal Bookstore ages ago. No out-of-pocket expense there. Other notebooks and blank books have been bought on a whim, or because I liked the cover.

Sometime back I read that one way to break writer's block was to buy yourself a new tool to honor the craft – primarily a writing instrument or something to write on. The Moleskine mini-journals (three 30-page journals to a pack for $6) were bought for that reason. I even thought, at the time, that I might use all three at once – for separate concerns/obsessions.

I bought my first Moleskine Journal after reading the Real Live Preacher's entry about his. There may have been a bit of magical thinking present here: in other words, the misty-eyed belief that buying the same tool that he uses would help me write as well as he does.

There's a certain satisfaction to typing my thoughts as I go along, rather than going from pen to page, from notebook to screen. More recent poems have been written this way than I care to admit. I'll confess that many poems that I think work the best started on the page. But some, even a long poem like “Grandmother's House”, have started on the screen and drafts get worked out on-screen as well. The recently published "Year of the Flood" was also written on-screen.

Don't know what marks that difference. No doubt would make an interesting neurological study. I would suppose there is a study, by now, which compares what parts of the brain are active when writing with pen in hand against what parts are used when composing at the keyboard.

The best I know to do is to “follow the muse”. Occasionally, I just feel a need to feel my fingers grip the pen. My experience with the Moleskine has taught me the pleasure of writing on high-quality paper, which adds a unique aesthetic to the process. Sometimes I even like the tactile sensation of spreading graphite on the page when I write with a pencil. Sometimes I like the feel of the keys and the subtle click-clack sound they make.

I've learned to trust my instincts in these matters.

How'm I doing so far?

Idée d'jour

I have never started a poem yet whose end I knew. Writing a poem is discovering.
— Robert Frost, poet (1874-1963)

The Iraqi Constitution

I've been doing some research on the status of the Iraqi Constitution. Considering the fact the election was essentially non-violent, and initial reports estimated that 76% of those voting had approved the constitution, I expected the Administration to be trumpeting a mighty success.

According to this Forbes article, two provinces have rejected the Constitution. According to election rules, if one more province rejects the Constitution, it will have failed.

According to the New York Times, the vote has been divided along sectarian lines. About 9.8 million voters, or 68% of those eligible, participated in the election, which is somewhat better than the 58% who participated in the January elections for the transitional government. I don't have our own election figures memorized, but I would guess this level of participation is better than the average American election participation.

All things considered, however, it may be too soon to claim the vote was successful. It's quite likely the Administration won't consider the election an unqualified success if the Constitution fails to pass.

So. Let's play a little game of "What IF?"

Will the passage of a constitution validate America's invasion of Iraq?

The passage of a constitution does not necessarily mean the resulting government will succeed. Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice has said that it may take as long as 10 years for a stable government to be established.

So, beyond the ratification of a Constitution, it's simply too early to tell whether the B*sh experiment in nation re-creation will be successful.

But even if the Constitution is ratified, and Iraq becomes a Middle Eastern democracy to rival Israel, that still won't justify the invasion. The best one could say is that a good end came from a bad beginning.

Remember, the rational for invading Iraq was primarily to pre-emptively strike again Saddam before he struck us. Evidence was presented which claimed Saddam was rebuilding his chemical warfare program, and was seeking to build nuclear weapons as well.

Many charts and graphs, and aerial maps with circles and arrows were presented to prove these claims. Images of mushroom clouds over New York City and Washington, DC were described.

Recent, U.S. army inspectors made it official: Saddam had no chemical warfare program. There was not an iota of evidence which confirmed he was even seeking fissible material.

At best, the "evidence" we heard in late 2002 was highly inflated. At worst, it was a pack of carefully orchestrated lies.

Is it possible for a positive outcome to come from this negative beginning? Put another way: does a negative beginning necessarily lead to a negative end?

Keep in mind that the negative beginning involved more than faulty intelligence. It also involved poor military planning. Sure, Allied forces - such as they were - defeated Hussein's army quickly enough. But the borders were not secured. Munitions depots were left unguarded. Many basic services still have not been restored (especially in remote areas).

