In gratitude and celebration I share the day that our Lord has so graciously bestowed upon us.
I revel in the love and friendship
of the great earthly family that I am privileged to share existence with
I'm fortified by the cold winter air
I am enraptured by the soaring beauty of green rolling hills.
I am enthralled by a chipmunk making his way across a fence
or the song of birds
and the cooing of doves
and the gentle light of a loved one on my mind
the wind is a violin
and the song of winged ones a piano
laughter is an oboe
the heartfelt tears of grief are chimes
how sacred is life
and what privilege it is to be granted it
To live is a sacred dance
and to know God is it's greatest joy
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Friday, November 26, 2010
War Without Pain
Traditionally, it has been my belief that an all volunteer, or professional, military is a good thing. I believed it was a form of kidnapping to take a young person and forcibly interrupt their lives by mandatory military service. After all, if a person is not inclined to be a soldier, then they shouldn't be forced to serve. I am now having second thoughts.
Our nation finds itself embroiled in the longest war it has ever fought and nobody seems inclined to end it. Is it possible that war has become too easy for us? As a people have we become detached from the horror of the wars we fight? We take comfort in the fact that everybody maimed and killed in overseas military operations made a conscious choice to go. As a people our conscience is clear. War has become tolerable and accepted. The pain has been removed and all that's left is the glory. We cheer, we pay tribute, we pontificate but, with the exception of a few volunteer soldiers, we don't fight. We don't share the burdens. We have become little more then spectators, watching the sanitized version of the war given to us by main stream media and not having to tolerate any of the hardship.
Unfortunately, war still costs. Spend a few minutes at a VA hospital and you can really get a feel for the cost of war. Amputations, traumatic brain injury and PTSD are just a few of the life long disability soldiers suffer. Flag draped coffins return home from Asia and the Middle East in a staedy stream. The numbers of civilian dead continue to climb. Suicide bombings, drone strikes, stray bullets and out and out massacres have killed hundreds of thousands in this conflict. Families are torn apart, economies destroyed, mass displacement of populations, crops ruined, rampant starvation and disease, as well as repression and corruption that seems to be the brother and sister of all wars.
If one is not moved by human tragedy then there is always the expense. Since 2001, as a nation, we have spent in excess of one trillion dollars on this war.. California's share of that is $140 billion. The San Francisco Bay Area (my home) has paid $38 billion of that(cost of war.org). For that same money we could have built 2714 hospitals (Reed Construction Data) or provided a years education for 572 thousand kids (CA Dept of Ed). Then there are fire stations, police officers, drug treatment programs, public transportation and all manner of vital public services that are neglected for this war. The next time you step over a homeless peson, muttering to himself in the gutter, remember that it is probable that he is an untreated psychotic with nowhere to go for help. Our public mental health system has been dismantled in the name of cost cutting, yet "defense" budgets continue to increase.
Of course, war brings economic benefits. War contractors, weapons manufacturers and government vendors reap huge profits. War is one of the most efficient means of moving money (our money) from the public sector to the private. Instead of badly needed public utilities and services, these funds wind up lining the pockets of the corporate elite. Government, at every level, abdicates it's responsibility to administer public funds for the public good. Instaed, they siphon it into the coffers of the weathy. Martin Luther King once said that every bomb that explodes in South East Asia also explodes on the streets of the inner city. That is true now as it ever was, only the location of the war has changed.
The sting of war has been removed and we are separated from it. It is fought in far away places, generally by people we don't know so it becomes acceptable. We can talk about sacrifice and service to country but very few of us are actually sacrificing or serving. Since there is no pain, then there is no motivation to end it.
Perhaps if we returned to conscription and a wider cross section of the population was forced to share the pain, then maybe, as a nation, we would not be so quick to go to war and tolerate endless conflict for the sake of national security concerns that are dubious at best. Maybe there would be motivation to find peaceful means of business and policy. Maybe if we all had to share the pain, we would go to greater lengths to prevent it. We have learned to take war lightly and it is far too horrible to do that.
Our nation finds itself embroiled in the longest war it has ever fought and nobody seems inclined to end it. Is it possible that war has become too easy for us? As a people have we become detached from the horror of the wars we fight? We take comfort in the fact that everybody maimed and killed in overseas military operations made a conscious choice to go. As a people our conscience is clear. War has become tolerable and accepted. The pain has been removed and all that's left is the glory. We cheer, we pay tribute, we pontificate but, with the exception of a few volunteer soldiers, we don't fight. We don't share the burdens. We have become little more then spectators, watching the sanitized version of the war given to us by main stream media and not having to tolerate any of the hardship.
Unfortunately, war still costs. Spend a few minutes at a VA hospital and you can really get a feel for the cost of war. Amputations, traumatic brain injury and PTSD are just a few of the life long disability soldiers suffer. Flag draped coffins return home from Asia and the Middle East in a staedy stream. The numbers of civilian dead continue to climb. Suicide bombings, drone strikes, stray bullets and out and out massacres have killed hundreds of thousands in this conflict. Families are torn apart, economies destroyed, mass displacement of populations, crops ruined, rampant starvation and disease, as well as repression and corruption that seems to be the brother and sister of all wars.
If one is not moved by human tragedy then there is always the expense. Since 2001, as a nation, we have spent in excess of one trillion dollars on this war.. California's share of that is $140 billion. The San Francisco Bay Area (my home) has paid $38 billion of that(cost of war.org). For that same money we could have built 2714 hospitals (Reed Construction Data) or provided a years education for 572 thousand kids (CA Dept of Ed). Then there are fire stations, police officers, drug treatment programs, public transportation and all manner of vital public services that are neglected for this war. The next time you step over a homeless peson, muttering to himself in the gutter, remember that it is probable that he is an untreated psychotic with nowhere to go for help. Our public mental health system has been dismantled in the name of cost cutting, yet "defense" budgets continue to increase.
Of course, war brings economic benefits. War contractors, weapons manufacturers and government vendors reap huge profits. War is one of the most efficient means of moving money (our money) from the public sector to the private. Instead of badly needed public utilities and services, these funds wind up lining the pockets of the corporate elite. Government, at every level, abdicates it's responsibility to administer public funds for the public good. Instaed, they siphon it into the coffers of the weathy. Martin Luther King once said that every bomb that explodes in South East Asia also explodes on the streets of the inner city. That is true now as it ever was, only the location of the war has changed.
The sting of war has been removed and we are separated from it. It is fought in far away places, generally by people we don't know so it becomes acceptable. We can talk about sacrifice and service to country but very few of us are actually sacrificing or serving. Since there is no pain, then there is no motivation to end it.
Perhaps if we returned to conscription and a wider cross section of the population was forced to share the pain, then maybe, as a nation, we would not be so quick to go to war and tolerate endless conflict for the sake of national security concerns that are dubious at best. Maybe there would be motivation to find peaceful means of business and policy. Maybe if we all had to share the pain, we would go to greater lengths to prevent it. We have learned to take war lightly and it is far too horrible to do that.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
On Creating a Culture of Revolution
"No revolutionary movement is complete without it's poetical expression. If such a movement has caught the imagination of the masses, they will seek vent in song for the aspirations, the fears, the hopes, the loves and the hatreds engendered by the struggle. Until the movement is marked by the joyous, defiant singing of revolutionary songs, it lacks one of the most distinctive marks of a revolutionary movement. It is the dogma of a few, not the faith of the multitude."
James Connoly,
1907.
It has become fairly obvious to anyone who concerns themselves with such things, that the main stream media in the US has been neutralized as a force for change. 95% per cent of the media in this country is owned and controlled by one of five multinational corporations who are primarily concerned with profit at the expense keeping the electorate informed. These two goals are often at loggerheads and a multinational can always be counted upon to favor the bottom line. If you control the medium, then you control the agenda. That is why the conservative right in the Form of Sarah Palin, Glenn Beck, Rush Limbaugh as well as a host of wanna-be's get wide exposure almost anytime of the day or night with not even the most feeble voice in rebuttal. If a reporter of conscience decides to rise up out of the bog, then the cry of "Liberal Media Bias" is sounded throughout the realm. The truly ironic part is that there is no liberal media. Any small peep of a voice is drown in a sea of corporate funded competition. So whats a good lefty Liberal to do?
We have lost the language. There has been a mildly Orwellian effort to eliminate or discredit certain words in our language. Words like "struggle" and "revolution" have been relegated to the dust bin of verbal history as linguistic relics of a bygone age. The word "liberal" has been vilified to the point that it is now an effective hit tool in political campaigns. Although individuals have spoken out, as a movement we have sat on our hands and let this happen.
It is clear that there must be an artistic, linguistic and spiritual revolution before there can be political and social change. We must take back the vocabulary of revolution and make it comprehensible for working people and instill a sense of community and belonging. We must realize, as a culture that we are more then the some of our parts and of our material desires.
