I always wanted to live here, Ten Black Shirts, Tohatchi, NM: 2000-2001

Stray dog,

Love on my shoulder,

Erase the blackboard,

a Navajo cemetery,

stark, American flag

brown hills against blue sky,

funny shaped white people,

in this land vast,

subtle happenings,

red barrels and sheep,

the Indians with the unknown,

past and future, stoically,

red face like a granite wall.

at night, a shape of moon,

and little children on plastic

Walmart values shuffling,

the wind in their hair,

the cubed root of 27 is 3,

everything a trailer,

a line of trees give shade,

pools of paradise, a flowering

bush, a Navajo white dog hobbled

with stiff leg,

suspiciously or unconsciously,

rides the waves of a

sandy field just graded by

a Navajo elder on red tractor,

and heavy metal blade,

bouncing, pulling up and dragging

brush, the thorns and growth,

of fields within the secure

fence in a school compound of

cement, Is the dog lost or in its

place?

the night falls upward,

the day in gold drops behind the increasingly

black silhouette of Navajo hills,

the day, progression, natural, detail, green

cactus, brown bushes and brush,

and then a transition, however long.

perhaps two hours, form the longest

consistency of time, daylight overhead,

and then this cross-direction, or the

light sharing, the sun leaving, dropping

and illuminating the sky behind it, and

above, bringing an illogical and unpredictable

painting of hues, emotions of the day in

the clouds and hills surrounding, and hope for tomorrow.

I sit as the star appears, the one

star in the south stands alone, I

gaze at its many shapes,

and pray, tears, God, mother, humanity,

self, the star takes on many alterations

in this Navajo sky, accompanied by tears.

the star as God, as the Spirit watching,

and in communion, the feelings emerging,

reviewing this ‘life’, with all its pain,

why? the silent tears and thoughts

burn as they run down my cheeks,

why so much pain? 

the one

star on the horizon, dancing and

understanding? in movement, metamorphizing

into meaningful forms,

the backwash of the Sun,

leaves, and suddenly

thousands of other stars

appear subtly,

gaining brilliance, as

night wears on,

and I think that

there is not the One,

but the many, each

shining, infinite,

everywhere, the

interconnectedness and

multitude of Light,

of God’s love,

and the pain, and

the hope,

God knows what we want,

and cares what our

deepest desire is,

it is okay to pray,

selfishly,

especially when what

you want for self

is what you want

for humanity.

‘This is the spirit of my heart, smaller than a grain of rice, or a grain of barley, or a grain of mustard seed…. This is the spirit that is in my heart, greater than the earth, greater than the sky, greater than heaven itself, greater than all the worlds. This is the spirit that is in my heart, this is Brahman.’

‘Within its deep infinity I saw ingathered, and bound by love in one volume, the scattered leaves of all the universe. The universal form of this complex while I think that I saw, because as I say this I feel my joy increasing.’

‘Every moment of our life can be the beginning of great things.’

Sri Aurobindo, Commentaries on the Bhagavad Gita

*********

I am riding in a school bus in Navajo country. The window is open. Abandoned cars and adobe buildings and aqua green bushes flash by as the sun sets on Albuquerque hills. The bus I ride in is full with Navajo youth coming home from their first football scrimmage. I am an assistant football coach for the Tohatchi Cougars. Sitting next to me is Arnell, a 14 year old freshman. He is Navajo, is short in stature, and carries an angelic countenance. This was his first football experience, and as a child, he glowed in post-satisfaction of the game, a battle.  He sat silently, as I took in the spirits of the rugged land, the wind brushing my face. The yellow bus cut through the brown land; golden reflection and then naught. We passed an area of subtlety that I could not register. Arnell, simply, quietly, as night enveloped us, said, ‘Cedar’.  The smell of cedar, my senses, camouflaged by experience, could not pick up as this young man was able to.  I could not sit without trying to box it in, to capture it; his knowledge in context. ‘Do you have sawmills at home? Are there lumber yards around Tohatchi?, I asked. Arnell sat for a bit and then proclaimed, ‘Cedar is used for a blessing.’ Incredible. Must I (how incredible) try to go on? I think it best to be silent. This wondrous young man, up at 5 am for football practice, sweating and pushing himself, in the context of cedar and nature and family and blessings, and without it registering for me, reinforces that the depth of blessings implanted in our souls. Sitting next to this young man, is intense, yet quiet, and hence, the necessity to be open and to absorb. Words…
The new assistant coach, Crawford, dropped a piece of white yarn at the end of the game on the field. It landed next to me and my first reaction was to tell him that he dropped something, but wisely I did not, some kind of blessing…I can now visualize it, a white yarn small bow, dropped and set on the soft green grass..
At the laundry mat today, young children played video games with fistfuls of quarters. One boy dropped several and another boy snatched up some and then ran to another side of the laundry mat and sat on a small car (the type where the 25 cents enters and shakes), with his pudgy face looking back to see if the other boy noticed. Many Navajo adults who sat on the benches alongside me, noticed this too, but did nothing to correct as us whites would do. It is simply another difference that registers, and I do not judge, but appreciate it and grow in understanding. (Correcting, community).
Navajos do not look and eye contact is not essential. (my interpretation). A lesson for me; to always be aware and watch others, but to focus away from the visual, and to rather feel, to give others space and freedom..
I have met a person strong and beautiful. I love to watch and be near her, thinking of her, like a light, on the bus, with an urge to grasp and smile and look in her face, feeling comfort because I know she is connected, near…I looked out the bus window, reflections of man-made lights dancing on the window, and moving like raindrops in the wind. Dancing fireballs over the hills in the direction of Tohatchi. I thought of her at home, talking with her furry dog, or intensely working on something important to her cross legged, chewing on the end of a pear, thinking and smiling, her athleticism, powerful and graceful and how I want to link, knowing the possibilities of love.

