tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92226432024-03-05T09:29:19.570-07:00Byzigenous Buddhapalian
Miscellaneous spiritual, aesthetic, cultural, and political explorations by a world citizenPaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.comBlogger4013125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-5898608784371223532017-03-19T00:43:00.003-06:002017-03-19T00:43:37.242-06:00Saturday in Lent 2 - 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUAAD1nyN4ZljYH62F2gT9eFJ5H41l4S_AHJFSW3UvEogT0NnrvPnOPsHgXEVYCMFuQsPJDGvD9sJ2FSLrU2epf1YuZI6b38HKY7n_gWNqHjMG48bBGCivZHCYYQMunvYu-eVQOg/s1600/Lent+2+Sat+2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUAAD1nyN4ZljYH62F2gT9eFJ5H41l4S_AHJFSW3UvEogT0NnrvPnOPsHgXEVYCMFuQsPJDGvD9sJ2FSLrU2epf1YuZI6b38HKY7n_gWNqHjMG48bBGCivZHCYYQMunvYu-eVQOg/s320/Lent+2+Sat+2017.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Here is another prayer from the dot matrix days, the first of two with this theme.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<b>For those with whom we are bound in prayer</b> (1)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gracious God, you have knit together your elect in one
communion and fellowship in the mystical Body of Christ our Savior: Accept our
thanks for all who remember us before you in prayer and grant that with your saints
in every place and time we may praise your Name, uphold one another in love,
intercede for the world, and faithfully await your renewal of all creation,
though Jesus Christ, our only Mediator and Advocate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amen.</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
It would be difficult to overstate the comfort I take and strength I gain from an awareness that other people think of me (kindly) and hold me before God in prayer, whatever form that prayer may take. In times of great physical or emotional distress I have, nonetheless, sometimes felt myself lifted on a buoyant golden cloud of prayer. That awareness shaped this prayer written during our earlier years in the Bay Area.<br />
<br />
This is the prayer as originally composed. I do not believe in passively expecting God to fix everything when we are the agents God appoints to work the divine will, which is why the adverb "faithfully" modifies our method of waiting. It is not only having faith in a vision of the reign of God but being faithful in our role, doing our part.<br />
<br />
It should also be understood that when I use the traditional phrase "our only Mediator and Advocate," I view Christ as the universal and eternal Word by whom all things are made and held in being. I am not asserting a "Jesus or fry" theology. In my theological vision nothing and no one exists outside the speaking of the Word, so all are included, none are excluded, and I believe there are many paths up one mountain.<br />
<br />
--the BB <br />
<br />Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-50110675447624837222017-03-19T00:42:00.002-06:002017-03-19T00:42:51.100-06:00Sunday in Lent 3 - 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Daily Invocation of the Most Holy Trinity</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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O Source of all Being, Fountain of Life, and Wellspring of
the Godhead: You are the very Ground and Energy of Love; the overflowing of
your Joy created the worlds and we are held in existence by your Good Pleasure;
mercifully grant that I may this day draw water with rejoicing from the spring
of salvation, giving thanks to you and calling upon your Name.</div>
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<br /></div>
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O Savior and Sustainer of all, Bread of Life and True Vine,
Light of the world and mighty Word by whom we are named; You give yourself for
the life of the world; reveal unto me my own self and the Heart of your
boundless Love; deliver me this day from every bond of evil and death that,
forsaking all, I may follow you and, by your Passion and Death, come unto Life
everlasting.</div>
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<br /></div>
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O Sanctifier and Life-giving Wind, Bringer of Wholeness,
Unction and Healing; You bind all things together and renew all creation,
cleansing your children and leading them into Truth; pattern my life this day
in your graces and strengthen me for obedient service; lift my heart unto the
Divine Presence where I may be one with the Fire of your Love.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Most Holy Trinity, you formed me in your image, raising me
from the dust to give you glory; I bow my heart before the radiant splendor of
your gracious goodness, committing myself wholly to your merciful compassion;
draw me unto yourself and conform me unto your will as I proclaim with angels:
Holy, holy, holy are you, O God; to you be glory for ever and ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amen.</div>
</blockquote>
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<br />
This is another of the prayers I composed in the 80s. Some underlying factors were a desire not to use gendered language referring to God; a practical application of faith by repetition of "this day"; and, of course, an affective piety that is intrinsic to me.<br />
<br />
Three decades later, I might have phrased things differently but I have no difficulty praying this prayer now.<br />
<br />
--the BB</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-37534289258178626662017-03-17T00:47:00.001-06:002017-03-17T00:47:22.601-06:00Friday in Lent 2 - 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
This is one of several prayers that I wrote for a personal Book of Hours back when my Macintosh computer was primitive and everything was printed on a dot-matrix printer. I find that the prayers hold up well for my own piety. I plan to share some of them over the next few days. This one seems apt for a Friday.<br />
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<b>For those who suffer and die alone</b></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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Merciful Father, whose all-seeing glance and loving concern
embrace even the sparrows and yet whose well-beloved Son had nowhere to lay his
head and was forsaken by all his friends: Hear our prayer for those whose
suffering and death are unnoticed by human eyes or ears and unministered to by
mortal voice or touch; in your compassion grant them strength, consolation, and
the ineffable grace of your loving presence; deliver them from despair and
suffer not your Image to fade in their anguish; may your holy angels guard them
from the evil one and lead them at last into that holy city where there is
neither sorrow nor crying, but the fullness of you with all the saints; through
Jesus Christ our Savior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amen.</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
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--the BBPaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-65825221372311680572017-03-15T22:53:00.001-06:002017-03-15T22:53:17.317-06:00Thursday in Lent 2 - 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: left;">
An altered look about the hills<br />A Tyrian light the village fills<br />A wider sunrise in the morn<br />A deeper twilight on the lawn<br />A print of a vermilion foot<br />A purple finger on the slope<br />A flippant fly upon the pane<br />A spider at his trade again<br />An added strut in Chanticleer<br />A flower expected everywhere<br />An axe shrill singing in the woods<br />Fern odors on untraveled roads<br />All this and more I cannot tell<br />A furtive look you know as well<br />And Nicodemus' Mystery<br />Receives its annual reply!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
--Miss Dickinson </div>
</blockquote>
Commentary seems superfluous.<br />
--the BB <br />
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</div>
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Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-7324023350075949752017-03-14T23:46:00.001-06:002017-03-14T23:46:34.334-06:00Wednesday in Lent 2 - 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguE4o5teNrI4xux2JUKeM05GnoIh0Wx1nwGyVRznuCO-d8xKwnyGcBB2uvbTaMdqUMLIJcl2raNdWUHa-YOeGY1tsSn23MGzEX-Ytd1jHTAjejvW3NQi9NfxiBvRJpEeQmeXFNdA/s1600/Lent+2+Wed+2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguE4o5teNrI4xux2JUKeM05GnoIh0Wx1nwGyVRznuCO-d8xKwnyGcBB2uvbTaMdqUMLIJcl2raNdWUHa-YOeGY1tsSn23MGzEX-Ytd1jHTAjejvW3NQi9NfxiBvRJpEeQmeXFNdA/s320/Lent+2+Wed+2017.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
All truths wait in all things,<br />
They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it,<br />
They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon,<br />
The insignificant is as big to me as any,<br />
(What is less or more than a touch?)<br />
<br />
Logic and sermons never convince,<br />
The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.<br />