We can start by working to convince people that the working class is not dead. Just because we don't work in factories anymore doesn't mean that we are no longer blue collar. American workers are amongst the most productive and hard working in the world. We take shorter vacations and work longer hours then anybody else in the industrialized world. We are also among the most undeserved in terms of social assistance. Benefits are constantly under attack and the health care system is completely dysfunctional. Child care is prohibitively expensive if it is available at all. Public transportation and education are always the first vitims of the budget ax. War and prisons are the last. Our kids are recruited heavily for military service then are criminally neglected when they come back. If that isn't "working class" then I don't know what is. We carry the weight and we get a smaller and smaller slice of the economic pie. A quick look at the ever widening gap between rich and poor bears this out. CEOs are rewarded for failure and hourly workers are used brutally until they are laid off without even so much as a goodbye kiss.
Another challenge is the perception that success is based on material wealth. This is a very convenient paradigm for business interests but is not sustainable and is killing the planet and deadening the spirit. Materialism is addictive as any drug. The more we get, the more we want. As with any addiction, we develop tunnel vision. The pursuit of the next "fix" overides all else. Where addiciton lives, wisdom dies. Unfortunately, the more we want, the bigger the profits of huge corporations so they spend huge sums of money and hire armies of marketing and PR specialists to encourage this voracious appetite for "stuff". We are herded into subdivisions in huge automobiles and isolate in front of television or anyone of a myriad of other electronic devices. We are bombarded by a constant stream of messages that order us to consume as much and as fast as possible. We miss the joy of a hawk on the wing or the smile of a child or the feel of a lovers hair because we are engrossed in "Dancing With The Stars" and wondering how we will make the payments on our SUVs. People and community are the greatest joys that creation has to offer and we have forgotten that.
This begs the question: How do we fight such a formidable propaganda machine? The answer is that we don't fight, we create. Never has the artist been more important to the struggle. We have lost control of the story and we must strive to get it back. Art is the institutional memory of a movement and the artist is it's keeper. It is through the "Poetical Expression" that Connolly espouses that the culture of revolution is created. As progressives, I think it is pretty safe to say that we will never get airtime on Fox and frankly, not much more then lip service from PBS. (which the right is trying to kill anyway). The good news is that if we create the art, it will get out. It will be seen and read by somebody who may share it with somebody else.
We heal through art and that includes the artist as well. Through art, we fight despair. Through the creation of beauty we promote peace. Through the promotion of peace, we create compassion. If we have compassion, as a culture, then the rest falls into place. History is full of examples of this. The greatest victory the "Right" has achieved for itself is to equate compassion with weakness in the minds of people. If we have compassion for each other and we have sincere love for all beings, then the need for material wealth disappears. If we take and use only what we need, we can devote the rest of our time and energy to spiritual growth and health.
Without a doubt, this is swimming up stream. We all have challenges to face in this area. We are preconditioned by years of corporate propaganda to want, want, want, regardless of need. I as much as anybody. This is a struggle that cannot be won alone. We need each other, as artists, as citizens and as a community. Art is communication and is easily within our grasp to use. Poetry, writing, painting, sculpture, music, anything that creates beauty lets us "Smile on our bother and everybody gets together to try and love one another right now". Being a hippie is not naivete but an expression of hope.
Peace.
James Connoly,
1907.
It has become fairly obvious to anyone who concerns themselves with such things, that the main stream media in the US has been neutralized as a force for change. 95% per cent of the media in this country is owned and controlled by one of five multinational corporations who are primarily concerned with profit at the expense keeping the electorate informed. These two goals are often at loggerheads and a multinational can always be counted upon to favor the bottom line. If you control the medium, then you control the agenda. That is why the conservative right in the Form of Sarah Palin, Glenn Beck, Rush Limbaugh as well as a host of wanna-be's get wide exposure almost anytime of the day or night with not even the most feeble voice in rebuttal. If a reporter of conscience decides to rise up out of the bog, then the cry of "Liberal Media Bias" is sounded throughout the realm. The truly ironic part is that there is no liberal media. Any small peep of a voice is drown in a sea of corporate funded competition. So whats a good lefty Liberal to do?
We have lost the language. There has been a mildly Orwellian effort to eliminate or discredit certain words in our language. Words like "struggle" and "revolution" have been relegated to the dust bin of verbal history as linguistic relics of a bygone age. The word "liberal" has been vilified to the point that it is now an effective hit tool in political campaigns. Although individuals have spoken out, as a movement we have sat on our hands and let this happen.
It is clear that there must be an artistic, linguistic and spiritual revolution before there can be political and social change. We must take back the vocabulary of revolution and make it comprehensible for working people and instill a sense of community and belonging. We must realize, as a culture that we are more then the some of our parts and of our material desires.
We can start by working to convince people that the working class is not dead. Just because we don't work in factories anymore doesn't mean that we are no longer blue collar. American workers are amongst the most productive and hard working in the world. We take shorter vacations and work longer hours then anybody else in the industrialized world. We are also among the most undeserved in terms of social assistance. Benefits are constantly under attack and the health care system is completely dysfunctional. Child care is prohibitively expensive if it is available at all. Public transportation and education are always the first vitims of the budget ax. War and prisons are the last. Our kids are recruited heavily for military service then are criminally neglected when they come back. If that isn't "working class" then I don't know what is. We carry the weight and we get a smaller and smaller slice of the economic pie. A quick look at the ever widening gap between rich and poor bears this out. CEOs are rewarded for failure and hourly workers are used brutally until they are laid off without even so much as a goodbye kiss.
Another challenge is the perception that success is based on material wealth. This is a very convenient paradigm for business interests but is not sustainable and is killing the planet and deadening the spirit. Materialism is addictive as any drug. The more we get, the more we want. As with any addiction, we develop tunnel vision. The pursuit of the next "fix" overides all else. Where addiciton lives, wisdom dies. Unfortunately, the more we want, the bigger the profits of huge corporations so they spend huge sums of money and hire armies of marketing and PR specialists to encourage this voracious appetite for "stuff". We are herded into subdivisions in huge automobiles and isolate in front of television or anyone of a myriad of other electronic devices. We are bombarded by a constant stream of messages that order us to consume as much and as fast as possible. We miss the joy of a hawk on the wing or the smile of a child or the feel of a lovers hair because we are engrossed in "Dancing With The Stars" and wondering how we will make the payments on our SUVs. People and community are the greatest joys that creation has to offer and we have forgotten that.
This begs the question: How do we fight such a formidable propaganda machine? The answer is that we don't fight, we create. Never has the artist been more important to the struggle. We have lost control of the story and we must strive to get it back. Art is the institutional memory of a movement and the artist is it's keeper. It is through the "Poetical Expression" that Connolly espouses that the culture of revolution is created. As progressives, I think it is pretty safe to say that we will never get airtime on Fox and frankly, not much more then lip service from PBS. (which the right is trying to kill anyway). The good news is that if we create the art, it will get out. It will be seen and read by somebody who may share it with somebody else.
We heal through art and that includes the artist as well. Through art, we fight despair. Through the creation of beauty we promote peace. Through the promotion of peace, we create compassion. If we have compassion, as a culture, then the rest falls into place. History is full of examples of this. The greatest victory the "Right" has achieved for itself is to equate compassion with weakness in the minds of people. If we have compassion for each other and we have sincere love for all beings, then the need for material wealth disappears. If we take and use only what we need, we can devote the rest of our time and energy to spiritual growth and health.
Without a doubt, this is swimming up stream. We all have challenges to face in this area. We are preconditioned by years of corporate propaganda to want, want, want, regardless of need. I as much as anybody. This is a struggle that cannot be won alone. We need each other, as artists, as citizens and as a community. Art is communication and is easily within our grasp to use. Poetry, writing, painting, sculpture, music, anything that creates beauty lets us "Smile on our bother and everybody gets together to try and love one another right now". Being a hippie is not naivete but an expression of hope.
Peace.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Of Two Minds
Of two minds
One of love
One of pain
One of joy
One of longing
Of two minds
Good wishes
For glad tidings
A small death
Of a small self
Of two minds
A friends joy
New found love
Private sorrow
In a private place
Of two minds
Mournful celebration
A flower blooms
While another
Drowns in tears
One of love
One of pain
One of joy
One of longing
Of two minds
Good wishes
For glad tidings
A small death
Of a small self
Of two minds
A friends joy
New found love
Private sorrow
In a private place
Of two minds
Mournful celebration
A flower blooms
While another
Drowns in tears
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Faithful Prohets
Last week, I made a trip to Milwaukee WI, for the annual "Call To Action" conference. This year the theme was "Faithful Prophets: God Alive In Every Generation".
I went to Milwaukee wracked by a crisis in faith. It was not my faith in the creator that was in trouble, but faith in the church. Recently I have come to feel very alienated by the Hierarchy of the Vatican. The Pope and his minions, the Bishops, seem bent on doing the wrong thing at every turn. In their covering up the misdeeds of pedophile priests, refusing the ordination of women and their cruel indifference to LBGT Christians, particularly by not speaking against the harassment and bullying that has actually driven some of Gods children to suicide in order to escape terror. I was having very real doubts about whether or not I could remain a Catholic in good conscience. What I found in Milwaukee was a lot of powerful inspiration. (and a great Irish Pub).