No man is an island, Asau, Savaii, Samoa: 2001-2003

‘One must not build fantasies around the future and use that as one’s impetus and source of encouragement, but one should try to get the real feeling of the present moment.’
Chogyam Trungpa, Meditation in Action

“The winner sows hatred
Because the loser suffers.
Let go of winning and losing
And find joy.”
the Dhammapada

‘Cooperation constructs and gives life while competition kills, generating conflicts that destroy.’
Gandhi, General Writings

+++++

samples:
from Samoa, 2001-2003:


1972 suburban Kansas:
1. the boy woke at the sound of the rain, just a splattering on the cement and all hard things. he turned his head and caught a foggy view of the digital clock with big red letters, ‘7:10’ in station-wagon wood-like paneling face in black case. he knew his stepmother would be in his room again, calling his name, to start another day, another day of school. it was the early spring, the best time of year, when it was just cold enough to wear his blue windbreaker and light shirt, the mustiness, cold and slush gone of winter.
2 two dark kids sit on a sky-blue bench on concrete floor next to a long picnic table covered by blue-checkered plastic tablecloth with fruit, the sounds of bats in coconut trees. they are cutting off athletic tape and applying it to leg wounds; some scrapes, some bug bites, some boils. They smile at yellow and red apples in their hands, showing with white teeth, authentic and real, discussing something in a foreign tongue.
3 two homeboys sit inside the beige school trailer in the desert. One, in black Marilyn Manson t-shirt and black baggy dust ragged jeans (I drove by his trailer in the desert once, from afar, a small trailer, old wooden steps, a couple of maroon oil barrels, abandoned car three tires to a tilt, and his wardrobe hanging on a wire between wooden posts in the dusk haze sunset; black, black, black, black, black, black, black and black), doing his math on-line on blue and yellow screen with bursts of ‘this sucks’ or ‘bullshit bitch’, his thin body anchored by two huge cement-looking black stomper boots, sitting on an ‘office’ chair, just bought, but nearly demolished. Homeboy; two; sits at another computer, with his headphones on once again, despite repeated demands by teacher. his favorite phrase, heard from his teacher, at a private moment (teacher trying to motivate him, his head down, fatherless wayward boy and mother a prison guard) has become, ‘Come on, Blair’, tilting his head with grin, mimicking his teacher’s tone, is surfing the Internet, despite teacher’s pleading, looking up rodeo homepages, his obsession, rodeo belt won proudly displayed, and sometime practicing ‘riding the bull’ on his office chair, throwing his one arm around and spinning, his jet black shiny hair cut like a bowl sticking to his brain like paint. The first was a full native, the second a half-breed Navajo.
4 the older man decided to take his sister’s two golden retrievers up into the mountains, to beat the city, and enjoy the wild, on an Easter Sunday, after church. He knew the trail he wished to take, through deep snow, aged and crusty, through the aspen trees, this late winter day, up three miles to a small lake, covered with ice, but edges melted, and the shoreline straw dry to sit, and read his book. He played catch with Auggie and Sofi, throwing the wet stick repeatedly, throw and fetch, and then sat with his back against the gray boulder in the dry grass to read Buddhist scripture, the dogs laying in the soggy grass or playing with broken fragments of ice in the water for over an hour. The man could never sit for too long, and decided to return, for he needed to get the dogs back and return them to his sister, with brother-in-law and little niece. he got up and decided to lead the dogs all the way around the small lake, for he always liked to try and make a complete circle, just coming to one edge of the lake sitting, and returning seemed absurd to him, he must go around. Auggie, 10, was in the lead and the more portly female Sofi trailing. Suddenly, as if in a dream, the accumulated silence was interrupted, Auggie began to have an attack, retreating, cowering and snapping his jaws; it was as if he was caught in a thicket, although none, the thick sense of dark and ghostly, a negative spirit pushing. Sofi, his sister, was scared and looked back at me. Auggie regained himself yet the demon came once again; a seizure similar to Bosco and Auggie collapsed rigid, his eyes back in his head, glassy, his torso and legs firm, landing in deep brown grass under stark aspens and next to a small pool with ice edges. I thought he was dead. Remembering my perceived sin, reading Buddhism on Easter, was a plea to God: “God, save him. I will leave this other scripture and be committed to you only” and reached into the pool, (no one within miles three miles from the parking lot and trailhead, nighttime approaching) and cupped a handful of water saying “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, heal him”, spreading the water on his body and rubbing his limbs and patting his body. Soon, the old golden got up like a new born lamb aided and could barely stand but stood, and then began to walk slowly and deliberately, concerned sister Sofi at his side. He could only make it about fifty yards up the slight hill and so I carried his large body the remaining three miles to the car and arriving completely exhausted, dropped him into the back of my tiny blue Ford Festiva, wrapping him in a blanket. Arriving at my sister and brother-in-laws house in Denver, we lifted him out, he gingerly walked into the house and somehow regained full strength by the next day.


***************


First night in Asau:  
In the beginning, I met a woman named Bou, in the dark, along the sea. Her hair was in pigtails with white ribbon, her stature plump, a smile that reflected the light as her younger sister in shorts with nothing else, walked backward along the white line laughing. Bou said something in Samoan I interpreted as ‘she has different mind as in slow’, retarded or crazy.
I walked in the dark, complete, for the moon was behind clouds and it sometimes drizzled. Figures passed, unintelligible until a quick pass by; two young men, Matthew and Andrew. I comment ‘disciples’, as we criss-cross in bad English and bad Samoan. They offer a drink of Fanta they just bought. Toe feloa’i.
One girl I pass laughs hysterically in the dark, scared? Did I spook her? For long intervals I walk alone in the complete dark, lightly illuminated by the lights of fales tucked in the rainforest. I catch a lulu, or white owl on the telephone wire, against a faint outline of coconut trees. I give a call, and it glides away, joined by another, in pair.
In the beginning it is difficult to know what to do. I guess the best thing to do is to move forward, so I walked along the sea, meeting Bou and the two disciples, the pair of white owls gliding in the dark.