--Walt Whitman, <i>Song of Myself</i></blockquote>
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<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?"<br />
Matthew 6.25 </blockquote>
At some times and for some things I can wait patiently. Most of the time I want what i want when I want it, and I usually want it right now. Nonetheless, wanting and fretting, pouting or griping--these do nothing to hasten the ripening of anything.<br />
<br />
Whitman reminds us truth is always there. It will come in its time.<br />
<br />
Jesus has some things to say about fretting.<br />
<br />
Deep breath. Hold. Exhale. Repeat. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnVsXR57QwIgjuihm1O2qIEM0bMg3xJg2LZt4nVp5TnbSvQ8VHHuKikfBoZjpv25Gqq-p8nPHXurDWnBcvpvT-t6C_DBpuWfGbOOzCT-jjLH_bOm09xTwH_PU8HAO_Vezu6Dq6zg/s1600/Hoag%2527s+Object+cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnVsXR57QwIgjuihm1O2qIEM0bMg3xJg2LZt4nVp5TnbSvQ8VHHuKikfBoZjpv25Gqq-p8nPHXurDWnBcvpvT-t6C_DBpuWfGbOOzCT-jjLH_bOm09xTwH_PU8HAO_Vezu6Dq6zg/s320/Hoag%2527s+Object+cropped.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
--the BB</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-87053354727551159922017-03-12T22:28:00.002-06:002017-03-12T22:28:29.112-06:00Sunday in Lent 2 -2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Today's posting is very tardy. Простите!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Gott spricht zu jedem nur, eh, er ihn macht</b></i></div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
God speaks to each of us as he makes us,<br />
then walks with us silently out of the night.<br />
<br />
These are the words we dimly hear:<br />
<br />
You, sent out beyond your recall,<br />
go to the limits of your longing.<br />
Embody me.<br />
<br />
Flare up like flame<br />
and make big shadows I can move in.<br />
<br />
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.<br />
Just keep going. No feeling is final.<br />
Don't let yourself lose me.<br />
<br />
Nearby is the country they call life.<br />
You will know it by its seriousness.<br />
<br />
Give me your hand.<br />
<br />
--Rainer Maria Rilke, <i>Book of Hours</i>,<br />
trans. by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy</blockquote>
<br />
I rather like the idea of embodying God by going to the limits of our being.<br />
<br />
--the BB <br />
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<br /></div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-69731374610604579332017-03-10T21:35:00.002-07:002017-03-10T21:35:38.077-07:00Saturday in Lent 1 - 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Beside Each Other</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remember that second night?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were too tired for lovemaking,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
both of us exhausted</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(so many nights of unfulfilled yearning).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We kissed, cuddled, and crashed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That night I did not hold you in my arms;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
we lay beside each other—</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
free, happy, unafraid, content—</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and slept</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
nine long delicious hours.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning, recalling</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
that night of utter peace</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I unclasped my arms</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
from the beloved pillow,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
lay beside it, my cheek touching,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and smiled.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Better not to control</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the uncontrollable—</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
none can—</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
so I rested</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
imagining you resting</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
free</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
happy</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
unafraid</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
content</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and I breathed the morning air</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
grateful for the time</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
our hearts made love</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
as we slept.</div>
</blockquote>
Lovemaking is associated with sabbath, so for this Saturday I thought I would toss one in. It's my own (© me). And I think I shall refrain from commentary.<br />
<br />
--the BB</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-11714657380705142772017-03-09T23:23:00.002-07:002017-03-09T23:23:36.919-07:00Friday in Lent 1 - 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Limites</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Hay una linea de Verlaine que no volveré a recordar,</i><br />
<i>Hay una calle próxima que está vedada a mis pasos,</i><br />
<i>Hay un espejo que me ha visto por última vez,</i><br />
<i>Hay una puerta que he cerrado hasta el fin del mundo.</i><br />
<i>Entre los libros de mi biblioteca (estoy viéndolos)</i><br />
<i>Hay alguno que ya nunca abriré.</i><br />
<i>Este verano cumpliré cincuenta años:</i><br />
<i>La muerte me desgasta, incesamente.</i><br />
--Jorge Luis Borges<br />
<br />
Limits<br />
<br />
There's a line of Verlaine's <br /> that I'm not going to remember again.<br />
There's a nearby street that's forbidden to my footsteps.<br />
There's a mirror that has seen me for the last time.<br />
There's a door I've closed until the end of the world.<br />
Among the books in my library (I'm looking at them)<br />
There are some I'll never open again.<br />
This summer I'll be fifty years old:<br />
Death invades me, constantly.</blockquote>
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We in the West begin Lent with the sign of ashes to remind us we are mortal. And then, the next day, do we resume our ordinary round of activities, having nodded in the direction of such an ineluctable fact?<br />
<br />
By merest chance, an accident when I was fifteen made me aware of my mortality far earlier than happens with most people. From that moment on, I knew that the next day was never guaranteed.<br />
<br />
Mind you, I am not someone who accepts limits gracefully. While I may not always want everything right now, I do want it all. As an incarnate being, I am given reminders by my body that I have limits. Today is one of those days when I ache in my many spots. Each shoulder in its own way, the span of my back between my shoulders, my lower back, my right leg (the one with sciatica). Oh, and a headache from late afternoon onward. The skin on my forearms bruises more easily and I now have what I recognize as old man skin. Although I have long legs and friends used to urge me to slow down my pace, I now find students at the university passing me by briskly as I amble along at a sedate pace more appropriate for septuagenarians. I have saved money for two years for a trip to Europe this summer and I am acutely aware that, funds being limited, it may be the last trip to Europe. I want to think otherwise but, realistically, I do not see serious travel funding without raiding my IRA. You know what these are? First world problems. I have a home, clothing, transportation, reasonable health, and no food insecurity. I enjoy more comforts and opportunities than most people will ever see. And, even so, I chafe at limits.<br />
<br />
Well, I might was well accept them. They are not going away.<br />
<br />
And I am blessed beyond all telling. <br />
<br />
Dust.<br />
<br />
--the BB</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-33971816098210767462017-03-08T21:05:00.004-07:002017-03-08T21:05:59.480-07:00Thursday in Lent 1 - 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Cello<br />
<br />
When a dead tree falls in a forest<br />
if often falls into the arms<br />
of a living tree. The dead,<br />
thus embraced, rasp in the wind,<br />
slowly carving a niche<br />
in the living branch, sheering away<br />
the rough outer flesh, revealing<br />
the pinkish, yellowish, feverish<br />
inner bark. For years<br />
the dead tree rubs its fallen body<br />
against the living, building<br />
its dead music, making its raw mark,<br />
wearing the tough bough down,<br />
moaning in the wind, the deep<br />
rosined bow sound of the living<br />
shouldering the dead.<br />
<br />
Dorianne Laux, September 2002</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
I found this poem in <i>Poets Against the War</i>, edited by Sam Hamill.<br />
<br />