I was inspired by being in a room with literally thousands of like minded Catholics with similar frustrations to mine. We attended breakout sessions and listened to keynote speakers together and there was a great optimism and a sense of hope that change is possible. Together we all made the statement that to be a catholic one need not be a bigot, a homophobe or a sexist. One can be a catholic and appreciate Gods love of ALL of Gods Children, even if they are gay, or undocumented or are a women answering the call to priesthood.
The keynote speakers were wonderful.
I was warmed by Shane Claiborne, a young man from rural Tennessee who found Gods love working with homeless squatters in an abandoned church in Philadelphia. His first battle was to keep the diocese from throwing them out into the street. He won that battle and helped create a viable and helpful community that exists today.
I was move by Asra Nomani, an Indian born Muslim raised in West Virginia who continues to love and practice her faith even though it has not always been good to her. She was a Wall Street Journal reporter who was a close friend and colleague of Danny Pearl, another WSJ reporter that was kidnapped and murdered by extremists. She is the mother of a child, the father of which, whom she was in love with, was a Pakistani man who disappeared when Pearl was kidnapped out of fear for his own skin. She took the baby home to WVA where she tried to reintegrate with the Muslim community that was rigorously segregated along gender lines. Instead of walking away, she fought and, with the support of her parents, made her mosque coed (no easy task even in the US, particularly carrying the stigma of a single mom).
I was empowered by a Sister Joan Chittister, a benedictine nun and ardent feminist. She spoke of the isolation and loneliness that is the lot of prophets and how they strive for change anyway. She spoke of how they are seldom appreciated in their own time but continue to minister anyway and how we learn from them in later times. She is a powerful voice for humanity and change in the church.
I came home a better and more compassionate christian. I now know I can have faith and compassion at the same time. In the conference I found permission to be a catholic that loves my LBGT brothers and sisters and fight for fair and humane treatment for them(not driving gay kids to suicide would be a good start). I found permission to speak out for the ordination of women in the church because their learning, nurturing and healing is so desperately needed not only in the church but all through creation. I found permission to love all people and care for them even if they don't have legal immigration status. Being a catholic does not require allegiance to a group of tired old men in Rome with a decaying grip on reality or their appointed Bishops in this country who seem determine to keep the church in the dark ages. The church belongs to the people not the clergy and I'm going to fight for that principle. They can kick the parishioner out of the church, but they can't take the church out of the parishioner. Only the parishioner can do that. To quote Rosemary Ruether: "Catholic does not equal Vatican". If you are interested in such things, please check out CTAs link:
http://www.cta-usa.org/
I went to Milwaukee wracked by a crisis in faith. It was not my faith in the creator that was in trouble, but faith in the church. Recently I have come to feel very alienated by the Hierarchy of the Vatican. The Pope and his minions, the Bishops, seem bent on doing the wrong thing at every turn. In their covering up the misdeeds of pedophile priests, refusing the ordination of women and their cruel indifference to LBGT Christians, particularly by not speaking against the harassment and bullying that has actually driven some of Gods children to suicide in order to escape terror. I was having very real doubts about whether or not I could remain a Catholic in good conscience. What I found in Milwaukee was a lot of powerful inspiration. (and a great Irish Pub).
I was inspired by being in a room with literally thousands of like minded Catholics with similar frustrations to mine. We attended breakout sessions and listened to keynote speakers together and there was a great optimism and a sense of hope that change is possible. Together we all made the statement that to be a catholic one need not be a bigot, a homophobe or a sexist. One can be a catholic and appreciate Gods love of ALL of Gods Children, even if they are gay, or undocumented or are a women answering the call to priesthood.
The keynote speakers were wonderful.
I was warmed by Shane Claiborne, a young man from rural Tennessee who found Gods love working with homeless squatters in an abandoned church in Philadelphia. His first battle was to keep the diocese from throwing them out into the street. He won that battle and helped create a viable and helpful community that exists today.
I was move by Asra Nomani, an Indian born Muslim raised in West Virginia who continues to love and practice her faith even though it has not always been good to her. She was a Wall Street Journal reporter who was a close friend and colleague of Danny Pearl, another WSJ reporter that was kidnapped and murdered by extremists. She is the mother of a child, the father of which, whom she was in love with, was a Pakistani man who disappeared when Pearl was kidnapped out of fear for his own skin. She took the baby home to WVA where she tried to reintegrate with the Muslim community that was rigorously segregated along gender lines. Instead of walking away, she fought and, with the support of her parents, made her mosque coed (no easy task even in the US, particularly carrying the stigma of a single mom).
I was empowered by a Sister Joan Chittister, a benedictine nun and ardent feminist. She spoke of the isolation and loneliness that is the lot of prophets and how they strive for change anyway. She spoke of how they are seldom appreciated in their own time but continue to minister anyway and how we learn from them in later times. She is a powerful voice for humanity and change in the church.
I came home a better and more compassionate christian. I now know I can have faith and compassion at the same time. In the conference I found permission to be a catholic that loves my LBGT brothers and sisters and fight for fair and humane treatment for them(not driving gay kids to suicide would be a good start). I found permission to speak out for the ordination of women in the church because their learning, nurturing and healing is so desperately needed not only in the church but all through creation. I found permission to love all people and care for them even if they don't have legal immigration status. Being a catholic does not require allegiance to a group of tired old men in Rome with a decaying grip on reality or their appointed Bishops in this country who seem determine to keep the church in the dark ages. The church belongs to the people not the clergy and I'm going to fight for that principle. They can kick the parishioner out of the church, but they can't take the church out of the parishioner. Only the parishioner can do that. To quote Rosemary Ruether: "Catholic does not equal Vatican". If you are interested in such things, please check out CTAs link:
http://www.cta-usa.org/
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
The Homefront
Golden Gate National Cemetery, San Bruno, California
Today, Tomorrow or Next Week
“Ready, Fire!” the sharp crack of seven simultaneous rifle shots split the grief thickened air of the cemetery.
“Ready, Fire!” again.
“Ready, Fire!” once again
“Order…arms.” The seven members of the white gloved honor guard snapped their M-16s back into the “Port” position across their immaculately uniformed bemedaled chests. At that moment the mournful melody of "Taps" sang out from a lone bugler standing on a rise a short distance away. The six uniformed pallbearers folded the flag that had draped Billy’s coffin in the traditional manner of a military funeral, each performing a single fold until the flag rested in the hands of the last in a perfect triangle. Billy’s Dad, Jim, listened to the sad tune as the flag was folded. He thought he could hear just a touch more heart and a touch more feeling in the age-old rendition. Maybe it was just the moment or maybe it was because it was his older son Jason who was playing it. Jason played trumpet in school and picked it up again to help pass the endless down time that is so much a part of being a soldier. They pulled Jason out of his unit in Baghdad to attend Billy’s funeral after he was killed in southern Afghanistan near the Pakistan border. Jason requested that he be allowed to play "Taps" over his brother. The Army loves gestures like that so his request was granted. Jason knew the stretch of road where Billy got lit up as he almost met his own end there two and half years earlier on his first trip down range. Billy wasn’t the first American kid to come home in a box because of an ambush there and Jason knew he wouldn’t be the last.
Jason was always a tough kid. He was a notoriously vicious linebacker who made “All State” in high school then went on to the Army going through Ranger School, then Special Forces. He had one combat tour in Afghanistan under his belt and he was half way through another one in Iraq. Today he didn’t look so tough as the tears streamed down his face under his green beret, some actually falling on the rows of ribbons that decorated his uniform and told the world that at twenty-two years of age, he had seen blood by the bucket full and death by the car load. He tried for all he was worth to finish his tribute to his brother. Near the end of the tune, he faltered ever so slightly as he almost broke down. At that, two soldiers that were from Billy’s unit lost it and bowed their heads to weep. In his four years in the service Jason had seen so many people die; now it was his kid brother. Jim almost lost it too. He felt he had to keep it together for the sake of Billy’s Mom who hadn’t stopped crying since the two Chaplains, from the local National Guard unit knocked on their door in the middle of the night to inform them of Billy’s death. Jim did his duty but it was hard. His mind kept flashing to memories of Billy as a kid. The Christmases and birthdays kept coming back. He thought of how proud he was when Billy’s soccer team took the regionals. He remembered the scoldings for a variety of youthful trespasses and the thousands of tender moments that seem small at the time but came back to him larger then life now. He remembered pride mixed with trepidation as Billy followed his brother’s footsteps into the army. At first he told himself that he just didn’t understand but he understood all to well. Jim had been a soldier once himself as were his dad and uncles and cousins. It was expected in his family. You graduate high school, enter the service, get out and have a life. He understood alright, it was the way it had always been except that Billy didn’t make it to the “have a life” part. What Jim didn’t understand is what the hell was in Afghanistan that was worth dying for. He had heard the “party line” over and over again, about how we had to fight terrorists there so we wouldn’t have to fight them here. The trouble was that the more the government and the media pounded that message, the hollower it sounded. Added to that is the fact that you never seemed to hear about a senators or oil billionaires child being buried just the kids of working stiffs and today it was his boy. Jim was rapidly coming to the conclusion that it was all bullshit. He was starting to feel that his family had been had. His Dad and all the rest had fought and sometimes bled for the greater good of some rich bastards that never had to put their own butts on the line. Billy died and for what? Nothing that he could see.