+++++++++++++


Many people pass my place as the rains abate; boys play with tires in puddles, groups of young girls giggling on the path running in front of my place. I fed the pigs some leftover fruits, a cat is found in my place after my shower, picked some green leaves to put into Ramen soup-packet, will try a garden, walked by the classrooms at school (just 50 meters away). The classrooms and library look clean and orderly. It is a large school, simple, and with limited resources. I rode my Peace Corps-issue mountain bike up the hill some eight miles or so; fruit trees growing wild, lush green vegetation and very few people. There are work roads running into the center, rugged and one can go forever. (most villages are seaside, there are large areas of forest that grow wild, Samoans will pick strategic spots and plant their crops primarily in the lava rock soil by the main road. Most of the central island is uninhabited, the jungle vine grows fast and is almost impenetrable, logging goes on outside towards the village of Aopo). On Savaii’s north side, there have been some volcanic eruptions this century, so one does find areas where the black lava fields run to the sea.


+++++++++++

Some of my Samoan students:
Upumalie has huge brown eyes and long braided hair, a shy face with soft eyes that dart around the room; sometimes scared or sad but usually energetic and with humor. She always helps out sweeping the room, is a student that tries very hard. When I see her walk on the path across my house with her younger siblings, I see that she is quite a presence at home and loving.

Kamu is from New Zealand but born in Asau and recently returned. He is a good student and business learner.

Epenesa runs like the wind but is tiny with strong legs. She does not like school so much but likes things especially Western. She is a bit cocky. I see her gather fish when the boats come in.
Malia has a perpetual grin and is elusive. She is neat, immaculate and a good student.
I saw Mose Mose today pushing a blue wheelbarrow in Falelalupo. He must work hard at home which explains why he can blank out at school. He is tall and walks like a ghost at times. He is the only student I know who has asked me a question although his delivery was annoying.
Faleolo is a typical Samoan boy. He can fix anything and likes to be mobile. He is always playing with a chunk of wood or making some thing with his hands or joking with the boys. He can do math problems in the now but often makes small mistakes.
Asofitu is small with eyes that sparkle and has the buckwheat hair and look. She has never said a word but loves to be praised and loves to work in her boyish scribble.
Tammy is pretty and smart and speaks English well. Her father died so she has something missing. She can be the best of students or just shut down for she is in control.
Tesimale likes to please and gives all his best effort. He is tall with a mamma’s boy face, kind.
Ueligi calls himself Wellington Master. His father lives in California.  At school, Ueligi is the clown, his voice mimics, his feet up on the desk, theatrics at all turns. At the final year assembly, he sung like a bird. I was happy for Ueligi.
Christina is the best. She is not the best of students, but she is lovable. Her frame is skinny, she wears big shoes. She has the biggest smile for me and throws her head back. She is funny; a mix of Jerry Lewis and Peewee Herman. I think she would like Peewee. She lives in Neiafu and her best friend is Laine.
Eti wears a white glove found in Science class and does a Michael Jackson. He is the quisessential Samoa male; funny, gregarious, volatile, obedient, mischievous. His sister is Linda, Miss Poise, Elegance, adult, leader, beautiful, correct, in control, confident, joyful…
Sikoa is the best student in Year 10. Also is perhaps the best athlete. And common to the area, he can identify opportunity. He spent the night at house, and after lights went out, I came back in and found him crawling and patting the top of my table for something. But also a common attribute; a big smile. Good candidate for faifeau. (minister)
Fitu is a big guy and likes to draw. He cannot speak a lick of English, will try on a test but writes something like, ‘No understand Pale, sorry.’ so I guess he knows some English. He is quiet in class and will write down notes deliberately.
Seepa is funny. She does what is needed but likes to hang with the girls and banter with the boys. Her eyes are deep and sparkle, her smile like Mona Lisa’s. Her father drowned while fishing. She works me for photos and other things. I gave her an angel pendant given to me by some blond girl in Denver. Jenny.

*********************

Non-duality: Sun and Moon
I was walking by the sea; blue and white and black and green, a place for turtles, an indentation here, there. A boy told me that he has eaten the turtle eggs of the laumei, ‘manaia’ (good) said the boy from Falealupo, the place of Moso’s footprint, mounds, forest and awkward looking trees and dense coconut tree forests at the edge of this world of Savaii. But this story is of from a place they call Taga, which I believe means any place with lava rock and the crashing sea and blowholes.
I was walking and amazed; the power of the sea and its deposits on the shore. There is an organization or filtering that goes on; fine, fine sand to lay down on, soft in one area, and then coarse sand and coarser sand, shells, and bigger shells and then coral and then larger coral up to huge coral boulders all stacked in separate organized piles. The intricacy, the infinite diversity but grouped and in relationship.
The sun setting and the moon opposite; can you imagine the attention the sunset gets over the moon? The white moon against the blue sky was nice this night, thought I would give it some attention.
I opened up the book where sea meets land, the wind and black birds dancing on the tops of waves, and read: ‘For the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot should say, Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body. And if the ear should say, Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body, that would not make it any less a part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would be the hearing? …But as it is, God arranged the organs in the body, each one of them, as he chose. As it is, there are many parts, yet one body.’ Cor I 12.14
At the time the reading rang true, like a clear bell, in a Japanese garden, arranged, texture, change but one. The body and the separate. Its tie in to the tidy groups, where the land meets the sea I leave up to you.
Since that time, some time has passed, but the all remains true.
Somewhere a mother sea turtle has climbed over lava rock, found a place in the sand, and is laying her eggs, under the moon and setting sun, giving life to something new. Isn’t that nice?