The quick and the dead are not so very different. We all manifest for a while in a certain way and then we do not, but we are all connected in the web of life.<br />
<br />
Consider the impact the dead have on us each day? (I hope you do not struggle with a fresh grief and do not mean to renew the sharpness of loss.) Only the young can imagine that grief goes away. It may soften but we always feel the loss of those we love. It is not only grief; there is remembrance. All those memories that are part of us and the encounters that shaped us once and shape us still. Genetic code, yes, but also the many facets of our lives absorbed from family, neighborhood, friends, culture. When we are gone, others will carry the conscious and unconscious memory of us as ripples spread from our lives.<br />
<br />
I am intrigued by how Laux describes the dead tree as revealing the inner life of the living one. When a loss tears away our outer skin it shows the raw, living flesh beneath. If our pain is acute, it shows our love. If we did not feel deeply, we would not be fully alive.<br />
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<br />
This Lent I am pulling out random poems to share. I have no schema to follow. I hope that poetry can help nurture your soul as it does mine.<br />
<br />
--the BB<br />
</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-21014974209627931312017-03-07T21:23:00.003-07:002017-03-07T21:23:52.287-07:00Wednesday in Lent 1 - 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And now for something different, as they say:<br />
<i></i><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>
Ne me vueilliez pas oublier</i><br />
<i>
Pour tant si je vous suis lontains,</i><br />
<i>
Belle, je vous vueil supplier</i><br />
<i>
Qu’il vous souviengne que je n’aims</i><br />
<i>
Fors vous, et pour tant, se je mains</i><br />
<i>
Hors du païs si longuement,</i><br />
<i>
Ne vous oubli je nullement.</i></blockquote>
<blockquote>
- First strophe of <a href="https://fr.wikisource.org/wiki/Cent_Ballades_(Christine_de_Pisan)/Ballade_LXXV" target="_blank">Ballade LXXV</a><br />
by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christine_de_Pizan" target="_blank">Christine de Pizan</a> <span class="_Tgc">(1365 – c. 1434)</span><br />
<br />
<span class="_Tgc">Do not wish to forget me</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc">For all that you are far away,</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc">My lovely, I would entreat you</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc">To remember that I love none</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc">But you, and for all that I abide</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc">Long out of the country,</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc">I do not, in the least, forget you.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<span class="_Tgc">-My quick and rough translation</span></blockquote>
<br />
<span class="_Tgc"></span><br />
<span class="_Tgc">A 14th century love poem written by a brilliant woman, born in Venice and serving in ducal and royal courts of France. She was brilliant and prolific.</span><br />
<br />
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<br />
<span class="_Tgc">I am using this snippet as a jumping-off place. I would like us to re-read these lines only in a different context than the one we immediately suppose.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="_Tgc">What if this were our own love poem to ourselves? </span><br />
<br />
<span class="_Tgc">How easily we forget ourselves (not merely in the sense of, "Sir, you forget yourself"). We get caught up in the cares of the world, myriad distractions, ephemeral things (some of which demand attention and many of which deserve little or none). Yet wait. Who is the central actor in our personal drama? Who has responsibilities, agendas, deadlines, thoughts, feelings? Why, it is I. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="_Tgc">Can I, this Lent, pause and recall myself? Re-call, call my scattered being back into wholeness again. Remember who I am. (And, if I believe in a deity, Whose I am.)</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc"><br /></span>
<span class="_Tgc">I should not wish to forget myself. No matter how often or far I journey (or stray). I should wish to remember, to love myself. Me, this rather imperfect, somewhat cracked and broken, definitely unfinished being that I am. My spirit, that needs refreshing, rest, and nurture. My body, crying out for the same. All of me. I should never, by any means, forget. And I should reaffirm my love.</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc"></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
When the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. ‘Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?’ He said to him, ‘<span class="thinspace"> </span>“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.’ </blockquote>
<blockquote>
-Matthew 22.34-40</blockquote>
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<br />
<span class="_Tgc">I know, we are reluctant to love ourselves. It seems so... selfish. Self-centered. Narcissistic.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="_Tgc">No. It's not. One may indulge those attitudes, but those are not love.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="_Tgc">If I am to love my neighbor as myself, as Leviticus and Jesus all taught, then how can I love my neighbor if I do not love myself? If I despise myself, belittle myself, reject myself, then how can I embrace my neighbor? Will I not be as uncomfortable with neighbors as I am uncomfortable with myself?</span><br />
<br />
<span class="_Tgc">So, here's a nice Lenten (or anytime) challenge for us all: WRITE A LOVE POEM TO YOURSELF.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="_Tgc">It can be short or long, in structured verse or free verse, rhyme or not, be filled with rhetorical devices or simply flow as it will. But write it. Look at it. Read it aloud to yourself. Listen in silence and ponder. Let some love soak in.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="_Tgc">All love springs from Love Eternal and flows back into it. Love is never lost or wasted. When faith and hope fade away, love abides. The love we lavish upon ourselves will overflow to others. Really.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6J7Bi8-UtCBYAtYz9x5Edfvr6IJ42699T3eGBg67bNEmQE5HaC5J9P1E7dS2PvEG866l58dG5OXrwGOjVFurprzkQEM76QMoZxqRkuEK3VFgqWDJWpYqI-rzHz8eHGV4-r_bWXg/s1600/Heart+hands+backlit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6J7Bi8-UtCBYAtYz9x5Edfvr6IJ42699T3eGBg67bNEmQE5HaC5J9P1E7dS2PvEG866l58dG5OXrwGOjVFurprzkQEM76QMoZxqRkuEK3VFgqWDJWpYqI-rzHz8eHGV4-r_bWXg/s320/Heart+hands+backlit.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
--the BB<br />
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<span class="_Tgc"> </span> </div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-88836322810447926742017-03-06T23:18:00.001-07:002017-03-06T23:18:53.749-07:00Tuesday in Lent 1 - 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<pre><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbOumVCBkfmxfOHfgZt3eZ6IYiog2XFTdIM6oL6LdUiQe5sGUZrT8Og1WAsWLOPJFZ8X5LH2peB_AWPFrdEeCv9_rdV0zMKCMZpX0AWoJ1JUfsBhbqVNcfc0nXpj6amr8Vn0eE6g/s1600/Lent+1+Tues.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbOumVCBkfmxfOHfgZt3eZ6IYiog2XFTdIM6oL6LdUiQe5sGUZrT8Og1WAsWLOPJFZ8X5LH2peB_AWPFrdEeCv9_rdV0zMKCMZpX0AWoJ1JUfsBhbqVNcfc0nXpj6amr8Vn0eE6g/s320/Lent+1+Tues.jpg" width="320" /></a></pre>
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<br />
Here is a poem I encountered back in high school and it has always stuck with me. We citizens of the United States are notoriously lacking in historical perspective. It is a serious challenge to take a longer view. We need to learn how to do that.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<h1 class="page__title title" id="page-title" style="text-align: left;">
Four Preludes on Playthings of the Wind</h1>
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<h2 class="subheading" itemprop="author" itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">
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<span class="node-title"><span itemprop="name">Carl Sandburg</span></span>, <span class="date-display-single">1878</span> - <span class="date-display-single">1967</span>
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<pre><i>The past is a bucket of ashes.</i>
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1
The woman named Tomorrow
sits with a hairpin in her teeth
and takes her time
and does her hair the way she wants it
and fastens at last the last braid and coil
and puts the hairpin where it belongs
and turns and drawls: Well, what of it?
My grandmother, Yesterday, is gone.
What of it? Let the dead be dead.
2
The doors were cedar
and the panels strips of gold
and the girls were golden girls
and the panels read and the girls chanted:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation:
nothing like us ever was.