The flag made its way down the line of soldier pallbearers to the hands of a young captain who never knew Billy. He walked over to Billy’s Mom and gave her the flag and whispered “the thanks of a grateful nation” to her as he handed her the memento. She was near blind and paralyzed with grief and took the flag absently from the captain’s hands. Jim wasn’t even sure if she knew where she was.
As the flag was passed to the grieving mother, troops on the other side of the world were mounting up in helicopters and Humvees. Weapons were being checked and prayers were being said, prayers in different languages. The Americans didn’t know if today was the day they would find the roadside bomb with their name on it or take a bullet in an ambush. Afghans and Iraqis wondered if this was the day they would get blown to bits in an air strike coming home from the market. They wondered if they were going to get shot in the crossfire between Jihadis and Coalition soldiers or maybe just get killed because someone was having a bad day. Fear and death were constant neighbors, lurking in their homes, cities and villages. The “War on Terror” didn’t seem to stop a lot of terror. It just seemed to exacerbate it.
Jason finished Taps and bowed his head and cried unashamedly. Green Berets be damned, this was his brother.
“Grateful nation my ass” Jim spat under his breath as he wiped his own tears away, “I want my son back”.
Today, Tomorrow or Next Week
“Ready, Fire!” the sharp crack of seven simultaneous rifle shots split the grief thickened air of the cemetery.
“Ready, Fire!” again.
“Ready, Fire!” once again
“Order…arms.” The seven members of the white gloved honor guard snapped their M-16s back into the “Port” position across their immaculately uniformed bemedaled chests. At that moment the mournful melody of "Taps" sang out from a lone bugler standing on a rise a short distance away. The six uniformed pallbearers folded the flag that had draped Billy’s coffin in the traditional manner of a military funeral, each performing a single fold until the flag rested in the hands of the last in a perfect triangle. Billy’s Dad, Jim, listened to the sad tune as the flag was folded. He thought he could hear just a touch more heart and a touch more feeling in the age-old rendition. Maybe it was just the moment or maybe it was because it was his older son Jason who was playing it. Jason played trumpet in school and picked it up again to help pass the endless down time that is so much a part of being a soldier. They pulled Jason out of his unit in Baghdad to attend Billy’s funeral after he was killed in southern Afghanistan near the Pakistan border. Jason requested that he be allowed to play "Taps" over his brother. The Army loves gestures like that so his request was granted. Jason knew the stretch of road where Billy got lit up as he almost met his own end there two and half years earlier on his first trip down range. Billy wasn’t the first American kid to come home in a box because of an ambush there and Jason knew he wouldn’t be the last.
Jason was always a tough kid. He was a notoriously vicious linebacker who made “All State” in high school then went on to the Army going through Ranger School, then Special Forces. He had one combat tour in Afghanistan under his belt and he was half way through another one in Iraq. Today he didn’t look so tough as the tears streamed down his face under his green beret, some actually falling on the rows of ribbons that decorated his uniform and told the world that at twenty-two years of age, he had seen blood by the bucket full and death by the car load. He tried for all he was worth to finish his tribute to his brother. Near the end of the tune, he faltered ever so slightly as he almost broke down. At that, two soldiers that were from Billy’s unit lost it and bowed their heads to weep. In his four years in the service Jason had seen so many people die; now it was his kid brother. Jim almost lost it too. He felt he had to keep it together for the sake of Billy’s Mom who hadn’t stopped crying since the two Chaplains, from the local National Guard unit knocked on their door in the middle of the night to inform them of Billy’s death. Jim did his duty but it was hard. His mind kept flashing to memories of Billy as a kid. The Christmases and birthdays kept coming back. He thought of how proud he was when Billy’s soccer team took the regionals. He remembered the scoldings for a variety of youthful trespasses and the thousands of tender moments that seem small at the time but came back to him larger then life now. He remembered pride mixed with trepidation as Billy followed his brother’s footsteps into the army. At first he told himself that he just didn’t understand but he understood all to well. Jim had been a soldier once himself as were his dad and uncles and cousins. It was expected in his family. You graduate high school, enter the service, get out and have a life. He understood alright, it was the way it had always been except that Billy didn’t make it to the “have a life” part. What Jim didn’t understand is what the hell was in Afghanistan that was worth dying for. He had heard the “party line” over and over again, about how we had to fight terrorists there so we wouldn’t have to fight them here. The trouble was that the more the government and the media pounded that message, the hollower it sounded. Added to that is the fact that you never seemed to hear about a senators or oil billionaires child being buried just the kids of working stiffs and today it was his boy. Jim was rapidly coming to the conclusion that it was all bullshit. He was starting to feel that his family had been had. His Dad and all the rest had fought and sometimes bled for the greater good of some rich bastards that never had to put their own butts on the line. Billy died and for what? Nothing that he could see.
The flag made its way down the line of soldier pallbearers to the hands of a young captain who never knew Billy. He walked over to Billy’s Mom and gave her the flag and whispered “the thanks of a grateful nation” to her as he handed her the memento. She was near blind and paralyzed with grief and took the flag absently from the captain’s hands. Jim wasn’t even sure if she knew where she was.
As the flag was passed to the grieving mother, troops on the other side of the world were mounting up in helicopters and Humvees. Weapons were being checked and prayers were being said, prayers in different languages. The Americans didn’t know if today was the day they would find the roadside bomb with their name on it or take a bullet in an ambush. Afghans and Iraqis wondered if this was the day they would get blown to bits in an air strike coming home from the market. They wondered if they were going to get shot in the crossfire between Jihadis and Coalition soldiers or maybe just get killed because someone was having a bad day. Fear and death were constant neighbors, lurking in their homes, cities and villages. The “War on Terror” didn’t seem to stop a lot of terror. It just seemed to exacerbate it.
Jason finished Taps and bowed his head and cried unashamedly. Green Berets be damned, this was his brother.
“Grateful nation my ass” Jim spat under his breath as he wiped his own tears away, “I want my son back”.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
An Open Letter to the Richmond Police and Fire Unions
Regarding the recent disclosures about Mayor Gayle McLaughlin of Richmond:
How dare you? How dare you encourage the stigmatization of the mentally ill for political gain? How dare you insinuate that suffering from depression somehow makes one unfit to lead? Does the name Abraham Lincoln ring a bell? How dare you search out old wounds that are completely unrelated to the Mayors performance in office and try to rip them open after a difficult, painful and successful recovery. Mayor McLaughlins past challenges and her victory over them is cause for celebration and admiration, not an invented handicap to be used as a campaign weapon. Is it your intention to get to the Mayors office by crawling through the sewer? How can people that act with such bravery on the streets be so cowardly in smoke filled rooms?
How dare you? How dare you encourage the stigmatization of the mentally ill for political gain? How dare you insinuate that suffering from depression somehow makes one unfit to lead? Does the name Abraham Lincoln ring a bell? How dare you search out old wounds that are completely unrelated to the Mayors performance in office and try to rip them open after a difficult, painful and successful recovery. Mayor McLaughlins past challenges and her victory over them is cause for celebration and admiration, not an invented handicap to be used as a campaign weapon. Is it your intention to get to the Mayors office by crawling through the sewer? How can people that act with such bravery on the streets be so cowardly in smoke filled rooms?
Monday, August 23, 2010
The Mosque
Let me start by saying that nobody was more enraged and horrified on 9/11 then I was, but consider this...Wouldn't it be a sign of our strength if we allowed the Mosque to be built? Wouldn't it show the world that we are tough enough to fight our enemies without persecuting our own Muslim citizens? My son and my nephew have committed themselves to put there lives on the line in defence of our nation, just as my father, uncles and cousins did before them. Don't we owe it to them to show the same guts at home that they show overseas? Please know that I am sympathetic to the pain of those who lost loved ones in the attack and I grieve along with the rest of the country, that is why it is important that those deaths have meaning. If we are the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, let us be brave enough to exercise our freedoms. That's what winning looks like.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Where is Beauty
Where is Beauty?
