August 8, 2015, Granite Dells- I spent the greater part of this afternoon at Heaven on Earth B & B, in this lushest area of greater Prescott.  Friends Happy and John had their first event since the Illumine Film Festival, in May (which I missed, having been in Reno at the time.)  It was the first of three Launch Parties, by Green Living Magazine, a monthly eco-friendly living publication, out of Phoenix.  I went over, after two different friends mentioned it to me, independently; the second having followed me through Prescott Public Library, specifically to let me know of the event.

So, always glad to head out to the Dells, I drove over, after first checking out the Mountain Arts and Crafts Fair and a performance by a quintet of young ladies, playing violins and fiddles. The afternoon was then spent with presentations by various advocates of healthy living, from GMO-Free Prescott and Slow Food, to which I belong, to an essential oils distributor .  John sang, gently and sincerely, of “The Golden Age” and the powerful local artist, Celia, lent her rousing voice to the mood of the day- with three amazing songs.

One of the points which Happy made, during her emcee moments, was that today is  a triple treat:  8 8 8. This is how it has worked, since 2010:  March 3, of that year, was 3 3 3,  because if one adds 2+1, one gets 3, so 2+0++1+0 = 3.  April 4, 2011, thus sums up as 4 4 4, and so on, through December 12, 2019, which will be 12 12 12.

I have felt the “double dates” to be auspicious enough, from January 1 to December 12.  New Year’s Day is special for many people, just because of the sense of a new beginning.  We will dispense with 2/2, as some sort of prognosticatory event and note that some thawing starts, in some places, around that time. 10/10 is a National Day for Taiwan, commemorating the day when the revolt of the Chinese people against the corrupt Regent of the Realm, and his underlings, first got traction, resulting in the abdication, four months later, of the pre-teenaged Emperor, Pu Yi, in favour of Gen. Yuan Shi Kai. Yuan’s Nationalist Party eventually established what is now the Republic of China, on Taiwan. (Yes, Dr. Sun Yat-sen was the first elected President of China, but politics is complicated, and the Army stood in Dr. Sun’s way.)

The double dates most special to me are 6/6, the day that Penny and I were married (eighteen months, to the day, after we first met), and 7/7, the day that Aram was born.  I’ve often speculated as to whether some other double date will be special in my life, but now I think that might be rather gluttonous on my part. I will always treasure the two days, in mid-year, which have defined my adulthood.

Now I look to the task of viewing every day as auspicious.

August 7, 2915, Prescott- 

Having been generous towards myself and others,

I am going through August with a bit more caution.

If you don’t see me out and about, sisters and brothers,

Don’t assume I’m sitting around, noshin’.

My main goal right now is to not be a bother,

So I’m hanging around home, not here and there,rushin’.

August 6, 2015, Prescott- In the course of seeking permission from Four Worlds International Institute, to a) become a member and b) offer comment on its 16 Principles, I came upon a blog offering some discussion of a reported international effort to fend off an electromagnetic force, which some believe is approaching Earth.  Those who believe in the possible event point to various happenings, over the past several years, from the Indian Ocean tsunami of 2004, to the Japanese earthquake of 2011, to the increase in seemingly random acts of inane behaviour, such as movie theater shootings, or deliberately driving the wrong way, on a superhighway, then loudly shouting that this is a constitutional right.

There are many ways to deal with the outlandish.  One way is summon fear and devise various means of fending off catastrophe.  Supposedly, this is the intention behind the Cern Supercollider, housed somewhere in the Alps.  It also explains the various Doomsday cults and sects that make themselves known, from time to time.

There is also a “business-as-usual” approach, of denial. Those who adhere to this point to the historical ability of human beings to rise from wreckage, and to restore what is, essentially, a society built on commerce, relationships and routine.  Catastrophic weather or geological events are followed by recovery and rebuilding, with varying degrees of success.  After all, no one has rebuilt Pompeii, as it was, nor, definitively, found Noah’s Ark, nor has the country of Haiti fully recovered from its earthquake of 2010.

Others, including myself, take more of a zen approach to the whole affair.  Suppose there is an electromagnetic force, and it hits Earth in, say, 2020.  I have no idea where I would be then, no notion of who among my widening circle of family and friends will be with me at that point, and no idea how the various geophysical consequences of such a magnificent and terrifying envelopment of our planet would be.  I know that I have survived several challenging events, some tragic, up to now.  I know that my business is not anywhere near “as usual” as it was in 1994, or even in 2002. I know that some quite astonishing things have happened to, and around, me- so that taking a mundane approach to life does not work, for me.  Nor, however, does an apocalyptic mindset.  Both presume that change is something to be dreaded.