+++++++

Part of my journey has included much study of Buddhism and Hinduism and the thoughts of individuals like Gandhi or Sri Aurobindo, the Dalai Lama, Mother Theresa. There is much wisdom to be gained from the Eastern mindset; a kind of a balancing out which assists in understanding. My trip to Samoa was delayed by 9-11; and so the divisiveness of East and West, Muslim, Christian and Jew was very clear. In all the dialogue regarding good versus evil and group association, it became clear that my responsibilities were to continue to look internally.  Part of this process includes inquiring into my own capacity for good and evil (in my history, daily life and mindset).  I always agreed with Krishnamurti who encouraged us to look at ourselves first: ‘If you think the world is too(violent), become less (violent).’ I sensed that there was still much work for me to do.


+++++++++++++++

Happiness. Reading Dalai Lama book on the Art of Happiness; it is a weak book by some psychiatrist guy with a lack of depth of insight, it is too soft and stupid; I am not happy reading the Art of Happiness. Ha. Howard Cutler MD is no Erik Erikson. I do not think Dalai Lama would like this book so much. Everything everything. But this point of not seeing any way…….a sense of being trapped by my decisions..bad back,
the forest to the trees,
the ocean to the duck,
turn there and go on,
until you see the mulberry bush,
it is all stupid really, but life,
trying to string together the reality,
presented, you dug your grave, so plant
some flowers around it.
there is no linear or circular path, circle or square, just a string of something on top of something, you are just something, one of a million other somethings, rotating around and circling one another, so dance with the somethings. when you try to patch together something, to see some underlying direction, carrying expectations like bad spice, when the seeds in the sand are moved by the crab; the seeds did not know nor the crab, they just met and something happened, there was no motive; like a fireman opening a can of beans in the fire station, he did not know that the cousin of Larry was now approaching in the garage past the fire truck and soon to enter, neither knew. she was hot but was not the answer to your prayers, she simply came to see Larry. and if she did not give you her phone number, it could be because she was shy, had a boyfriend, or did not like the looks of you, but you may think about it. karma. is it because I am good or because I was bad in a previous life? is there a linkage? what is god? the mormon guy in samoa in big black shoes told me it is good to pray for something personal; like rain for the harvest or a good day. belief; how does my prayer affect storm systems? is it a game of chance and trying to link god with something good and me? am I good? I have tried for ten years and still do not learn; I do not do what I want to do, but I do the very opposite, if I agree that it is not I then it is sin that dwells within me right paul? ask and believe and all is yours, belief, mind, damage; peace, gotta let go for I am going nowhere on my own, no one seems to want to help except by telling me to move forward into the world.
the dog stepped on the pigs toes, and the blade of grass barked like a pig.
just a topsy-turvy matrix puzzle paradox wrapped around the meadow of song, singing aum.
it is all attitude and over that I have some control, just relax, and lose the worry of the periphery; you think you are going to die because of the periphery, you hit a spot of ohhhhhh, it does hurt sometimes, yes, but gotta stay in bro. self preservation is not always a bad thing.


*************************

This life; five minutes later….
has anything changed? People have moved; a position of standing or maybe to another task, maybe the road has taken them to another locale; instead of climbing a hill, they are on level ground running alongside a new grove of ulu (breadfruit) trees, or maybe a new makeshift wooden stand where trash/rubbish is left to be picked up; cans and boxes (once saw a silver French horn mixed in with trash in burlap sacks elevated off the ground (Samoan village waste is put on wooden stands that run alongside the road, their compounds on lava rock, patches of green and bright and colorful flowering trees and shrubs; red small poinsetta bushes, white orchids, yellow and purple flowers),
I know the little gray pig has moved and also the white chicken, just outside my windows in the green. Movement; we see things be born, grow, mature and decay. Some things we eat, some we bury, some we just want to get rid of. Sometimes our expectations are met. A schedule exists. Normalcy. Are we truly alive or just automons caught in a routine? Five minutes later, new things enter my field of vision and they will affect me in varied ways; a gold rooster with red fleshy top and black tail, a dirty tan pig move, time. How many five-minute intervals in a day; about 200 in the waking life not including the field of dreams..
The voices of the church emerge in one breath; glory, what is the link to the moments? 7 billion people on the planet move, all in their worlds of five minutes. How to bring all these peoples together in peace? Peace in chaos. Pigs wag their tails 200 times a minute, affecting the flies and the current of the wind. Is there some kind of order in all this?
The church bell rings, service is over,
the pigs still move, a sound of a car, the voice of boys, laughing, a gecko runs across my ceiling, hundreds of thousands of images, implant and move, creating ‘my world’.

++++++++++++

The sun set,
the dog spit though no one saw it,
the rocks here and there,
the board slipped somehow, it moved, who saw it?
there was a glow tonight, all yellow as my student Upumalie
with the pretty big eyes and face,
came in view, the beaten track in front of my house,
I saw her, her shape going down the lava rock,
till the top of her head bounced to nothing,
as if she never came by.
the tiny piglets remain, digging in the grass becoming green,
and the men in beaten keds or barefeet,
play rugby.
life, millions of moments, though not a thread, what is part of my life? I have been here and there and mostly here; it is funny and real and real funny,
Nixon and Carter and the Reagan,
Popeye and Bluto,
Wimpy, Potsie, Ralph Mouth, the Fonz, HR Puffinstuff, Beaver and Eddie Haskell, The Brady Bunch, Partridge Family, Herman Munster plays golf and baseball, Eddie is sarcastic and Marilyn a fox,
Archie Bunker and the dancing skinny Mr. Henderson, JJ does the Chicago dance, Don’t eat the Daisies, Superman and Spiderman, Batman and the Riddler, The Rascals and the Stooges, You Bet your Life, Gambit and the Pyramid, Hollywood Squares, Roman Gabriel and John Hadl, Daryl Lamonica and Ken Stabler, Terry Bradshaw, Franco Harris, the Immaculate Reception, Bob Griese and Mercury Morris, Frank Czonka, John Staubach and Tom Laundry, World B Free, Daryl Dawkins, Andrew Toney, Dr J, Earl the Pearl and Walt Frazier, Bird and Magic, Those damn Yankees, George Steinbrenner, the Shining, the Deep, Tootsie, Butch Cassidy, Jaws, Mr Rogers, Johnny Carson, David Letterman, Rambo, Chuck Norris, Bill Murray, Saturday Night Live, Yule Gibbons (remember this cat-Grape nuts), Fred Flintstone, Charlie’s Angels, the Waltons, the Jetsons, the Cosbys,
millions and millions of imprints; and I find myself on a small Pacific island eating popcorn with a coconut in the fridge and pigs outside my window with two young Samoan kids at 40 years old. how could that project me into this?
how did I escape the vortex?