Sold in the market place
of a brutal culture
numbed by greed
Prostituted
Buried in the mindless drone
of televisions
of computers
of video games
It has been abandoned
In the desolate wasteland
of material desire
But it survives
In a childs hug for his grandfather
In the eyes of a dove
bathing herself
in a soft warm rain
In the churning surf
Of a Northern California beach
Just after a storm
In the damp floor of a redwood grove
So dark, so deep, so cool
In wisdom
In knowing
In us all
And for us all
In the love of creation
And in creations love
Beauty is here
Sold in the market place
of a brutal culture
numbed by greed
Prostituted
Buried in the mindless drone
of televisions
of computers
of video games
It has been abandoned
In the desolate wasteland
of material desire
But it survives
In a childs hug for his grandfather
In the eyes of a dove
bathing herself
in a soft warm rain
In the churning surf
Of a Northern California beach
Just after a storm
In the damp floor of a redwood grove
So dark, so deep, so cool
In wisdom
In knowing
In us all
And for us all
In the love of creation
And in creations love
Beauty is here
Friday, April 2, 2010
Beauty In Being
I am blessed to lived on the northern end of a long, wide belt of parkland that stretches almost thirty miles from West Contra Costa County, California to Southern Alameda County. Although there is heavy urban development to the west and suburbs to the east, it is a beautiful, functioning wilderness that is truly a gift of God.
Most days, weather permitting, I walk our Greyhound, Honey, for about an hour over a ridge near our home. Last year, not to far into our walk, I was startled by a vulture taking flight from some bush near the trail. I walked over to where it been and saw the remains of a deer. I noticed that a variety of insects were already busily feeding on the putrefying flesh and I found the process to quite fascinating. Over the course of the next several weeks I would take a short time out from our walk, while Honey would busy herself romping and frolicking over hill and dale, and check the progress of the deer disposal operation that the local carrion creatures were performing. Little by little, the corpse disappeared. The flesh was soon gone then the hide started to disappear. The skeleton disintegrated until it was just an unrecognizable pile of bones. Eventually, the deer was gone completely. I marveled how something so ugly as death and the consumption of rotting flesh could have such an interesting and desirable result. Then it occurred to me: there is no ugliness in nature. Certainly there are things that are unsightly, disgusting and even nauseating, but there is no ugliness. I found a new affection for the much maligned vulture that I had previously believed to be one of the ugliest critters in creation. The vulture, a symbol of death in our culture, frequenter of haunted houses and other scary places, does not cause death but merely cleans up after it. Francis of Assisi might have called him "Brother Vulture" after being startled by his abrupt departure from breakfast that morning. That is the beauty and lesson of Saint Francis, all creatures have a part in creation and all are beautiful in their own way.
The biblical book of Matthew (25:40) quotes Jesus as saying:
"whatever you did for the least brothers of mine, you did for me"
Consider, if you will, the next time you are walking on a city street and you see a homeless person muttering to himself or rummaging through dumpster, or perhaps when you consider the problem of undocumented immigrants or paroled felons. As in the species of nature, there are no disposable people. To torment the afflicted or to oppress the poor or to deny basic health and dignity to other human beings is a crime against creation.
Now I am not suggesting that we all go out and find a homeless person and put him in the spare bedroom, or throw the borders open to unregulated movement or allow murderers and rapists to leave prison and roam the streets freely. What I am suggesting is to approach social problems with the love of families and not the wrath of avengers. Instead of getting hung up on the surface, look more deeply into the potential. Strive to find beauty in what seems to be ugly, not simply destroy for the sake of convenience. Respect the dangers but appreciate the beauty. Life is sacred, this is true throughout creation, animal, vegetable and human. Let us be circumspect when we take life be it for food, or the common good or whatever reason and let us not do so lightly. Let us look at those less fortunate then us with loving eyes and contemplate how we may help instead of how to get them out of our sight because they upset us. Let us reorder our priorities and make the focus of our journey one devoted to love, life and community as opposed to material profit. Just pick up a news paper and as you contemplate the events of the day ask yourselves: As a people are we prosperous? Are we fulfilled? Are we peaceful? Are we happy? What does our future look like? If we don't like what we see, how can we change it?
When considering our neighbors we would be well advised to remember Brother Vulture. Ugly at first appearance but valuable in his presence. Remember that what we do to the least of our brethren we do to creation. That which we do to creation, we do to ourselves.
Most days, weather permitting, I walk our Greyhound, Honey, for about an hour over a ridge near our home. Last year, not to far into our walk, I was startled by a vulture taking flight from some bush near the trail. I walked over to where it been and saw the remains of a deer. I noticed that a variety of insects were already busily feeding on the putrefying flesh and I found the process to quite fascinating. Over the course of the next several weeks I would take a short time out from our walk, while Honey would busy herself romping and frolicking over hill and dale, and check the progress of the deer disposal operation that the local carrion creatures were performing. Little by little, the corpse disappeared. The flesh was soon gone then the hide started to disappear. The skeleton disintegrated until it was just an unrecognizable pile of bones. Eventually, the deer was gone completely. I marveled how something so ugly as death and the consumption of rotting flesh could have such an interesting and desirable result. Then it occurred to me: there is no ugliness in nature. Certainly there are things that are unsightly, disgusting and even nauseating, but there is no ugliness. I found a new affection for the much maligned vulture that I had previously believed to be one of the ugliest critters in creation. The vulture, a symbol of death in our culture, frequenter of haunted houses and other scary places, does not cause death but merely cleans up after it. Francis of Assisi might have called him "Brother Vulture" after being startled by his abrupt departure from breakfast that morning. That is the beauty and lesson of Saint Francis, all creatures have a part in creation and all are beautiful in their own way.
The biblical book of Matthew (25:40) quotes Jesus as saying:
"whatever you did for the least brothers of mine, you did for me"
Consider, if you will, the next time you are walking on a city street and you see a homeless person muttering to himself or rummaging through dumpster, or perhaps when you consider the problem of undocumented immigrants or paroled felons. As in the species of nature, there are no disposable people. To torment the afflicted or to oppress the poor or to deny basic health and dignity to other human beings is a crime against creation.
Now I am not suggesting that we all go out and find a homeless person and put him in the spare bedroom, or throw the borders open to unregulated movement or allow murderers and rapists to leave prison and roam the streets freely. What I am suggesting is to approach social problems with the love of families and not the wrath of avengers. Instead of getting hung up on the surface, look more deeply into the potential. Strive to find beauty in what seems to be ugly, not simply destroy for the sake of convenience. Respect the dangers but appreciate the beauty. Life is sacred, this is true throughout creation, animal, vegetable and human. Let us be circumspect when we take life be it for food, or the common good or whatever reason and let us not do so lightly. Let us look at those less fortunate then us with loving eyes and contemplate how we may help instead of how to get them out of our sight because they upset us. Let us reorder our priorities and make the focus of our journey one devoted to love, life and community as opposed to material profit. Just pick up a news paper and as you contemplate the events of the day ask yourselves: As a people are we prosperous? Are we fulfilled? Are we peaceful? Are we happy? What does our future look like? If we don't like what we see, how can we change it?
When considering our neighbors we would be well advised to remember Brother Vulture. Ugly at first appearance but valuable in his presence. Remember that what we do to the least of our brethren we do to creation. That which we do to creation, we do to ourselves.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Old Time Religion
I recently watched an episode of "The American Experience" entitled "Surviving The Dust Bowl". ( yeh Netflix!)
In the early 1930s, the southern Midwest suffered a severe drought that lasted more then half a decade. The soil in the Texas Panhandle, Oklahoma and Colorado, as well as other places, simply turned to dust and blew away. Great black billowing clouds of this windblown dust covered entire communities choking the life out of the land. Death from respiratory ailments was widespread and virtually all the crops were destroyed. Hundreds of thousands of people watched their livelihoods simply blow away.
The narrator of the program quoted a passage from the bible that was on the lips of many of the dust bowls victims.:
"For rain, the Lord will give your land powdery dust, which will come until you are destroyed". Deuteronomy 28:24
If I were a God fearing farmer in the Texas Panhandle at that time, I would probably freak out too if I thought about that one for a while, but the fact of the matter is that the Dust Bowl disaster was not the act of a wrathful God for sins committed by farmers. It was a purely man made catastrophe.
At the beginning of the Twentieth Century, the Southern Plains were a huge undeveloped open space, unmolested by the plow but the country was growing and with it the demand for agricultural products. The Southern plains were surveyed with greedy eyes and soon, the developers stepped in. Land was sold and farms. established. Business men from urban areas. often referred to as "suitcase farmers", pumped millions into the region speculating on the harvests. A lot of money was made by all concerned and soon almost the entire area had been cultivated. World War One accelerated the demand and nobody ever believed that the bounty would end. Then nature took a hand.
The Southern Plains are a semi-arid region whose weather goes in cycles. This gold rush of development occurred in a wet cycle, a time of plentiful rain. Unfortunately, that was to end. In 1930, the rain stopped, and would not start again for six years, longer in some places. The crops withered and died and there was nothing left to anchor the soil. The naturally occurring high winds of the area picked up the fine powdery dust and launched it into the atmosphere. Repeated dust storms occurred including one that darkened much of the eastern half of the country to include Chicago and even Washington D.C.