All the Divine Messengers, and a good many humanistic philosophers, point to both the eternal nature of the Universe, and to the existence of several dimensions.  We tend to think of four such measures:  Length, width, height and time.  These, we can experience on a daily basis.  I know something of the fifth dimension, which is most commonly experienced through mental communication with others, “body language”, and even communication with departed souls- though the last one is something I choose to approach with caution.  I have felt Penny’s presence, many times, since her passing.  Others, including my father, her father, my grandparents and my late youngest brother, have also communicated with me, on several occasions.  They know what I am experiencing, and have helped, when needed.  I, however, cannot know what they are experiencing, anymore than a fetus can know what a person outside his/her mother’s womb is enduring.

There are other dimensions, which some call parallel worlds, past lives, future choice paths and even “Other Universes.”  Such speculation, I chalk up more to the finite minds of those using such terms.  I believe that, in restricting the number of possible dimensions to ten, we are simply reflecting the limits of our intellect- as it is now.  Those of our descendants who look back on all this, a millennium or two from now, may well chuckle at String Theory, as we now view it, having built on it and transcended the false parts, much as we look back on the theories of the Classical Greeks, or Sir Isaac Newton.

I only know that I have today with which to work, to appreciate and enjoy and from which to learn.  Planning for tomorrow, next week, Christmas-time, and the year 2020 will help make those times fruitful; yet, whatever transpires, I adjust and move on.

August 5, 2015, Prescott- Today’s paper discussed a plan by the U.S. Forest Service, in Roosevelt, AZ, to round up a herd of wild horses, which have been in the area since the days of Father Kino (ca. 1690).  The horses would then be turned over to the Arizona Department of Agriculture, which then, by statute, has to auction them off in 30 days, if their “rightful owner does not claim them.”  Since Maricopa and Gila Counties do not have a tradition of Spanish Land Grant, such rightful owners no longer exist.  The animals would thus go to the highest bidders, who would, ostensibly, be the operators of slaughter houses. Pets have to eat, ya know!

The horses are said to be a potential threat to public safety, as they “might” enter Arizona Highway 87, which goes from Tucson to Winslow, and thus goes through the horses’ habitat.  This potential threat is also shared by elk, deer, coyotes, mountain lions, javelina, and, in the higher country near Payson, bears.  This could end up being a roundup to rival the Danish whale Grind, about which, more in a bit.

The Salt River Indian Community has offered to take custody of the horses, and there is a great hue and cry in the Metro Phoenix area.  Three conservative, pro-business U.S. Congresspeople have stood up for the animals, so the Forest Service can’t say this is in the interests of the economy, either.  I would say, take the Salt River people up on their offer, or leave the animals alone.

Now, to Denmark, the Faero Islands, and cetaceans:  The neo-Viking mentality that has surfaced in the “Happiest Nation on Earth”, in recent weeks is 1) mind-numbing in its pursuit of slaughter for its own sake; 2) reminiscent of the ill-fated jailing, imprisonment and, later, killings of those who went to the American South, and to South Africa, to protest the legally-sanctioned ill-treatment of Black people.  This time, it is in defense of animals, which actually heightens the worthiness of the actions:  Animals can’t speak for themselves.

Let’s think a bit about the ethics of hunting and killing of animals.  The traditional hunter stalks a creature which both is able to defend itself and has the means of escape.  I know bow hunters who, each Fall, go in search of deer or elk, in Arizona’s high country. When they make a kill, the animal is prayed over, thanked for its sacrifice and all parts are put to use.  There is no pseudo-macho chest thumping over what has transpired.  Children are taught to respect the animal, use their weapons properly and follow the process of putting each animal part to good use.

Contrast this, with the recent miserable spectacle of two American medical professionals, who went to the country of Zimbabwe and staged canned hunts of lions, within range of a national park.  The President of that country is fond of saying that being hunted is how wild animals “pay their rent”.  If this practice is allowed to stand, however, Mr. Mugabe will soon find himself with a dearth of tenants.  Trophy hunting, like trophy marriage, is an odious practice, and needs to go the way of the medieval joust.