I suspect that, given all these bad beginnings, things are likely to have a bad end. Every month that American troops remain in Iraq adds to the feeling that Americans are an occupying army, which will fuel resentment and dissatisfaction. The sectarian differerences noted in the Times article could well be the seeds of a civil war.

Unfaithfully Yours

I married Katy
in the year of '01
She was a lady
and we had our fun
But my heart it wandered
on romantic detours
Still I remain
Unfaithfully Yours

I lived with Nancy
for three months or more
Our house wasn't fancy
we slept on the floor
But my eyes they wandered
like lustful voyeurs
Still I remain
Unfaithfully Yours.

I loved a waitress
who didn't love me
I loved a dancer
who soon set me free
For my heart is hungry
and always wants more
So I remain
Unfaithfully Yours

---

I finished this song lyric about three weeks ago. It began on Sept. 13^th, when I heard the titular phrase in a movie. I hasten to add that the song is not autobiographical, unless "lusting in the heart" counts. The tune hovers somewhere between "Satisfied Mind" and "Tramp on the Street".

I'm plotting a method to record some songs in MP3 format, so you guys can hear them. If I'm successful, this may be one of the first I record.

Publication Noted

As I mentioned a couple of days ago, Tom Montag accepted my poem "The Year of the Flood" for his "Saturday Poem" series. The theme of the series is "Poems of Place". I thought "Flood" qualified, and Mr. Montag happily agreed. You can see it in place here.

There's also an "illustrated" version of the poem here.

Cat Friday

The lady begins her minstrations. The shot was taken under natural light last Saturday afternoon. She doesn't mind modeling, so long as camera flashes are not involved.

The lady is apparantly living on Standard Time: she set herself on my bladder at about 4:30 this morning. She has learned, it seems, that propping herself at that specific space gets results. The fact that she's purring rather forcefully adds to the effect.

When she wakes me in this fashion, which is most mornings, she does receive attention. No, I don't throw her across the room. I pet her. Eventually, the bladder wins; but until it does, I enjoy petting her.

What Noise

What noise at the door?
A ghost only,
a shadow of the Hunter's Moon.

What did the cricket say?
Spoke only of wheat,
barley & grass.

How spoke the shadow?
With harvest of asphalt
and oil on the water.

Who remembers?
Fat Charley and his brother,
living by the river.

Who dances with Orion?
The owl, the mouse,
the barren rabbit warren.

What noise?
The wind, my love,
it's only the wind.

Soon to Be Published

One of my poems has been accepted for web-publication! This counts as my second publication on a web-site other than my own. Just got an e-mail from Tom saying he was going to publish one of my poems as part of his "Saturday Poems" series. It will be published this Saturday, Oct. 22.

My only previous publication was in the Winter 2004 issue of Poetry Bay. The fact that George Wallace, then Poet Laureate of Suffolk County, NY, would accept my poem for publication was quite a thrill, and got me to writing more poetry again.

Tom Montag is also a published poet. So his acceptance of "The Year of the Flood" is also quite thrilling. I think anytime your work is accepted for publication, whether paper or electronic, it says something about the quality of your work.

Not sure how I learned of Tom's series. Maybe through Natalie's Site, or maybe one of the dozen or so poetry sites I glide through in a month.

Of course, to paraphrase Jon, I may have just caught Tom on an off-day. A week from now, he might have e-mailed to say the poem wasn't suitable for the "Saturday Poem" feature at this time.

But he didn't say that. He's going to "publish" it.

Pats on the back gratefully acknowledged.

Idée d'jour

The fundamental delusion of reality is to suppose that I am here and you are out there.
— Yasutani

Idée d'jour

God, whose love and joy are everywhere, can't come to visit unless you aren't there.
— Angelus Silesius

Alter Angel

The leaden angel
descended from Mercury.
Her heart was an intimate furnace.

In one hand, silver arrows;
in the other,
withered olive branches.

Her words were writ
on cadmium tablets.
Each letter was acid etched.

Who spilled the blood
on desert sands?
Who swept the ocean
across the small city bowl?

Who dances and kills,
then smiles for the camera?
Who tears the bodies from their homes
and tears the limbs from the bodies?

Her face is set.
Her heart is a consuming fire.