The doors are twisted on broken hinges.
Sheets of rain swish through on the wind
where the golden girls ran and the panels read:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation,
nothing like us ever was.
3
It has happened before.
Strong men put up a city and got
a nation together,
And paid singers to sing and women
to warble: We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation,
nothing like us ever was.
And while the singers sang
and the strong men listened
and paid the singers well
and felt good about it all,
there were rats and lizards who listened
… and the only listeners left now
… are … the rats … and the lizards.
And there are black crows
crying, “Caw, caw,"
bringing mud and sticks
building a nest
over the words carved
on the doors where the panels were cedar
and the strips on the panels were gold
and the golden girls came singing:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation:
nothing like us ever was.
The only singers now are crows crying, “Caw, caw,"
And the sheets of rain whine in the wind and doorways.
And the only listeners now are … the rats … and the lizards.
4
The feet of the rats
scribble on the door sills;
the hieroglyphs of the rat footprints
chatter the pedigrees of the rats
and babble of the blood
and gabble of the breed
of the grandfathers and the great-grandfathers
of the rats.
And the wind shifts
and the dust on a door sill shifts
and even the writing of the rat footprints
tells us nothing, nothing at all
about the greatest city, the greatest nation
where the strong men listened
and the women warbled: Nothing like us ever was. </pre>
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<br />
When we vaunt ourselves as the best, the greatest, the chosen, the first..., we blind ourselves to all perspective. We fool ourselves and think the world is made in our image. We are the center of creation, the pinnacle of history.<br />
<br />
We are not.<br />
<br />
This does not mean we cannot rejoice in who we are and what we accomplish, only that we must recognize that everything is in a context, all life is part of a great web, we are part of that greater whole. There are other ways of seeing things, of thinking about things, of doing things, of solving problems, of celebrating what is good.<br />
<br />
The gift of studying foreign languages has helped me understand this. That and visiting other cultures where I could meet truly wonderful people who are just like me, yet who live differently as they meet the same human challenges in their geographic, historical and cultural context.<br />
<br />
Life, and any culture, can be amazing and awesome and magnificent without ever being perfect, the best, or the greatest. So can individuals. So let's chill and allow each to shine in its own way. Light involves the entire visible spectrum, not just one hue.<br />
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--the BB<br />
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Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-5565395520358047002017-03-05T21:33:00.000-07:002017-03-05T21:33:50.958-07:00Monday of Lent 1 - 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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There were several reasons why I abandoned this practice a few years ago. One of the most pressing was the theology of conquest and the dispossession of the people of Canaan. So, I propose, once again, to ignore the Daily Office readings. You do not come here to listen to me rail against the dark sides of our tradition.<br />
<br />
Instead, I propose to play with sundry poetry, as things leap out at me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>The Unpardonable Sin</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
This is the sin against the Holy Ghost: —<br />To speak of bloody power as right divine,<br />And call on God to guard each vile chief's house,<br />And for such chiefs, turn men to wolves and swine:—<br /><br />To go forth killing in White Mercy's name,<br />Making the trenches stink with spattered brains, <br />Tearing the nerves and arteries apart,<br />Sowing with flesh the unreaped golden plains.<br /><br />In any Church's name, to sack fair towns,<br />And turn each home into a screaming sty,<br />To make the little children fugitive,<br />And have their mothers for a quick death cry,—<br /><br />This is the sin against the Holy Ghost:<br />This is the sin no purging can atone:—<br />To send forth rapine in the name of Christ:—<br />To set the face, and make the heart a stone.
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<br />
<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
—Vachel Lindsay</div>
</blockquote>
<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
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<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
<a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poets/detail/vachel-lindsay" target="_blank">Vachel Lindsay</a> (1879-1931) was an American poet known for the musicality of his verse and his oratorical skill, though his early career was marked by failure and penury. He was fond or ordinary folk, travel, and the beauty of life. His vision of poetry as performance art was, perhaps, ahead of its time. A poetry slam of our day has the musicality and strong rhythms of Lindsay's verse.</div>
<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
<br /></div>
<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
This poem calls to account religious people and systems that cause devastation to human life. To harm others, allegedly in the name of Christ or Allah or any other deity, is nothing short of blasphemy.</div>
<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
<br /></div>
<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
We would do well to ask whether our faith is allied with worldly power and destruction or with grace and healing. The flag and the Cross do not mix well, though many seek to link them. The Cross judges all earthly systems, all movements, all governments, all ideologies.</div>
<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
<br /></div>
<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
I see too many political actions in my own nation at this time that fit all too easily into these verses. The third stanza, especially, evokes our bombing and devastation in far-off lands followed by our refusal to embrace the refugees we have created or helped to create. Desperate masses who would prefer a quick death to their current misery. Fugitive children. Homes reduced to rubble and disease.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijJJvY5gFoRC8WaLDctT1pVdM6ojNJ-hFkSahSKMOPM2p11gc6v0j9pJCdPccsW9PrZ4SEzr7B218OIuRMPRRSxAtSv6euf23rL6bWgn7EFnNfx_yoSnLTkeQDIvgLmq8C39Kgkg/s1600/heart+of+stone.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijJJvY5gFoRC8WaLDctT1pVdM6ojNJ-hFkSahSKMOPM2p11gc6v0j9pJCdPccsW9PrZ4SEzr7B218OIuRMPRRSxAtSv6euf23rL6bWgn7EFnNfx_yoSnLTkeQDIvgLmq8C39Kgkg/s320/heart+of+stone.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div>
<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
<br /></div>
<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
Can our hearts turn from stone back into flesh? Ezekiel 36.26-27 offers a promise of what God can do.</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and
I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of
flesh. I will put my spirit within you, and make you follow my statutes and be careful to observe my ordinances.