How ironic that all this is happening, in the silly summer of “Zoo”.  Far better it is for us to heed the Words of Baha’u’llah:   “He should show kindness to animals, how much more unto his fellow-man, to him who is endowed with the power of utterance. He should not hesitate to offer up his life for his Beloved, nor allow the censure of the people to turn him away from the Truth. He should not wish for others that which he doth not wish for himself, nor promise that which he doth not fulfil. With all his heart should the seeker avoid fellowship with evil doers, and pray for the remission of their sins. He should forgive the sinful, and never despise his low estate”. The Kitab-i-Iqan, Pages 161-200: 194

I have made the comment, elsewhere, that unless the savagery of the Grind stops, I will not purchase anything produced in Denmark or Faeroern, nor would I visit them on any future journey.  This, in and of itself, is minuscule- but multiply little old me by thousands, and the effect is quite staggering for such small nations. Likewise, Zimbabwe, which depends on tourist dollars, for its “rent”, is in no position to face a boycott. Should the people of those nations take heed, and find other outlets for their machismo, they would find a wealth of opportunity to fully partake in the bounty of the world community.

August 4, 2015, Prescott-   One of the features of life on Earth that most sticks in my craw is the mistreatment of children.  This morning, I spent about ninety minutes, listening to one of the people I most admire in this world:  Philip N. Lane, Jr., an hereditary chief of the White Swan band of the Dakota Nation.  Chief Phil has been working with indigenous people, in various parts of the world, for over thirty-five years.  His focus has been the creation of a culture of dignity and positive self-regard, aspects of life that were long repressed among Native Peoples, by the dominant culture, in the name of “assimilation”.

Indigenous North Americans, Andeans, Amazonians, Siberians, Saami, Hawaiians, Maori,Native Australians, Ainu, Hill Tribesmen of northeast India, Dravidians, Native Saharans, and the nomadic peoples of the Kalahari and Namib deserts have long been told their cultures and ways of life do not jibe with “reality”, as identified by the powers that be, in their lands of residence.

One of the most effective ways that conquerors have found, in creating a culture of self-loathing, and hence submission, is to remove the children of the repressed ones from their home communities, place them in compulsory residential schools, and systematically quash all traces of the native culture within the psyches and personas of the child-residents.  This was done in the United States, Canada and the Soviet Union, throughout much of the Twentieth Century, with an actual view towards “turning savages into human beings.”

I grew up seeing, and sometimes receiving, corporal punishment in a regular public school in Massachusetts, in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s.  I have been grabbed and shaken by an angry teacher, seen a friend in another class thrown violently against a wall and witnessed other unnecessary acts, harmful acts, by teachers, administrators, and, later, by a Catholic priest, who was ultimately found guilty, defrocked and disgraced.

As a new teacher, I found myself initially subscribing to forceful techniques, though thankfully not to the extent that a child suffered lasting damage.  I owned up to it,made amends, and was able to move on to more humane and effective ways of correcting misbehaviour.  It was a long road, but I was then able to focus on helping the abused children to recognize that they were not at fault, that the beatings I witnessed at a private boarding school, in the late 1970’s were the true aberration, and that no one should have to suffer in silence, or alone.

Getting back to the Native American boarding schools, and many of the Federal and state day schools:  The schools which “served” Indian, Native Alaskan, and Native Hawaiian children, like the Black and Hispanic schools, under Jim Crow laws, were hotbeds of cultural repression, language extinction and harrowing punishment, which included acts of sexual violence against children and teenagers.  The most casual and innocent use of a Native tongue was punished, severely, by school staff ( I will not use the term, “teacher”, here. These individuals negated the definition of the word.).  These individuals were both secular and clergy, and had no other goal than the advancement of the national economy.  Money trumped all else, as it often still does.

Chief Phil Lane, Jr. was a recipient of this kind of miseducation and ,to this day, has had to continuously re-educate, and re-train himself, which he is doing admirably.  I have met many people, in the indigenous communities, and in the wider world, who have expressed hatred for who they think I am, based on my light skin, brown hair and blue eyes.  The only remedy for this, given what these people have endured, is patience, and staying the course of building a healing environment.

We still have a long way to go, and I am grateful to Phil Lane, and others who have arisen to outline what needs to be done.  I will introduce his 16 Principles of creating a nurturing culture, in a series of posts, very soon.