##################

Newsweek. Interesting how people fit into paradigms. How these paradigms overlay the world, how strong they are, and how difficult it is to shake them, to find our own identities and understand others. The good-evil matrix never stronger post 911: white/dark, black/white, good/evil. Of course people will fight. Unfortunate, that extreme paradigm groups represent the smallest of margins, yet the Western media and government uses this to shape reality (and hence action), shaping public opinion and policy.

To ‘save’ the world, but to ‘preserve’ the wheels of capitalism (in itself potentially contributing to the destruction of man and planet) is in itself shortsighted to an extreme actually. The judgment and self-protection, righteous language, external directed, without an internal return is dangerous and dangerous especially to America and the world. We need to look back at ourselves and trim the tree. It is going to take some sacrifice and a huge undertaking involving all peoples.

Jesus is the answer.
It is an era of boxes and division,
fed to by the information experts,
It is the umbrella of America I complain about
could transform instead of divide
could redirect rather than direct,
to feed itself,
tragedy, consumerism.


************************

The black hen and the white pigs are searching for food on the black lava rocks under the green bushes cut down and the dry brown twigs. I hear the snapping of the tiny twigs under their feet, the constant repetitive chirp of a bird, and five different groups of voices; playing, pounding on a board, arguing….
It is difficult; if you are all about love and inclusion (and I am no saint), then you cannot be impatient, you cannot be forceful, you cannot be self-serving; you almost become passive, invisible in a way. Therefore, it is very difficult to accelerate change, to see tangible results.
This becomes interesting; those for love-peace and the doctrines therein (such as nonviolence), must be defeated by the modern go-getters, self-promoters, orators/sales one-sided agenda getters, external shapers, because they are the aggressors and they come from a position of ‘know’.
It is like trying to stop a moving car by a feather….

Where am I headed, what is this mentality? It is more of a going down from the heart to the stomach (and getting sick?! ha) than an elevation. Am I healthy? Not sure. The whole geographical thing in Bible; up to Galilee and to the sea, and across to the other side. Old Testament—down into Egypt, and across the desert; 40 years in wilderness; thinking of internal organs and the whole brain-mind-heart-spirit, the dark and the light. This is my exercise. How to spend over 4,000 hours of silence. It is almost like a prison (Paul, Jonah, belly of a whale) that needs to be transformed into a growing field.


‘In summer, a path runneth round the border of the field, and straight through it in winter.’ Evans-Wentz, Milarepa



A lonely man, an outcast, walks the road,
he is robbed of all his possessions, his soul,
for there is no place for nothing,
Nothing, nothing, nothing,
a carcass left on the bright green grass,
everything taken, not even a good Samaritan, an
outcaste to save an outcaste,
My mind has created all this, a mind wrought
by God, a life wrought by God,
the green grass is fresh, and one hundred things live within
a 3 foot cube surrounding,
insects, millipedes…and man continues to walk around not noticing
the outcaste, the carcasses, continues not to look, but
avoid, the separation, thus the man makes me sad.


Christ, the Alpha and Omega. Do you believe? In the overall plan for mankind? God is life. Will all of man (human) be wiped out or will there always will be a remnant and hence God? The three religions of contention (Jews, Christians and the Muslims) and their three separate yet overlapping God-inspired religious texts, the Torah, the Bible and the Koran, all claim divine authority and inspiration with their own prophesy and division and disputation to the end.

Is it best to choose a side or to attempt to reconcile to find commonality to avoid a complete destruction of the world and Armageddon? A third choice would be to get outside the historical matrix of these three religions, to accept a religion such as Buddhism or Hinduism? How to integrate the three, to find linkages to the peace and love (loving neighbor) found in each religious text and thus avoid war and separation and hence terrible destruction and human suffering? The fact is that it is all in God’s hands yet does that relinquish my responsibility?
The harshness of the judgment parables illustrates this; the brothers and sisters of the God of Abraham (Muslims, Jews and Christians) comparing external fruits, seeking self-preservation.
Have we reached time to re-examine the separative texts? Can we not bring the three into a great whole? Can part of the solution be bringing together religious leaders and admitting the commonality and identifying divisive scriptures?


“Each of us is born with certain endowments, both physical and mental, and born into a society with certain needs; there is a match between an individual’s endowments and the society’s needs. Finding that match and fulfilling it is one’s path to success in life.”
Gandhi

“We praise thee with our thoughts, o God. We praise thee even as the sun praises thee in the morning: may we find joy in being thy servants. Keep us under thy protection. Forgive our sins and give us thy love. God made the rivers to flow. They feel no weariness, they cease not from flowing. They fly swiftly like birds in the air. May the stream of my life flow into the river of righteousness. Loose the bonds of sin that bind me. Let not the thread of my song be cut while I sing; and let not my work end before its fulfillment.” Rig Veda 11.28

“May all beings who live on this vast earth,
Be free from harming each other in
thought and deed.
With the mind of boundless love ever expanding,
May all enjoy glorious friendship, harmony and peace.”
Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche

from previous journal:

post kenya: kansas city to illinois to colorado 
1995-99

* * * * *

“The gods we are called on to dethrone are the idolized values of our conscious world.”