</div>
</blockquote>
<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
One of my more startling sermons involved some visual props. A rubber-headed a mallet, a standard claw hammer, and a sledge hammer. I lifted each up in turn, raising them from behind the pulpit to describe how each is suited for a certain range of purposes. I suggested that to break up our stony hearts, God may well need a sledge hammer.</div>
<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
<br /></div>
<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
Are we willing to let our hearts be broken open? Are we desirous of hearts of flesh that can, once again, feel compassion, act with justice and truth, and practice humility?</div>
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<div class="poet" itemprop="author">
--the BB<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-23208351106026403892017-03-02T00:47:00.002-07:002017-03-02T00:47:35.186-07:00Thursday after Ash Wednesday 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Many are the times I have played with this phrase from the Letter to Titus:</div>
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To the pure all things are pure, but to the corrupt and unbelieving
nothing is pure. Their very minds and consciences are corrupted. They profess to know God, but they deny him by their actions. They are detestable, disobedient, unfit for any good work. - Titus 1.15-16</div>
</blockquote>
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I would comment, as those who know me might expect, that "to the pure all things are pure" and to the rest of us...." Well, I have never in my adult life denied having a naughty and dirty mind.</div>
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Yet there is something profound here. We know that any given situation has as many interpretations as it has interpreters, each one of them perceiving through their own lens. The experiences I bring to each circumstance have shaped my expectations, preconceptions, fears, hopes, and filters. If I enter a room, a conversation, a new day filled with suspicion or dread, I am quite likely to find any number of signs confirming my worst fears. If, on the other hand, I approach the moment seeking something wonderful, I am far more likely to find it. It is not that the objective situation (whatever that construct may mean) is any different. Our responses differ as much by what be bring to the moment as by what we find within it, perhaps even more so.</div>
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As I write all this, I should be disappointed to be mistaken for a believer in magical thinking, or positive thinking. Believe it will be terrific, and it will be! No, I don't expand from an observation about how we perceive and interpret to some metaphysical "law of attraction." Wishful thinking does not make it so. On the other hand, our reactions and the stories we tell of our experiences move into and shape our future experiences and we do participate in the shaping of our lives.</div>
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While I do not pretend to purity (though there is a huge part of me that remains an innocent child full of wonder), I do try to look for and nurture the best in others. This gets much better results than looking for the worst and dwelling on it. Similarly, I choose to live in hope rather than despair. Even if my hopes are based on illusion, it remains a much better way to live life.</div>
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Having tasted depression, I know one cannot simply flip a switch to change one's view of the world and one's mood. What we can do, day by day and bit by bit, is nurture faith, hope, and love. It is the ordinary times in which we gather resources for the crisis moments.</div>
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So, my fellow travelers, even if we have dirty minds we can still nurture a kind of purity that looks for the good, the beautiful, the true, the holy, the joyous in every moment. We will not always see them but the more we seek, the more we will find.</div>
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Taking a cue from the Psalm, we can also recognize the injustices of life without letting them poison us. I am not responsible for the ultimate outcome of justice, karma, etc. I am only responsible for what I choose to do, say, and think.<br />
<br />
Some folks asked me on Wednesday what I was giving up for Lent. Heavens, I have not given anything up for Lent in many years. I occasionally take things on for Lent. This little essay is only Day Two. No promises still, but I am trying to do some reflecting and sharing.<br />
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I did acknowledge my sinfulness and receive ashes, even though I had not anticipated doing so. <br />
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Peace be upon you all.<br />
--the BB</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-13065646119068617732017-02-28T23:52:00.000-07:002017-02-28T23:52:19.109-07:00Ash Wednesday 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Foreward</div>
Well, it has been years since I tried any kind of meditation during Lent. However, I have more time, and perhaps I am more mellow. As of 1 March 2017, I am retired. Again. I tried retiring at the end of April 2014 but a trip to Paris that May did two things: it used up my travel funds and it told me I wanted to see Europe again. So I have worked part time until now. No more. Unemployed and not looking to work. Also, I am curious whether I will engage traditional themes with less inner conflict. I have only gone to church a few times in the past few years and my contact with the church year and spiritual themes is mostly through the posts of friends on Facebook. Eh bien, mes amis, here goes.<br />
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<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><span style="color: #990000;">All shall turn from their evil ways and from the violence that is in their hands.</span></b> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><span style="color: #990000;">- Jonah 3.8b</span></b></blockquote>
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<br />
Thus the king of Ninevah in response to Jonah's call to repent. There is the whole sackcloth and ashes and fasting bit, but those are trappings and the suits of woe. Do we have that within which passeth show? (Hamlet) It is not giving up food or changing our garb that counts but rather what we do. How do we actually change our behavior?<br />
<br />
I am auditing a course in French poetry from Baudelaire to Mallarmé. If we want something to sober us up at the beginning of Lent, we can do worse than Baudelaire's "Au Lecteur" which opens <i>Les Fleurs du Mal</i>.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>La sottise, l'erreur, le péché, la lésine,<br />
Occupent nos esprits et travaillent nos corps,<br />
Et nous alimentons nos aimables remords,<br />
Comme les mendiants nourrissent leur vermine.<br /><br />
</i><br />
<i>
Nos péchés sont têtus, nos repentirs sont lâches;<br />
Nous nous faisons payer grassement nos aveux,<br />
Et nous rentrons gaiement dans le chemin bourbeux,<br />
Croyant par de vils pleurs laver toutes nos taches.</i></blockquote>
Here is Roy Campbell's <a href="http://fleursdumal.org/poem/099" target="_blank">English translation</a>:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Folly and error, avarice and vice, <br />
Employ our souls and waste our bodies' force. <br />
As mangey beggars incubate their lice, <br />
We nourish our innocuous remorse.<br /><br />
<br />
Our sins are stubborn, craven our repentance. <br />
For our weak vows we ask excessive prices. <br />
Trusting our tears will wash away the sentence, <br />
We sneak off where the muddy road entices.</blockquote>
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Those are only the two opening quatrains. Trust me, it gets worse. As the introduction to a work, this goes against the usual mode of gaining the reader's confidence. We are not flattered into trusting the writer and siding with Baudelaire; we are confronted by him and the mirror he holds up is like ice water thrown in our faces. It is an uneasy complicity that develops as we acknowledge the uncomfortable observations of the poet. He concludes by addressing:<br />
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<i>— Hypocrite lecteur, — mon semblable, — mon frère!</i><br />
Hypocrite reader! — You! — My twin! — My brother!</blockquote>
Fans of T. S. Eliot will recognize that he uses this line in <i>The Waste Land</i>.<br />
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While I have rejected most of the warped Calvinist view on which I was raised, I have never been and still am not someone who believes that if we know the good, we will do it. Or that human nature is altogether noble until corrupted by circumstances. My own experience tells me that my namesake, the Apostle Paul, knew what he was talking about when he said, "I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate." (Romans 7.15).<br />
<br />
On the other hand, I do not believe in "total depravity" either in Calvin's view that no part of us is untouched by original sin nor in the extremes of his followers who viewed everything about us as utterly corrupt and deserving of damnation. Twaddle. I find it much more sensible to see us all as works in progress. Yes, we are by necessity enmeshed in the web of fallibility, ignorance, brokenness, and just plain willfulness that is the lot of limited, corporeal, social beings. A blend of limits and, yes, evil. Oh, I do believe in evil, but I also consider much that is so labeled to be other things. Yet we are also God's creation, and God calls creation good. At the end, God even said "very good." We are beloved, cherished, and embraced by the Divine, not loathed and damned.<br />
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Years ago I preached a sermon on Ash Wednesday in which I did not use these terms but the topic was "the shit and the Shekinah." Lent is a time to deal with reality. Our reality. Ourselves. We can stop pretending that there is not a whole lot of shit in our lives and that sometimes, and way too often, we act like shits. We can be real. And being real also means we should not deny that we are also the dwelling place of God, temples of the Holy Spirit, living tabernacles in which the Shekinah, the glorious presence of God, abides. Both of these realities are part of who we are and how we live. Too often we deny one or the other, or both. And much of the time we avoid integrating our scattered fragments by running away, numbing ourselves, staying asleep. As they say these days (and this makes my grammar sense shudder though I agree with the sentiment) we need to be "woke."<br />
<br />
Lent is a call to give ourselves time and space to be present. To be woke. To be honest. To be unafraid of reality. To let go of pretense and illusion. To become a little more integrated than we were last year at this time. We can dare to do this because, ultimately, we have heard the Good News that we are loved. Maybe we only believe this with a little part of ourselves but we are called to trust that and move into it. And we are called to express as much of it as we know in our lives and to show it to others. Together we can grow into it and become more authentic, more whole, more holy.<br />
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To my mind, neither Lent nor any other time should be spend in self-loathing. Facing ourselves and looking at our shadow is not the same as denigrating ourselves. It is natural to be anxious about what we may encounter but, again, let us try to see ourselves through God's eyes. Scary? Only if you believe in a vindictive SOB of a deity. I don't. When a loving parent looks at a child they do see faults and failures as well as amazing wonderfulness, and all is viewed with abiding love. How much more gracious the divine embrace! When I realize I have a hurtful habit, facing it with the loving encouragement of God--not wrathful judgment--enables me to deal with it and gives me courage to allow it to be transformed.<br />
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The day I preached the sermon mentioned above, which made no mention of fasting, prayer, or almsgiving, I realized that I felt a calling to help people heal from bad religion and that I needed to express what I know as the Good News of God's love in language that was not churchy but worldly and everyday. I still feel that call as I live my life very much "in the world."<br />
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May all who read this be bathed in gracious love and find peace, time, and space to allow the healing power of reality to work in your lives. We all play false roles; we are hypocrites. We are siblings and twins, all in the same boat. But there is grace. I have always believed that and I still do. Peace be upon you.<br />
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-the BB<br />
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Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-1084845072077209082016-11-10T10:53:00.001-07:002016-11-10T10:53:41.561-07:00I'm sorry; I cannot sing Kumbaya<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Here is what's different.<br />
<br />
When GWB was installed (not elected) in 2000, I was outraged and
saddened but I did not fear for my fellow-citizens. When he launched an
illegal and immoral pre-emptive invasion and occupation of Iraq, I
considered him a war criminal, and I still do, but I did not fear for my
fellow citizens. When he pushed to privatize Social Security I did
fear for my fellow citizens, but overall I trusted our society.<br />
<br />
This time when Trump has won the electoral college (but lost the popular
vote nationwide), I am horrified and I DO fear for my fellow citizens.