By the time the rains fell again, the destruction was total. Approximately a quarter of the effected area's population packed up and moved west. Many found themselves in squalid labor camps in California's Great Central Valley, harvesting crops for absentee owners under serf-like conditions. Those that remained in the Dust Bowl set out on a long and exhausting journey of recovery that lasted decades.
The Bible reference got me to thinking about the concept of "Free Will". The creator, for better or worse, put human destiny into the hands of human kind. As a species we are free to choose our own path. With freedom comes responsibility. Responsibility by definition is understanding and accepting the consequences of our actions.
Deuteronomy lays out punishments for they that do not "heed the word of the Lord". As a Christian, I do not believe that the Lord is still in the "Smiting" business. I don't think that he sits up in heaven and launches thunder bolts or other nastiness's at those who anger him. That was the reason for Christs death on the cross. His death absolved all of us, but I do believe we are capable of punishing ourselves for our own sins, particularly the sin of greed. To rape creation in the interest of profits, beyond what is needed for survival, is a sin against creation, it follows that a sin against creation is a sin against the creator. The Creator, in his benevolence, has left it entirely in our hands. We commit the sin, and we create the punishment: over use (the sin of greed)=environmental collapse (punishment)
In non christian terms, it should be clear that the environment is a giant house of cards. Every species, every ecosystem, each aspect of the Earth represents a card. Each card draws support from the cards around it and in turns returns that support. It is possible to remove a card and maintain the integrity of the structure. You can remove a second and a third and the house will probably remain standing but in so doing, each card shoulders more and more of the burden. Sooner or later, with enough cards removed, the structure will collapse. The same occurs if you radically change or shake up a given ecosystem. If you continually overwork the land, trying to squeezed every last dollar out of it, at some point the consequences of greed will manifest themselves in the shape of environmental calamity, like the Dust Bowl. The land is our friend as long as we use it wisely. When we misuse it, it becomes our enemy. Action and reaction.
The Dust Bowl has many lessons for us today. We need to seriously examine the consequences of our lifestyles and our actions in maintaining that lifestyle. We should be aware of the long term effects of the increasingly radical steps being taken to keep pace with our energy consumption, for instance. Things like tar sands petroleum extraction in Central Canada where huge tracks of land are literally boiled in order to get oil out of rock, poisoning ground water and destroying pristine forests in the process.
We should be aware of Mountain Top Removal mining for coal in Appalachia where entire mountain peaks are literally bulldozed into the valleys below destroying vegetation, fish, habitats and everything else in the path of the cascading rubble from up the hill. Whole streams with there surrounding ecosystems are buried alive. These ecosystems have been the center of the spiritual and economic life of the region for centuries. On top of that, all this displaced soil remains unstable for some time. When the rains come, there is a very real danger of mudslides. In South America, we have already seen thousands killed by mountains made bare by overuse, answering the call of gravity during the rainy season, moving onto and burying whole villages. The freshly bulldozed soil and rock from mountain top removal presents the same sort of danger.
Of course the legislators from these areas are all for this type of development. This is entirely understandable. If you look at it from the dark side, the extractors are the ones with the money. A lot of campaign dollars flow in through them. If you look at it from the side of the angles, it means jobs and prosperity for these areas, but at what cost?
I think it is possible to generate jobs and prosperity and not kill the planet at the same time. There are green alternatives to excessive extraction as a source of wealth and energy. Unfortunately a lot of very rich people have vested interests in this extraction and it is in there best interests to see it proceed.
Overuse through greed exacts a heavy toll. Instead of dust clouds over Oklahoma, we may be seeing mudslides in Kentucky. Instead of respiratory problems in the Texas Panhandle, we may be seeing illness from poisoned streams and wells in West Virginia. Different times and different locations but the same dynamics of greed to disaster are in play. In all of these instances, the wages of sin is indeed death.
In the early 1930s, the southern Midwest suffered a severe drought that lasted more then half a decade. The soil in the Texas Panhandle, Oklahoma and Colorado, as well as other places, simply turned to dust and blew away. Great black billowing clouds of this windblown dust covered entire communities choking the life out of the land. Death from respiratory ailments was widespread and virtually all the crops were destroyed. Hundreds of thousands of people watched their livelihoods simply blow away.
The narrator of the program quoted a passage from the bible that was on the lips of many of the dust bowls victims.:
"For rain, the Lord will give your land powdery dust, which will come until you are destroyed". Deuteronomy 28:24
If I were a God fearing farmer in the Texas Panhandle at that time, I would probably freak out too if I thought about that one for a while, but the fact of the matter is that the Dust Bowl disaster was not the act of a wrathful God for sins committed by farmers. It was a purely man made catastrophe.
At the beginning of the Twentieth Century, the Southern Plains were a huge undeveloped open space, unmolested by the plow but the country was growing and with it the demand for agricultural products. The Southern plains were surveyed with greedy eyes and soon, the developers stepped in. Land was sold and farms. established. Business men from urban areas. often referred to as "suitcase farmers", pumped millions into the region speculating on the harvests. A lot of money was made by all concerned and soon almost the entire area had been cultivated. World War One accelerated the demand and nobody ever believed that the bounty would end. Then nature took a hand.
The Southern Plains are a semi-arid region whose weather goes in cycles. This gold rush of development occurred in a wet cycle, a time of plentiful rain. Unfortunately, that was to end. In 1930, the rain stopped, and would not start again for six years, longer in some places. The crops withered and died and there was nothing left to anchor the soil. The naturally occurring high winds of the area picked up the fine powdery dust and launched it into the atmosphere. Repeated dust storms occurred including one that darkened much of the eastern half of the country to include Chicago and even Washington D.C.
By the time the rains fell again, the destruction was total. Approximately a quarter of the effected area's population packed up and moved west. Many found themselves in squalid labor camps in California's Great Central Valley, harvesting crops for absentee owners under serf-like conditions. Those that remained in the Dust Bowl set out on a long and exhausting journey of recovery that lasted decades.
The Bible reference got me to thinking about the concept of "Free Will". The creator, for better or worse, put human destiny into the hands of human kind. As a species we are free to choose our own path. With freedom comes responsibility. Responsibility by definition is understanding and accepting the consequences of our actions.
Deuteronomy lays out punishments for they that do not "heed the word of the Lord". As a Christian, I do not believe that the Lord is still in the "Smiting" business. I don't think that he sits up in heaven and launches thunder bolts or other nastiness's at those who anger him. That was the reason for Christs death on the cross. His death absolved all of us, but I do believe we are capable of punishing ourselves for our own sins, particularly the sin of greed. To rape creation in the interest of profits, beyond what is needed for survival, is a sin against creation, it follows that a sin against creation is a sin against the creator. The Creator, in his benevolence, has left it entirely in our hands. We commit the sin, and we create the punishment: over use (the sin of greed)=environmental collapse (punishment)
In non christian terms, it should be clear that the environment is a giant house of cards. Every species, every ecosystem, each aspect of the Earth represents a card. Each card draws support from the cards around it and in turns returns that support. It is possible to remove a card and maintain the integrity of the structure. You can remove a second and a third and the house will probably remain standing but in so doing, each card shoulders more and more of the burden. Sooner or later, with enough cards removed, the structure will collapse. The same occurs if you radically change or shake up a given ecosystem. If you continually overwork the land, trying to squeezed every last dollar out of it, at some point the consequences of greed will manifest themselves in the shape of environmental calamity, like the Dust Bowl. The land is our friend as long as we use it wisely. When we misuse it, it becomes our enemy. Action and reaction.
The Dust Bowl has many lessons for us today. We need to seriously examine the consequences of our lifestyles and our actions in maintaining that lifestyle. We should be aware of the long term effects of the increasingly radical steps being taken to keep pace with our energy consumption, for instance. Things like tar sands petroleum extraction in Central Canada where huge tracks of land are literally boiled in order to get oil out of rock, poisoning ground water and destroying pristine forests in the process.
We should be aware of Mountain Top Removal mining for coal in Appalachia where entire mountain peaks are literally bulldozed into the valleys below destroying vegetation, fish, habitats and everything else in the path of the cascading rubble from up the hill. Whole streams with there surrounding ecosystems are buried alive. These ecosystems have been the center of the spiritual and economic life of the region for centuries. On top of that, all this displaced soil remains unstable for some time. When the rains come, there is a very real danger of mudslides. In South America, we have already seen thousands killed by mountains made bare by overuse, answering the call of gravity during the rainy season, moving onto and burying whole villages. The freshly bulldozed soil and rock from mountain top removal presents the same sort of danger.
Of course the legislators from these areas are all for this type of development. This is entirely understandable. If you look at it from the dark side, the extractors are the ones with the money. A lot of campaign dollars flow in through them. If you look at it from the side of the angles, it means jobs and prosperity for these areas, but at what cost?