Carl Jung

‘In the most advanced areas of modern civilization, the social controls have been introjected to the point where even individual protest is affected at its roots. The intellectual and emotional refusal to ‘go along’ appears neurotic and impotent.’

Marcuse, One Dimensional Man

* * * * *

Oppression:

“Any situation in which A objectively exploits B or hinders his pursuit for self affirmation as a responsible person” is termed oppression by Paolo Freire. Responsible to whom?

“Submerged in reality, the oppressed cannot clearly perceive the ‘order’ that serves the interests of the oppressors whose image they have internalized. Man replaces man. Strive to manly power.”

‘A threat to the status quo is a threat to freedom.’

“Hope is rooted in man’s incompleteness.”

”Freedom is acquired by conquest, not by gift. It must be pursued constantly and responsibly. ‘Freedom is not located outside of man – it is the indispensable condition for the quest for human completion.’ Paolo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed

Freire is good, and needs to be further studied. Again then, however, this balance between Friere’s ‘must be pursued’ and my continued dichotomy between self-will and action versus God’s will, patience, passivity and finding strength.

‘The more the world deceives, the more patience wins.’ Kierkegaard

**

When the wheels go round and round,

the spokes of a cylinder,

when the many fight for benefit,

the cat licks the bowl of milk,

while the spider moves on the web on the fence,

another season changes,

the sprinklers are brought out of the shed,

ah, the mice have made a bed,

will Billy be like Daddy?

and be a salesman?

of rat poison?

will the company diversify

into roach motels?

there might be a market?

they came out with a new improvement,

on something today,

a job will be created,

for the increase in population,

mediocrity reigns supreme,

in comfort and style,

dictated to by somebody else,

employed by idea men and women,

“put a twist on this one Rocko”,

as good people work,

and raise their families,

in a system that has reached,

a point,

where everyone shakes their head,

but the Economy,

“Play with those numbers boys!”

and many of the X generators busy being cool,

rebelling nowhere,

“Give them candy! boys!”

‘Hope is rooted in man’s incompleteness’,

Waiting for the deer to emerge,

from the forest,

If only I can remain still for a moment,

the sun sits alone in the blue sky,

What happens when an expectation comes and

nothing happens?

There must be action and movement,

How can we show our progress as human beings?

Did you know that the freezer section at 7-11

now keeps candy bars?

People have found that they taste

better frozen so retailers are meeting a need.

Isn’t that terrific?

Did you know that if lasagna 

gives you heartburn,

you can now take a Pepcid capsule,

and all is great?

Counteract something negative in your

body with something negative!

Synergetic effects!

No need to give up your want.

The deer did not come,

but the sun combines with the

circling wind to put everything

to stop.

The Nike logo,

is now on everything,

40 golf tees, $4.99!

Ramblings, showing dementia,

whatever that means.

Where my brain will go,

if allowed and idle.

go get busy,

calculate,

playing the game, 

fully conscious,

reverting,

no, forget where we are going,

the human being will adapt,

it has always been the same,

there is no turning back,

do not be a martyr,

hypocricy,

external cool, perfect adaptation,

judge not, lest you be a

son of a bitch,

what?

how can such a positive person be 

so negative?

does there need to be so much useless effort?

so much anxiety?

to keep millionaires millionaires?

and messages messages?

of choice and confusion,

complicated,

machine gun images, bites, yet

I have a choice,

to absorb what I wish,

“Just Turn the Channel!”

the phrase I despise,

to an anger smouldering,

I rarely smoulder,

How can I tap my smoulder?

for there is passion,

All I see is a circus,

rides promising everything,

but nothing.

* * * * *

‘It is here that we learn the central theme to existentialism; to live is to suffer, to survive is to find meaning in the suffering. If there is a purpose in life at all, there must be a purpose in suffering and dying. But no man can tell another what this purpose is. Each must find out for himself, and must accept the responsibility that his answer prescribes.’

Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning

* * * * *

The water flowed through

the valley and beyond the 

field of vision.

I once thought it would

reach the sea and I would

be there to see it.

There the answer would be,

that after all the search,

that the riddle would be solved.

I see the water moving,

the sun reflecting in geometric 

shapes, dancing, shades of

green diamonds and hexagons,

and the cool depths of

Clearness, the sand bottom.

I have sat by the stream in

the valley and sought the answer.

A soft bed of dried grass,

the sun providing warmth and

leaning myself up against the

base of a tree catching a broken

plane through branches. I pull

my coat up, the collar and act

momentarily warms. A nice

boulder along the edge of a 

stream, allows me to squat, I

can lay my arms alongside and my

fingertips touch the cool water.

I look at the stream and

see it bend out of sight.

I wonder where it goes?

I cannot sit for too long but must move

along with the sun for it has

cooled. The shoreline is sometimes

rocky, or the landscape drops,

a grove of awkward trees or thorn

bushes makes me divert.

If you are forced to move away

from the stream,

there is a period when the sound

becomes stronger calling you back,

in excitement, you sometimes

stumble not watching your

feet but are yearning to return.

There are two things that 

keep you going; the sun and the

urge to search ahead to find the answer.

A real treat is to catch sight of a gliding

ignorant-of-your-being fish;

a trout glides, its spots glistening bright

and then becoming dark, like nightshade,

a step, or sound, a desire, and the

fish is off in weightlessness.

Sometimes you may catch a bird

playing on the wet rocks skipping,

pecking, calling. They know

wherever you are, but think you

a harmless big glob.