Bush was a dry drunk frat boy but was not an out-of-control narcissist
and everyday bully. He was often wrong and sold an entire war based on
lies but he did not lie about damned near everything on a daily basis.
He was part of an entitled New England political family that I did not
trust, but he was not a lifelong con man. He did not have a record of
bilking people he worked with (until he put tax cuts for the wealthy and
two wars off the books, thus bilking the entire nation). He did not
scapegoat Muslims, even in the light of 9/11 which was an extreme
terrorist act. He may not have promoted equality for folks like me but
he did not threaten to dismantle our progress. He did not characterize
entire swathes of the population as rapists and thieves. Whatever my
feelings about what I often called "the Bush Crime Family," I
acknowledge that they have some sense of noblesse oblige, a
responsibility toward society.<br />
<br />
I fear for my fellow citizens and
it is not just because of Trump but because half of those who voted seem
to approve his message. A nation that would elect him is not a nation
in which I would want to raise a daughter, or be a woman, or a person of
color, or Muslim or Jewish, or any faith other than "Christian." It is
a nation that has now normalized bullying. It is a nation that has
encouraged white racism, sexual predation, and service of the self. I
realize there is great appeal in the idea of shaking things up and
bringing about change, but how one shakes and what one changes matters.
You cannot heal and build on slogans alone without substance. I am
afraid of the substance.<br />
<br />
I do not want to see women and girls
disrespected. I do not want to see their healthcare dismantled. I do
not want to see the marriages of my friends disavowed and other friends
denied the right to marry. I do not want to see queer, bi, and trans
people treated as second class. I do not want to see continued
slaughter of young African-American men or threats to women in hijabs or
Sikhs attacked because they have turbans (attacked by know-nothings who
have no clue that Sikhs are not Muslims) or Hispanics viewed as a
threat to our way of life. I grew up in California and live in New
Mexico, regions that were part of Spain and Mexico before they were
acquired by the USA. I do not want the ongoing cultural and economic
genocide of Native Americans to continue.<br />
<br />
In short, while I
believe as a nation and fellow citizens we do need to come together,
this time is not like prior times and saying "Let's all get along' is
way too easy. Half the voting populace just told me that I and many of
my fellow citizens are not equal and don't fully belong. "Let's unite"
just becomes a slogan of my/our oppression. It's easy to say if you
are white, male, conservative Christian, and heterosexual but it you are
not, it carries a threat. We all need to acknowledge that.<br />
<br />
--the BB<br />
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Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-4569514629832240612016-07-23T12:56:00.003-06:002016-07-23T12:57:44.873-06:00Values come first<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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George Lakoff has <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/george-lakoff/understanding-trump_b_11144938.html" target="_blank">an article on Huffington Post</a> about how our brains work and what this has to do with the rise and popularity of Donald Trump as the Republican nominee for President of the United States of America. There is much food for thought in this article. Because of my love of languages and the phenomenon of language, I was struck by one section:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="content-list-component mt-paragraph text">
Direct
causation is dealing with a problem via direct action. Systemic
causation recognizes that many problems arise from the system they are
in and must be dealt with via systemic causation. Systemic causation has
four versions: A chain of direct causes. Interacting direct causes (or
chains of direct causes). Feedback loops. And probabilistic causes.
Systemic causation in global warming explains why global warming over
the Pacific can produce huge snowstorms in Washington DC: masses of
highly energized water molecules evaporate over the Pacific, blow to the
Northeast and over the North Pole and come down in winter over the East
coast and parts of the Midwest as masses of snow. Systemic causation
has chains of direct causes, interacting causes, feedback loops, and
probabilistic causes — often combined.</div>
<div class="content-list-component mt-paragraph text">
Direct
causation is easy to understand, and appears to be represented in the
grammars of all languages around the world. Systemic causation is more
complex and is not represented in the grammar of any language. It just
has to be learned. </div>
</blockquote>
<br />
Direct versus systemic causation and grammar: fascinating. Many of my readers will remember, with varying emotions, the practice of diagramming sentences in order to understand the syntactic relationships among words. I loved sentence diagrams because I lucked out; my brain instinctively twigged to the way words were relating in sentences so this was easy, made sense, and was fun. It is not so obvious for most people and I suspect the vast majority would prefer to keep sentence diagrams locked away in distant memory.<br />
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In English we show the structure mostly with word order, prepositions, and conjunctions. In a highly inflected language like Latin, word order can be extremely flexible because the endings of the words indicate their functions. "Femina videt canem" means "The woman sees the dog." "Feminam videt canis" means "The dog sees the woman." Same word order, different endings. Whether the concept is expressed in sequence or inflection, one element (the subject) acts upon the other (the object). The direct causation is very clear and easily grasped.<br />
<br />
Lakoff asserts that that no language has a grammar that expresses systemic causation. Whether that generalization is absolutely true, I do not know. He is the linguistic expert; I am an amateur lover of languages. His statement matches what I have encountered in Indo-European languages (Germanic, Romance, Greek, Armenian) and what very little I know of Ural-Altaic and Semitic languages (Turkish and Hebrew).<br />
<br />
Do I have any grammatical way to express the Buddhist concept of interdependent co-arising? Everything that is happening right now is interrelated with everything else and nothing has a single causation. Cause and effect are no longer sharply delineated. At this point we move into a Zen approach where the archer, the bow, the arrow, and the target are all one; none of them may be understood as independent of the others. As Lakoff says, this understanding may be learned but it is not embedded in our grammar. The way in which we arrange sounds or written symbols to express thought does not support such complexity; it is expressed not grammatically but in an abstract conceptual manner. We can learn it, we can understand it, but the basic structure of language must be transcended for this to happen.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2sWOYtOtzlmagaTuulrGjYBxTA3R8ZSs0Tt6pSH6t8R3SD6QW0R1TMKcg29u42sSpBPoo-BoTldedXXO32elNtLSpdjVPVHzVJzgC1sv8kGxv1vZht1EsKUaqrHMa8pk474_Vaw/s1600/complexity2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2sWOYtOtzlmagaTuulrGjYBxTA3R8ZSs0Tt6pSH6t8R3SD6QW0R1TMKcg29u42sSpBPoo-BoTldedXXO32elNtLSpdjVPVHzVJzgC1sv8kGxv1vZht1EsKUaqrHMa8pk474_Vaw/s320/complexity2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The progressive world view is rooted in the nurturing parent model, not the authoritarian parent model of the conservative world view, and the former is a more complex, systemic approach. It is less instinctive, less simplistic, yet it is also embedded in the most basic human experience, that of family. Trump follows the easier path: simple solutions to challenges we may know to be complex but which he describes, in a way that has easy and powerful appeal, as being simple. He has no need to explain how; he simply asserts and reassures that he can do it, he will do it, and we will rejoice in it. How nice for everyone, and it sounds as though it requires no effort from the citizenry, no cooperation and hard work from various segments of our government, no struggles with centuries of history and the intricacies of geopolitics. Everyone will sit down with the Donald, because he tells them to, and he will convince them of what must be done, and they will all do it. How easy is that?<br />
<br />
After illustrating ways in which someone can use the unconscious power of how we understand the world and ourselves to manipulate us, specifically illustrating this with what Trump has done, he concludes that even if Trump loses he will have changed the way Americans think.<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Reporters and commentators are supposed to stick to what is conscious
and with literal meaning. But most real political discourse makes use of