August 3, 2015, Prescott- This is the week that school resumes in Yavapai County, so this morning, I went over to Prescott High School and made an appearance at the Faculty and Staff Convocation Breakfast, loading up on light pastries and fruit, saying hello to a few teachers I recognized and just observing the overall mood of the group, from my solo seat at an empty table.  Most everyone was chirpy and cheerful, within their little groups, though a few of those whom I know to be loners, who live for their kids and their jobs, looked wan and drained from the heat.

I went from there to a weekly coffee klatsch at a Seniors Apartment Complex, in Prescott Valley.  There were more goodies and coffee, of which I took a small portion.  The conversation was quickly dominated by a wheelchair-bound man, of about 80, who complains there is little for him to do, since he can no longer drive.  This is a considerable problem for those who choose to live in such places, or have such places chosen for them, by “loved ones”.  I sat and let him pontificate, nonstop, for about 45 minutes.  Then it was time for him to go pay his rent, so I also went about my business, which today consisted of trying to contact a friend who doesn’t want to be contacted, but is at risk, and of shuffling some money around, so as to pay a person who needed his balance due, a day early.

Dog Days are handled, one day at a time.  It is hot here (91), though nowhere near as hot as in Phoenix (110, at Sky Harbor Airport) or southeast Iran (135).  I took a conference call, at 6 PM.  By 7, it had cooled down enough, so that I went to Planet Fitness, and gave my physical frame a 45-minute workout. As I exercised,  Castle was trying to find out whether, and how, James Brolin’s character was being framed for a murder that it looked like he committed, but maybe didn’t.  When I got home, I tried to find an old episode of Criminal Minds, in which Tim Curry plays a serial killer, who abducts a 9-year-old girl, after killing her father in cold blood.  The girl gives Curry’s character the slip, after a fashion, and he is killed by the police, while pursuing her.  Nasty stuff, this, and it turns out that CBS doesn’t want us watching old episodes of its shows, unless we pay up front.  This is odd, since I can view current shows online, the day after they are aired.

Dog Days are slow, but they are still full.  Tomorrow, I will be busy with a conference call about Native American Boarding Schools in the morning, Red Cross stuff in the afternoon, and get ready for whatever job assignments come my way, later this week, when school resumes.

August 1-2, 2015, Hano Village-  By way of introduction, Hano is one of three villages atop the Hopi landmark known as First Mesa.  The twentieth-century town of Polacca, named for Chief Tom Polacca-ka, one of those who led the Hopi during the time of transition into a relationship with the U. S. Government, lies at the base of First Mesa, and is the locus of four schools, the Police Department,  the Tour Office, a post office,a small hospital, and an even smaller store.

I set out around mid-day on Saturday, and headed up to I-40, past Flagstaff and Winslow, to Holbrook, the seat of Navajo County.  Some long-time friends and collaborators, from my days as counselor at Jeddito School, live there.  I hadn’t seen them since they suffered a tragic loss, so a visit was well overdue.  After settling into Holbrook Inn, one of the town’s many cheap motels, I went over to visit with Bob and Jacque.  This is one of those times when, as an old Navajo medicine man once put it, “you put your watch away.”  Many recountings of the departed, stories of other aspects of our lives on the Reservation, a fine Tex-Mex chimichanga, and discussions of health-enhancing products, filled nearly five hours on Saturday afternoon and evening, before it was time for all good souls to wind down. So, it was back to the motel for me, with a good night to my friends.

Today, Sunday, came quickly enough.  I dreamed that I was tending to the needs of some close relations, who had been incarcerated.  This was probably a logical outgrowth of the part of the conversation that focused on my friends’ helping those who had found themselves in the County Jail, and some who are in a state prison.  We can’t, in good conscience, forget those among the fallen who have either committed “victimless” crimes, or who have been over-sentenced, which happens a lot in Tribal Courts, and other small-town judicial locales, in the name of “tough love”.

I headed northward, after an adequate breakfast of pancakes and sausage, at a small diner called Tom & Suzie’s.  Highway 77 is a familiar-enough road.  All of the highways between Flagstaff and Gallup are:  It’s what Penny, Aram and I did on weekends, for the seven years we were up this way- mostly to shop, in one or another of the “border towns”.