The only chance you have with

them is if you sing.

There is something incredible in a

stream; the coolness, the 

moisture, the colors, the pulse, the

way nature has arranged the land

that surrounds on both sides, with both

hazards and places to kneel down and

worship.

The stream is a great filtering system;

sand, and tiny pebbles,

the greatest activity in the center and

then pools of tranquility to the sides,

debris, limbs and branches, a twig.

There is no sense of hierarchy, none important,

none unimportant, all interrelated,

there is no will, no yearning to reach, no

push and shove,

it is just as if the floodgates opened, and each

is falling in its own

place, no regret. The twig momentarily

sits, bouncing against a rock. Maybe

a larger twig will come, or it may

rain, the snows melt, the current

will strengthen, and I will move on,

bounce, bounce, bounce.

I think of these things and it

seems so beautiful and I respect it,

but something urges me on, the stream

turns around the corner

through the valley and seemingly

never ends. I can sit and watch the flow

oh, the wonderful flow

of the water,

the movement in peace.

The sun illuminates and moves, it

touches each living thing for just

a moment, and will touch again tomorrow

and tomorrow and forever more, giving

life to all living things for just a moment.

The light rejuvenates,

I have a shepherd,

who leads me besides still waters,

and gives me His wisdom,

to see the interconnectedness of

all living things,

and the flow of His love.

* * * * *

Theodore Dryzinski. Flew kites for a living.

On still days, he was off from work.

This gave him time to listen

to birds and someone hammering

on a board.

* * * * *

It was a bit strange like something unseen but felt,

Something came to be out of nothing, and in the dark,

different shades, slowly presented, a faintness of light,

and forms, like prisms, circular, floating, winking.

When consciousness came it is unclear….

like a series of dreams and wakefulness, uncertainty,

floating, then grounded, timelessness, eternity,

rays of light into being.

Preparation for cycles of becoming, a seed of something

greater.

The darkness surrounding the rays of light giving all to the 

forms, the centerì.

Within the seed lies the fruition of completeness,

the destiny of the light beam transfigured taking

in all shades of infinity.

Out of the darkness, the communication of God comes,

presenting an awareness of things to be.

The Kingdom of God, the moment of illumination is

written on the heart, the mystery revealed.

In the randomness of human fate, God partners

events, crossings of a spark of opportunity for this

truth to be revealed.

They are like stepping stones, mini-climaxes, like clues

of awareness, that present a side to the shape of a 

spinning hexagon.

For Jesus, it came in the form of wise men, in his

baptism and transfiguration,

For Buddha, his first sight of the suffering and the

Bodhi Tree,

Amidst these moments of perfect alignment, clarity, a hue

of the ray revealed, the source known,

came periods of intense suffering and unclarity,

There is a sense of the final unfolding of truth

revealed, the infinite; the babbling brook, the weightlessness

rush of space, the clouds and moon and sun converge into

the Light of Lights, God revealed.

Is it into thy hands do I commit my spirit or Father, why

have you forsaken me?

* * * * *

One of my first jobs in Denver was as a landscaper (I held about eight jobs in Denver for a period of three years; landscaper, exterminator, ESL teacher, waiter, temp computer worker, golf club salesman, janitor, homeless shelter staff around one year of study at liberal Methodist seminary):

Denver, the Porch, Summer,

Evening heat, windows to lives,

The Rear Window, witnessing,

White clouds against dark

Blue evening sky,

Cars pass, the Path, accept

Non-forcing, Dreams, Disappointment,

Staying power, Non-pressure,

It will present itself,

and I will positively adapt,

Elevation, Mountains, reaching

for the sky,

Much more beautiful up close,

Must look closely,

The G-8 Summit,

World leaders emerge,

Hedges and power washer by day,

Recapturing sense of Human in work,

lost seriousness,

Means to an ends,

Non-threatening,

Redefining, why not have

fun in the process?

Learning, steps, waxing and waning,

A rushing stream,

A still beaver pond,

the aspen leaves,

Rustling, shining,

The rain,

On city streets,

the old man’s hat,

the Mexican pushing

an ice cream cart,

the Burger King sign,

the Bus stop,

Ducks glide in and swoosh in water,

Two together,

Where is the crowd?

An old woman in worn sneakers,

and discarded Walmart apron,

blue,

narly elbows,

searches through the trash,

with a bent hanger,

necessity? or out of 

purpose, a ritual, of something to do?

I see her at work,

and the Vietnamese children on rollerblades,

a Hispanic boy named Jesus,

I help on a bike,

Found cars and plastic G-men in bushes,

I set them on the air conditioner by his door,

like Bo in To Kill a Mockingbird

The boss swoops in,

to view an investment,

and guides, and the people follow,

The green, and maroon and gray hoses all

make a line and reach around carstops to

water the roots of trees and bushes,

my job today,

I spray the kids, they

laugh, ‘Mr. Big Man’,

the trees drink and the 

whole environment smiles.

Tending a circle,

that is my job,

it is helpful and soothing,

when it is all within sight,

all that can be seen,

A boy crawls over the balcony,

a word corrects or shows concern,

Behaviour tells you something,

A cry,

A welfare pot-bellied man, at 50,

comes and sits, drinking coffee, nervous

or anxious, lost in darkness,

capable yet empty,

Jokes: ‘sex with cats’, ‘hold hostages with

grenades’, a never ending banter of sickness,

His brother is picking him up for a swim today,

‘free cigarettes’,

his brother honks.

Lost dreams,

The stars are still there,

Up in the sky,

and people meet, and smile,

imperfection, flaws and in

midst it all,

pure humanness, folly,

characters, laughter, joy

in uniqueness,

the story of life,

perceptions, angle of a leaf

falling from a tree,

the sun or lack thereof,

and wind directs,

to a soft landing,

in the love of God’s hands.