unconscious thought, which shapes conscious thought via unconscious
framing and commonplace conceptual metaphors. It is crucial, for the
history of the country and the world, as well as the planet, that all of
this be made public. </blockquote>
<br />
Lakoff urges us not to rebut the negative but to assert the positive, to speak to values, to build on the best and most universal aspects of our history and what matters to us all. The latter part of his article shows us how progressives can address the challenge of Trump in a manner that might actually touch all segments of our society.<br />
<br />
I commend the article to your attention.<br />
<br />
--the BB <br />
<br /></div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-49505247301372205982016-07-01T23:15:00.000-06:002016-07-01T23:15:25.008-06:00The Tale of FireEye<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
When the Rivers
ran and the Sky was blue there walked among the Wolflings a man named FireEye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was said that his weary feet had travelled
the Four Paths each to its end and that his eyes could see beyond the bounds of
the World.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So it was told and so, though
it be lies, it is told again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
When FireEye
was a child he sat up late beside the fire and listened to the songs of
Yesterday and Tomorrow and the tales of Now and Sometime, but mostly he loved
the Great Song, for it told of the Grey Wolf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Wolflings never tired of the tales which time had woven round the
Sacred One and so they told their children and one another, over and yet again,
of the doings and sayings of him whose gift to them was the World and whose
gift from the World was the Wolflings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whenever the Wolflings spoke of him they called him Lord Wolf, but few
ever considered what it meant to have a lord and many considered the Great Song
no more than a pretty tale about a good creature who may once have stalked the
Forest and then again may not have lived at all. But FireEye listened with his
heart as others heard only with their ears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He knew that Grey Wolf was real and, more than other Wolflings, FireEye
believed the World still bore fresh paw prints of the Great One. And so the boy
resolved within himself and silently swore by his Grandfather’s bones that he
would hunt the Lord Wolf until he found him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
FireEye was
accounted a man and given a name when, in his fourteenth summer, he sat in the
circle of his people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it came his
turn to lead the Great Song his mind wandered from Shakra the Badger (whose
unbelief was rebuked by the Lord Wolf himself) to Leaping Hart, the chieftain
whom FireEye knew to believe only in himself, and then to FireEye’s own heart
wherein exotic doubts danced like the flames which stirred in the evening
air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Silently the lad gave words to his
longing: “Show yourself, Lord Wolf; Oh, show yourself that I might see you.”
And then it happened, for in the eyes of one of the children and in the lined
face of the Lady Heron and in the hands of old Namhar, FireEye saw the paw
prints of the Sacred One. And there in the midst of the people stood the Grey
Wolf, his fur glistening in the fire which enveloped him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As his turn came, FireEye did not sing the
next verse of the Great Song but rather began:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Praised be the Fire in which I see
you</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
And blest my sisters and brothers
in whom I see you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Holy is the World wherein you walk.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
O Great Lord Wolf, I pray you,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
Save your
people.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
On he sang into
the night and many were uneasy but none would stop him. Though some longed for
him to be silent, yet was he then named among the shamans and called FireEye,
for it was in the Fire that he had seen the Wolf.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
As the years
passed FireEye learned to track the Wolf as the hunter tracks the deer. Often
as he journeyed through the Forest the Lord Wolf would show himself and speak
to the shaman of things too beautiful and terrible to name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then one day, as FireEye wandered beside a
stream, he beheld a shining trout darting among the shadows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its look was not unknown to him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Overcoming the dumbness of his wonder,
FireEye spoke to it thus: “My Lord, I know you but do not understand. You are
the Grey Wolf and the Speckled Fish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Teach me.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
The Sacred One
answered, “I have always been more than the Wolf and now it is given to you to
know this.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
When FireEye
had pondered this great mystery he could contain it no longer, and so he
returned to the Wolflings and said to them, “The Lord Wolf is more than Wolf.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
They replied, “What
do you mean? This is nonsense. The Holy Wolf is the Holy Wolf, greatest of all
the creatures, always the same. Would you tell us the Wolf is not the Wolf?
Guard your tongue and take heed you do not lead our children astray.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
And so his
people frowned upon the shaman and he was confused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did the Great One not promise he would lead
his people into Truth? Yet they would not hear this news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could it be a deception, some wondrous lie to
drive the shaman mad?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
But no, for the
Eagle came to FireEye also and said, “You have sought me everywhere. Do you
know me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
The shaman
answered, “Yes, Lord, for you are Wolf and Greater than Wolf, Trout and Greater
than Trout, Eagle and Greater than Eagle.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
The Eagle said,
“Then trust me and be true.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
So FireEye held
fast to the Creature beyond the understanding of the Wolflings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though some longed to believe him yet none
would forsake the Great Song as they had always known it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So finally the Wolflings ceased to listen to
the shaman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When their ears no longer
heard him and their eyes perceived him not, he said, “It is done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot go back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To be faithful to the Grey Wolf I must also
be faithful to Greater than Wolf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Because I am a Wolfling I am no longer a Wolfling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must leave my people.” So, though we wept,
he left.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
In time FireEye
came among the Children of the Eagle and they welcomed him as a Stranger and
bade him sit in their circle and sing the Great Song with them. The shaman
smiled and thanked them and joined in the singing, for though the Great Song
now told of the Mighty Eagle, FireEye had been blessed with a great secret and
he knew the Lord Eagle as he knew the Lord Wolf.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
After some days
the Children of the Eagle spoke to him as follows: “Shaman, you seem to honor
the Lord Eagle.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
“I cannot do
otherwise,” FireEye replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
“And yet you
were a Wolfling, were you not?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
“That is true,”
he answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
“We would make
you one of us,” they continued, “but we must be certain of your loyalties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you still a Wolfling?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
“I fear I am
not,” he said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
And then the
Children of the Eagle asked the shaman whether the Great Song concerned the
Grey Wolf at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>FireEye dared not
betray the Sacred One in any guise, so he answered softly, “Yes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
Then they said
to him, “Though you have come to know the Great Eagle, yet are you not one of
us.” They no longer called him shaman and they would not hear him speak.