I stopped in a few spots along the way up the 77, to note some of the geologic gems in the areas known as Indian Wells and White Cone.  This small outcropping, about seven miles south of Indian Wells, looks a bit like the famous Ship Rock, northwest of Farmington, NM. So, I refer to it as “Little Ship Rock”.

The next four frames show the area known as the Hopi Buttes, though they lie somewhat south of the Hopi mesa-top homes.

The Dine, or Navajo, and the Hopi have alternately co-existed and clashed, as many neighbours around the world do, for hundreds of years now.  The two nations are in a co-existence mode again, which does my heart good, especially as I  worked with both peoples, simultaneously, for nearly eleven years.  So, it’s not odd that the Hopi Buttes should be populated, and used, mainly by Dine (pronounced di-NEH).

This large formation, near the settlement of Bidahochi, was given the sobriquet “Gorilla Rock” by some Dine whom I met when first visiting the area, in 1979.

The Twin Buttes, just south southeast, of Indian Wells, are most impressive  land forms in the eastern part of the Hopi Buttes area.

They all certainly invite climbing, but the Hopi Buttes are all on private land, so hiking without authorization, or a Dine guide, would invite trouble.  The Navajo Nation may look empty, but the majority of it, especially along the southern edge, is working ranch land.

Once I arrived in Polacca, a few minutes were spent at the home of a departed Hopi-Tewa grandmother, who was our friend for twenty-five years, until her passing. As her daughter was not home, I visited with two of her grandsons, until they had to tend to a family issue.

Then, it was time to go “up top” to Hano.  Parking at the lower lot, I walked up the two-lane road, taking care to stay out of the way of eastbound traffic, which was relatively light.  It took just a few minutes of being directed, and redirected, before I located my hosts’ residence. I was welcomed as if it had been only last week, since we’d seen each other.  That is the way of these villagers, once trust has been established.

Trust does not come easy here. Photography is officially not allowed, once on the mesa tops, and even photographing the mesas from Polacca, or Kykotsmovi (Third Mesa’s base town), is looked at with raised eyebrows.  I saw several people, both Native American and White, recording the social Rain Dances (as opposed to religious dances, which are usually closed to outsiders) on their devices.  One young man was doing so for the Village of Hano.  There’s no telling about the rest.

I was content, as always, to observe the dances attentively, enjoy my hosts’ fine meal and wide-ranging conversations and take-in the antics of the children, who will keep this small, but dignified, nation’s life going, for another generation, and, I’m sure, will turn the dances and songs over to another generation, and so forth, for as long as these sturdy mesa tops will have them.

The Rain Dance seems to have worked, though this being Arizona, there is always more such dancing to be done.  The little three-and-four year old girls were already practicing, alongside the big people, while I stood under the roof beams and took it all in. I will be back, most likely in September, for the Harvest Dance.  This is, after all, one of my spirit’s many homes.

I will close with two views of Winslow’s Little Painted Desert, one of the side perks of driving back to central Arizona.

July 31, 2015, Prescott- I had a lot of time to think, today, about the recent controversy over whether it is possible to care about animals, when so many people are suffering.  This is the dream of the charlatan:  Get people fighting over compassion, like toddlers over toys.  Then, with everyone screaming at one another, ad nauseam, achieve the power-building agenda, sight unseen.

For the record, I care, equally, about wild animals, fetuses, children, teenagers, women’s sense of well-being and dignity, men’s sense of being relevant, maintaining a healthy environment and a healthy diet, and  my own personal growth.  It is called living a full and balanced life.

No one, not the advocates of one cause or another, nor their opponents, nor least of all the wirepullers, who would be thrilled to see total confusion and lack of progress, lest their seats of power become upended, will get me to favour one of the above, to the detriment of the others.  We can’t care about everything, simultaneously, but we can take time for each – just as we eat at certain times, then do our jobs, then rest, then exercise, then play with our children or pets, then read,  then sleep.  What parent worthy of the name exclusively attends to one of their children, and ignores the others?  It is the same with the various aspects that present themselves to us.

I care, intensely, that whales  and lions are being slaughtered for sport; that people are videotaped making glib comments about dead fetuses (though the authenticity of these videos is suspect); that armed criminals can blend in with mothers and children, cross an international border (for a second time, after having been deported) and kill innocent people at point-blank range; that religious zealots can oppress people, at will; that many women, and more than a few men, feel disempowered by capriciously-applied rules and regulations.

I was born caring, and will stay that way.