* * * * *

‘Human nature is not a machine to be built after a model and set to do exactly the work prescribed for it, but a tree, which requires to grow and develop itself on all sides, according to the tendency of the inward forces which make it a living thing.’

Mill, John Stuart

Up in the mountains:

the young aspen tree,

you could look at it all day,

and not grasp its complete symmetrical shape,

It sheds its weaker (I see dry twigs twisting fragily holding on) as it reaches higher, 

new growth emerges from the seed,

the older aspens lack the complexity of form of the growth of a younger tree).

nothing,

is there anything in nature or God’s creation that is not complex? 

Symmetry of opposites but not, new discarding old….

The trees on top of the mountain had more beautiful and even more complex shape, 

perhaps because of the higher altitude and poorer soil from which to grow. (those that move higher up the mountain and those given bad soil..)

..simply grow from seed and each unique; each altered by where the seed was dropped, or where a rock rested upon it; regardless of imperfections; they live their nature, side by side.

I came down the mountain, 

and the aspens grow closer together and there is less differentiation. 

I do notice a greater number of dead trees in the mass

but others seem strong, sturdy, healthy..

* * * * *

I made an interesting hike today; a spontaneous decision following an early dismissal from work. The boss was away so the crew decided to disperse early on a weekday. 

My destination was Whale’s peak; a one-hour drive from Denver and then a thirty-minute gravel road drive back into the heart of the mountains. This day I was unprepared; I had only a pair of shorts and t-shirt. The clouds were threatening, but like the ever-changing mountain sky; there is always a patch of blue and sun dancing about and hoping to break through. Oh, to be alone in the wilderness, a whole range to myself.

I marched the five miles through the forest and along a meandering rushing stream. It was the apex of spring; so all was lush and new. My goal was to go above the timberline, to the bowl, and to climb to the top of the mountain peak and see the other side. Despite the clouds around and threatening, the rain came only sporadically and softly. The dark clouds rolled in and there was a sense of potential downpour and so I scouted rocks to shield in the event of a heavy rain. Yet the sun would periodically peak out to encourage me further. After a couple of hours of hiking upward, I reached the point I had come on my last visit only to return for night was approaching. This time I had time to reach the top.

Over snow banks and timberline, I spotted the dangerous steep climb; the jagged rocks and pebbles, sharp slope of a distance of about 400 yards to the top. I visualized my way and began my ascent, slipping, increasingly nervous at my sliding feet and the periodic crack of violent thunder and black clouds rolling in the valley. Danger. I spotted a large rock boulder about 70% of the way to the top as my target but became increasingly frightened as senses and environment were coming together in fear. The rains came, the lightening strengthened, I made it to the rock soaked and realized I could go no further. Given the ominous weather and slope, I decided to return to the snow bank and the safety of an even slope. Nervously stumbling down to the place of greater safety, I realized I had taken it too far this day. Alone in the valley, I collapsed on the snowbank and gazed upward to where I had pushed myself; mist, and gray ragged rocks and scrub bush, a lone tree. Suddenly, something emerged from the spot I had gone the furthest. I looked and the silhouette of an elk stood still and majestically, strangely, proudly, investigating this human dressed in bright blue. The elk stood there for many minutes, so still that perhaps I thought it was a mirage or an old tree. I/we wanted to make a connection: What was there to learn? I sat motionless and began chanting (like the Indian in the movie, Jeremiah Johnson), bowing: the elk had something to tell me: Be still. 

I sat in the Buddha pose for ten minutes on the snow bank, chanting, the elk remained, a mirage? but then the elk finally sat himself! The elk sat down!~ 

I noticed first of all how difficult it is for me to sit still, checking, the elk remained, I moved, and then at the end the elk sat as I sat, to dispel the notion that it was a mirage. I felt like our spirits communicated, the elk sat for a couple of minutes and then it bounced away up and over the mountain. Remarkable! The elk sat. The wisdom to be silent and share spirits and respect.

In renewed light, I took off my shoes to walk down the path to my car for the first several hundred yards; rocks, fallen trees, mud, healing the bottom of my feet. This act makes it easier to be in the now and watch the path. How comforts detract and divert. To communicate this experience!~ Animals have spirits, as do the trees and living things. Somehow the words do not express what kind of day I had in the mountains.

* * * * *

Buddhism and Christianity

Finding power vs. Passivity

Push ahead vs Accept in Peace

“The world can be looked at in this way: a world exists governed by certain, well-known laws, and within this world are beings subjected to the same laws, but who at the same time bear in themselves another law not in accord with the former laws of the world, a higher law, and this law must inevitably triumph, within these beings and defeat the lower law. And in this struggle and gradual victory of the higher over the lower, in this only is life for man and the whole world.”

“The only reason for life, is the universal desire for well being, which in man, whose reason has awakened, is expanded into a desire for universal welfare; in other words, for love. For he who knows he is not a separate being, but a part of the whole, and therefore it is meaningless to think that he can obtain anything for himself alone. It is only in struggling and attaining for the whole that he can find his true life.” Tolstoy, Law of Love and Violence

Chertkov, a friend of Tolstoy’s, laid out this Four Walls of the Unknown:

They are ‘the future’, ‘ignorance of ‘that which is taking place where we are not’, ‘the past’, and ‘ignorance of what is going on in the soul of another.’ Chertkov emphasized that the less we look through the former three and focus on the fourth, the better. We must attempt to break down or build a window to the souls of others with all our might. I might substitute God for soul of another.

According to Tolstoy, all evil comes from organization, every kind of organization, which frees one or group from any kind of human, personal or moral duties. ‘Men who can accept obligations and resignedly subordinate themselves to anything that may be prescribed by persons unknown to them…cannot be considered reasonable.’

Tolstoy, The Law of Love and Violence