I think it is possible to generate jobs and prosperity and not kill the planet at the same time. There are green alternatives to excessive extraction as a source of wealth and energy. Unfortunately a lot of very rich people have vested interests in this extraction and it is in there best interests to see it proceed.
Overuse through greed exacts a heavy toll. Instead of dust clouds over Oklahoma, we may be seeing mudslides in Kentucky. Instead of respiratory problems in the Texas Panhandle, we may be seeing illness from poisoned streams and wells in West Virginia. Different times and different locations but the same dynamics of greed to disaster are in play. In all of these instances, the wages of sin is indeed death.
Friday, February 26, 2010
To A Departed Friend
Gone yet here
I see your face in the pedals of a rose
I hear you sing in the branches of the trees
You dance across my rooftop in the rain
I take your counsel in the hoot of an owl
I see you smile in the eyes of a puppy
you will never leave my side
your journey has ended
but you with me on mine
you walk the earth no more
except in my thoughts
in my heart
in my dreams
in my love
Gone...yet here
I see your face in the pedals of a rose
I hear you sing in the branches of the trees
You dance across my rooftop in the rain
I take your counsel in the hoot of an owl
I see you smile in the eyes of a puppy
you will never leave my side
your journey has ended
but you with me on mine
you walk the earth no more
except in my thoughts
in my heart
in my dreams
in my love
Gone...yet here
In Who's Hands Our Fate?
I read an article in today's Wall Street Journal about currency speculation affecting the Euro. The Euro is under a lot of pressure because of sovereign debt problems, most notably in Greece, but also Spain, Portugal and Ireland. I was quite affected by an account of a dinner party at a private townhouse somewhere in Manhattan on the 8Th of February, hosted by the investment firm of Moness, Crespi, Hardt and Co. This was billed as an "Idea Dinner" and the topic of conversation was opportunities for wealth acquisition through speculation on the embattled Euro. Lemon roasted chicken and fillet minion was served and the guest list included several "heavy hitters" in the hedge fund game including representatives of George Soros. Soros single handily wrecked the UK Pound in 1992 and made a bundle doing it. Three days after the dinner, the euro took yet another pounding. It appears that sometime between cocktails and desert, these distinguished gentlemen decided to throw the European Union to the wolves. The article reported that if the Euro ever drops to parity (one to one) with the US dollar, a lot of these guys are going to get very rich (or I should say, richer). The journal also said there is potential for what it calls "a career trade" in other words an opportunity for an individual to make so much money he could go buy this own country somewhere and live like a king without lifting a finger for the rest of his days. Imagine having billions in your checking account at the expense, of course, of the working people of an entire continent.
This article set me to imagining my fictional Greek counterpart. I'll call him Stavros. (Stavros was a character on "Kojak" but it's all Greek to me). Stavros lives in Athens. He has been married a number of years and has a couple of kids. His family is everything to him. He works as a clerk or some other low level white collar job. He likes a beer (or an ouzo or whatever) now and again and goes to an occasional soccer match but he has no serious vices. He enjoys watching his kids play the violin, perform in the school play or run up and down a soccer pitch. Stavros is a regular guy. Unfortunately, Stavros has a problem. His government, through it's own incompetence corruption and political dirty dealing, has run a up a huge debt that it cannot pay and the financial jackals are gathering. Stavros does not know how this is going to affect him. Will he lose his job? Will his kids school close? What about medical coverage, will his ability to take family members to a doctor if needed be eroded? What does his government mean by "austerity programs"? Who is going to have to get "austere" and how "austere" do they mean?
Another thing that Stavros doesn't know is that his fate is being decided on another continent by a room full of fat cats in expensive suits over lemon roasted chicken and fillet minion. These guys don't know Stavros and wouldn't particularly care about him if they did. In fact, if Stavros and his wonderful family wound up in an Athens homeless shelter, or worse, This group wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over it. They would rest easily with the clear consciences that were given to them as a reward for their religious devotion to the "free" market. Nobody elected this crew yet they have more power then almost any elected official.
Now there is probably an argument here for checking "out of control" government waste and some other conservative catch words, but the problem is that these guys in New York have meetings like this all the time and their influence is worldwide. If they don't see an opening through some government's debt, they find a chink in the armor somewhere else. At that level they stand to make billions if they guess right and lose pennies if they are wrong, while down at the bottom, guys like me and Stavros, and our families, neighbors, schools, hospitals, fire departments, garbage collectors and on and on and on, get screwed.
In the last three years we have witnessed in this country what our "Captains of Industry" have done for us with their creative finance and other gimmicks. They have plunged us into the worst recession since the 1930s and there is a real possibility that we will not recover fully from it, at least not in my lifetime. Now, there is plenty of blame to go around here and not the least to the general public who happily participated in the greed fest in a variety of ways, but it does begs the question: How much influence over our lives and our futures do we want some body's dinner guests in Manhattan to have? How long our we going to allow billionaire investors to have the power of life and death over us? How do we go about unstacking the deck because this game is definitely fixed and we really need to look into changing it.
It is pretty clear to me that it is very dangerous to rely on big business for our livelihoods. The fact that we do rely on them so heavily is because we have become so affluent that we actually fear any sort of erosion in our "standard of living" whatever that is. In others words, we are addicted to wealth. The only way we will ever thrive in the long run is to break this addiction.
How do we do it? The first step is to reevaluate what we actually need to live as opposed to what we just want. What are the basic needs: food, shelter and sanitation. How many of these things are we reliant on big corporations for and, more importantly, how many of these things can we produce for ourselves? Do we absolutely need it new or can we get some of it through thrift stores? Can we grow tomatoes in the back yard and maybe trade a few to our neighbor, who raises chickens for eggs. I live in a heavily urbanized area and I have done exactly that. Think about when we buy the things that we have to buy at a store. Do we have to get it at Wal Mart, or is their a "Mom and Pop" option. It is always healthier to invest in ones own community then to have our wealth sucked out to far away places to fund some body's lemon chicken and fillet minion party. I am not advocating giving up our homes and form communes in the woods but I am saying that there are things we can do to help take back our economy and give us back more control over our own lives. We are blessed to live in a prosperous democracy where we still can think for ourselves and produce for ourselves if we choose to. No transition is without pain but transition is going to come whether we like it or not. In self-reliance there is security.
This article set me to imagining my fictional Greek counterpart. I'll call him Stavros. (Stavros was a character on "Kojak" but it's all Greek to me). Stavros lives in Athens. He has been married a number of years and has a couple of kids. His family is everything to him. He works as a clerk or some other low level white collar job. He likes a beer (or an ouzo or whatever) now and again and goes to an occasional soccer match but he has no serious vices. He enjoys watching his kids play the violin, perform in the school play or run up and down a soccer pitch. Stavros is a regular guy. Unfortunately, Stavros has a problem. His government, through it's own incompetence corruption and political dirty dealing, has run a up a huge debt that it cannot pay and the financial jackals are gathering. Stavros does not know how this is going to affect him. Will he lose his job? Will his kids school close? What about medical coverage, will his ability to take family members to a doctor if needed be eroded? What does his government mean by "austerity programs"? Who is going to have to get "austere" and how "austere" do they mean?
Another thing that Stavros doesn't know is that his fate is being decided on another continent by a room full of fat cats in expensive suits over lemon roasted chicken and fillet minion. These guys don't know Stavros and wouldn't particularly care about him if they did. In fact, if Stavros and his wonderful family wound up in an Athens homeless shelter, or worse, This group wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over it. They would rest easily with the clear consciences that were given to them as a reward for their religious devotion to the "free" market. Nobody elected this crew yet they have more power then almost any elected official.
Now there is probably an argument here for checking "out of control" government waste and some other conservative catch words, but the problem is that these guys in New York have meetings like this all the time and their influence is worldwide. If they don't see an opening through some government's debt, they find a chink in the armor somewhere else. At that level they stand to make billions if they guess right and lose pennies if they are wrong, while down at the bottom, guys like me and Stavros, and our families, neighbors, schools, hospitals, fire departments, garbage collectors and on and on and on, get screwed.
In the last three years we have witnessed in this country what our "Captains of Industry" have done for us with their creative finance and other gimmicks. They have plunged us into the worst recession since the 1930s and there is a real possibility that we will not recover fully from it, at least not in my lifetime. Now, there is plenty of blame to go around here and not the least to the general public who happily participated in the greed fest in a variety of ways, but it does begs the question: How much influence over our lives and our futures do we want some body's dinner guests in Manhattan to have? How long our we going to allow billionaire investors to have the power of life and death over us? How do we go about unstacking the deck because this game is definitely fixed and we really need to look into changing it.
It is pretty clear to me that it is very dangerous to rely on big business for our livelihoods. The fact that we do rely on them so heavily is because we have become so affluent that we actually fear any sort of erosion in our "standard of living" whatever that is. In others words, we are addicted to wealth. The only way we will ever thrive in the long run is to break this addiction.
How do we do it? The first step is to reevaluate what we actually need to live as opposed to what we just want. What are the basic needs: food, shelter and sanitation. How many of these things are we reliant on big corporations for and, more importantly, how many of these things can we produce for ourselves? Do we absolutely need it new or can we get some of it through thrift stores? Can we grow tomatoes in the back yard and maybe trade a few to our neighbor, who raises chickens for eggs. I live in a heavily urbanized area and I have done exactly that. Think about when we buy the things that we have to buy at a store. Do we have to get it at Wal Mart, or is their a "Mom and Pop" option. It is always healthier to invest in ones own community then to have our wealth sucked out to far away places to fund some body's lemon chicken and fillet minion party. I am not advocating giving up our homes and form communes in the woods but I am saying that there are things we can do to help take back our economy and give us back more control over our own lives. We are blessed to live in a prosperous democracy where we still can think for ourselves and produce for ourselves if we choose to. No transition is without pain but transition is going to come whether we like it or not. In self-reliance there is security.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Life In The Wreckage
As I survey the smoldering ruins
That is the landscape of our collective soul
The tiniest green shoot survives
A start
A new beginning
A flickering light of God
That has survived the pointless holocaust
The last smattering of good
That is the hope of a wounded people.
Is this the last decency to live?
Is it written that it is to grow?
That we finally have learned?
That we pound swords into plowshares
and study war no more?
Can this be the end of greed and fear?
Can we embrace our human family?
And create livable bliss
instead of darkness and death?
In the smoldering ruins of our collective soul
There is a small green shoot of hope, life and love
Let us begin anew and pray
That the shoot becomes a forest
May God grant us renewal
May God grant us life
That is the landscape of our collective soul
The tiniest green shoot survives
A start
A new beginning
A flickering light of God
That has survived the pointless holocaust
The last smattering of good
That is the hope of a wounded people.
Is this the last decency to live?
Is it written that it is to grow?
That we finally have learned?
That we pound swords into plowshares
and study war no more?
Can this be the end of greed and fear?
Can we embrace our human family?
And create livable bliss
instead of darkness and death?
In the smoldering ruins of our collective soul
There is a small green shoot of hope, life and love
Let us begin anew and pray
That the shoot becomes a forest
May God grant us renewal
May God grant us life
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Get A Grip
On the 18th of February, this year, Andrew Joseph Stack took off from Georgetown airfield, near Austin Texas, in a small plane. He flew to an office park in North Austin and intentionally crashed his plane into an office building that housed an IRS office, killing himself and one person on the ground. Several were injured, two critically. Before doing this he posted a long anti-government rant (which I have not read) on the internet, that apparently expressed his outrage towards the government in general and the IRS in particular. He vowed to give them "their pound of flesh". He then torched his own house and set out on his suicidal flight.
My feelings toward this action are complex. I have some anger. What gave Joe Stark the right to kill a 67 year old man who did nothing more then come to work. Then injure others, most probably with burns, that will set the most critical of the cases on a pain filled journey of medical treatment, skin grafts and the like, that may well last months if not years and change their lives forever? What gave him the right to inflict so much pain on others not the least his own family, just because he couldn't cope with his tax problems?
I feel great sympathy for those injured, both spiritually and physically, as they embark on their odyssey of pain. I feel grief for the loss of two human beings for no particularly good reason. I also feel grief for our culture as a whole. Are we becoming so detached from God and so wrapped up in our own materialism that losing a battle with the IRS leads not only to suicide but homicide as well?
We are in a deep economic crisis and I personally have no idea how it is going to come out. I have a sinking feeling that we may be in a transition as opposed to just a "bump in the road". There are signs that we may never get back to where we started, economically, so I think it we would be well served to consider what is important. We should examine the things we love that no glitch in the economy or bureaucratic whim of government can take away from us. We should draw our strength from lives spiritual aspects, not the material. God, Family and community, that is really all we have when it is all said and done.
It's my blog so I'm going to make a couple of suggestions:
1) Work to live, do not live to work.
This is easier said then done. Everybody wants to get "ahead". Perhaps we should reevaluate what being "ahead" really is. Most of us have to work to support the ones we love but there is a very real difference between what we need and what we want. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for need, but we should always be circumspect about what we sacrifice for what we merely want.
2) Random acts of kindness.
When given a choice, do something nice for someone. Somewhere along the line, self absorption and cynicism became cool (or whatever the present pop hyperbole for desirable is) Vanity, selfishness and greed are considered traits to be valued and encouraged. The reason for this is pretty strait forward, it is more conducive to selling stuff and that is what America thrives on, isn't it? Sell stuff! Look good! Be superior to others! Right? No! Oh so WRONG!
3) Be mindful of our neighbors.
When ever we act, we should always consider how it will affect our loved ones, our communities and our planet. There is a Native American philosophy that involves thinking seven years into the future when community decisions are made. We would be well served to look into the future when we plan. If we start doing that, we may even survive.
4) Live frugally.
When we make purchasing decisions we should consider whether we actually need it or just want it. Are we buying it because it is required or just because it makes us feel good. Also think about what's going to happen to it when we are done using it? Where will it be disposed of. How much of a footprint will using this product leave on the planet. Was there any blood spilled in it's manufacture? I know this can be difficult, God knows I fight my own battles with materialism, every day. All I'm suggesting is to look at these aspects of the products we use and do what we can.
It is becoming more and more obvious that we cannot go on the way we have been. This unsustainable lifestyle we live, as Americans, is not only killing our planet, but it is killing us spiritually as well. This is illustrated by the flight of Joe Stack. We cannot get so wrapped up in our "stuff" that our world ends if we lose it.
Instead of living in constant competition and conflict, instead of fighting and stepping on people, try embracing. Embrace people, embrace nature, embrace family and community, embrace God. Nobody can take those things from you unless you let them.
My feelings toward this action are complex. I have some anger. What gave Joe Stark the right to kill a 67 year old man who did nothing more then come to work. Then injure others, most probably with burns, that will set the most critical of the cases on a pain filled journey of medical treatment, skin grafts and the like, that may well last months if not years and change their lives forever? What gave him the right to inflict so much pain on others not the least his own family, just because he couldn't cope with his tax problems?
I feel great sympathy for those injured, both spiritually and physically, as they embark on their odyssey of pain. I feel grief for the loss of two human beings for no particularly good reason. I also feel grief for our culture as a whole. Are we becoming so detached from God and so wrapped up in our own materialism that losing a battle with the IRS leads not only to suicide but homicide as well?
We are in a deep economic crisis and I personally have no idea how it is going to come out. I have a sinking feeling that we may be in a transition as opposed to just a "bump in the road". There are signs that we may never get back to where we started, economically, so I think it we would be well served to consider what is important. We should examine the things we love that no glitch in the economy or bureaucratic whim of government can take away from us. We should draw our strength from lives spiritual aspects, not the material. God, Family and community, that is really all we have when it is all said and done.
It's my blog so I'm going to make a couple of suggestions:
1) Work to live, do not live to work.
This is easier said then done. Everybody wants to get "ahead". Perhaps we should reevaluate what being "ahead" really is. Most of us have to work to support the ones we love but there is a very real difference between what we need and what we want. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for need, but we should always be circumspect about what we sacrifice for what we merely want.
2) Random acts of kindness.
When given a choice, do something nice for someone. Somewhere along the line, self absorption and cynicism became cool (or whatever the present pop hyperbole for desirable is) Vanity, selfishness and greed are considered traits to be valued and encouraged. The reason for this is pretty strait forward, it is more conducive to selling stuff and that is what America thrives on, isn't it? Sell stuff! Look good! Be superior to others! Right? No! Oh so WRONG!
3) Be mindful of our neighbors.
When ever we act, we should always consider how it will affect our loved ones, our communities and our planet. There is a Native American philosophy that involves thinking seven years into the future when community decisions are made. We would be well served to look into the future when we plan. If we start doing that, we may even survive.
4) Live frugally.
When we make purchasing decisions we should consider whether we actually need it or just want it. Are we buying it because it is required or just because it makes us feel good. Also think about what's going to happen to it when we are done using it? Where will it be disposed of. How much of a footprint will using this product leave on the planet. Was there any blood spilled in it's manufacture? I know this can be difficult, God knows I fight my own battles with materialism, every day. All I'm suggesting is to look at these aspects of the products we use and do what we can.
It is becoming more and more obvious that we cannot go on the way we have been. This unsustainable lifestyle we live, as Americans, is not only killing our planet, but it is killing us spiritually as well. This is illustrated by the flight of Joe Stack. We cannot get so wrapped up in our "stuff" that our world ends if we lose it.
Instead of living in constant competition and conflict, instead of fighting and stepping on people, try embracing. Embrace people, embrace nature, embrace family and community, embrace God. Nobody can take those things from you unless you let them.
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