FireEye’s heart was nigh unto breaking and he journeyed forth with tears
dimming the paw prints he once knew to follow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
One day as he
stood upon a great plain he lifted up his arms and said, “My Lord, you have been
kind to me and have let me see what few have seen. I have been true to you
though others have called me Liar and Fool. But I am a mere child of
Earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me see you again and let me
die.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
Far off, near
the horizon, a speck appeared and as it came closer it grew until at last there
stood before the disgraced shaman a mighty Buffalo with horns and hooves of
gold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It spoke to him and said, “My
child, you shall die a thousand times before I gather you to myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, as you love me, you must be
faithful to what you have seen since it is because I love you that I have shown
myself to you. And now you shall see me no more for you have learned to see me
always.” With that the Buffalo disappeared and FireEye stood alone yet not
alone on the plain.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
When his soul
had quieted within him, the shaman turned and walked back toward the land of
the Wolflings, and the Children of the Eagle, and the Fisher Folk, and the Sun
People, and all the other Sons and Daughters of the Earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some laughed and most merely did not
listen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet FireEye the shaman-in-exile,
continued to serve the Buffalo Spirit (last Avatar in a New World) until he
came to the Final Mountain and passed beyond knowing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So it was told and so I tell it to you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
--12 July 1976 (with minor
editing 1 July 2016)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
© Paul E. Strid</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-32820948641517968182016-06-14T00:35:00.000-06:002016-06-14T00:35:04.556-06:00The Martyrs of Orlando 2016<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhakSb_B8tTzDcT_RnNqi9y7PDZZzXfHsHTq9bb3YBqlm_fADyW_rI3-in6NKtoAuUC6QRqSANjmBAKcW-Xwl3Na6hqSzDNV_yHvf9ivnlqj89VQuX-7mDtOLtctffmfmATwTIdGA/s1600/00+Martyrs+of+Orlando+2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhakSb_B8tTzDcT_RnNqi9y7PDZZzXfHsHTq9bb3YBqlm_fADyW_rI3-in6NKtoAuUC6QRqSANjmBAKcW-Xwl3Na6hqSzDNV_yHvf9ivnlqj89VQuX-7mDtOLtctffmfmATwTIdGA/s320/00+Martyrs+of+Orlando+2016.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
There is a tradition among Latin American Christians of naming the martyrs and saints, especially recent ones, and after each name shouting "¡Presente!" (Present!). In so doing they not only remember those who have died but sense and proclaim their presence among us.<br />
<br />
I have thus put together this post, naming each of the 49 murdered during Latin night at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando FL on Sunday, 12 June 2016.<br />
<br />
As you read the names, remember them, honor them, feel their presence making us stronger.<br />
<br />
Memory eternal! <br />
<br />
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<br />
You may see their names <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/post-nation/wp/2016/06/12/orlando-nightclub-shooting-names-of-victims-released-updating/?utm_term=.a9b47972594c" target="_blank">here</a>. Names and more information and photos of many of them are found <a href="https://www.buzzfeed.com/stephaniemcneal/orlando-shooting-victims?utm_term=.hfzBqZn9B#.upg8Mj368" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />
--the BB</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-53337274396891446922016-01-12T23:05:00.000-07:002016-01-12T23:05:39.378-07:00Hamlet 2016<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I title this post 'Hamlet 2016' because the current production at the Vortex Theatre is very contemporary. The ubiquitous smartphones will strike the viewer immediately and they are used throughout to good effect.<br />
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There is no question that I am a huge fan of Shakespeare and of Greek tragedy. If I am aware of any production near me, you will be challenged to keep me away from it. Sometimes memory fades over the years but this is at least the second, and possibly third, live production of <i>Hamlet</i> I have attended. In the last couple of years I have also watched at least five versions of <i>Hamlet</i> on VHS, DVD, or the big screen (in the recent production with Benedict Cumberbatch). These range from the uncut version with Kenneth Branagh to the abomination with Ethan Hawke (and Bill Murray doing a Polonius that made me want to puke). One is the version with Derek Jacobi as Hamlet, and his performance inspired Branagh to become an actor. Branagh then cast Jacobi as Claudius when Branagh played Hamlet.<br />
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Additionally, I obtained a somewhat abridged audio recording on LP records when I was in high school. I listened over and over again, utterly captivated by the drama and poetry of Shakespeare. To this I owe the annoying fact that I can mouth huge portions of the dialogue when watching it.<br />
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It is thus with trepidation that I go to any performance. This is one of the plays that has become part of me. Its music has flowed through my soul for half a century. Will I be exhilarated or disheartened at the next production?<br />
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I can say, with all honesty, that I truly enjoyed the performance at the <a href="http://vortexabq.org/season.php?a=75&b=1" target="_blank">Vortex</a> last Sunday. I am not going so far as to say exhilarated, but I was definitely deeply satisfied and I recommend the production to anyone in the Albuquerque area.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Caroline Graham as Ophelia, Nicholas Ballas as Claudius, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Grey Blanco as Hamlet, and Aleah Montano as Gertrude. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Photo courtesy of the Vortex Theatre website.</i></div>
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One aspect of the performance I especially enjoyed was a sense that this was a modern Ophelia. Yes, given her position in courtly society she is manipulated and managed, as Ophelia always has been, but Caroline Graham gives her an individual fire. Her mad scene is stunning and terrifying; there is nothing pretty about it, yet it also endues her with a dignity. She cannot be touched anymore than she can be used.<br />
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Grey Blanco as Hamlet carries the burden of a part all actors aspire to and he does so well. Mercifully, this performance takes place in an enclosed area with the audience on all four sides, so Blanco did not have to race around everywhere as Cumberbatch did in an immense set, leaving the audience exhausted. But he does have the energy and emotions of youth and the struggle to take action in a world of conflicting desires and responsibilities. I could believe the passion between him and Ophelia and the struggle to distance himself from her, brutally but not without ambiguity.<br />
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Kudos must be given to Miguel Martinez the fight choreographer who worked for ten weeks with Blanco and Quinn Scicluna (Laertes). The duel that concludes the action cannot be faked and it not only went smoothly but convincingly, with satisfying moves and fierce emotion. Anyone who has read the play or studied it knows how it all ends. I will not spoil the final touch that holds a mirror to our warped modern souls.<br />
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The Claudius of Nicholas Ballas is, as he should be, a polished and entitled villain. Peter Shea Kierst was, as I expected, a perfect Polonius. Gertrude was not given as strong a presence in this production as in some I have seen but Aleah Montano was queenly throughout and duly wretched in the closet scene. I could not discern just how complicit she was in her husband's assassination, a question this play always raises.<br />
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Rosencrantz (Bridget S. Dunne) and Guildenstern (Jonathan Tyrell) were believable university friends and casting Rosencrantz as a woman gave some added poignancy to the intricacies of friendship among these two and Hamlet. The utter devotion of Horatio (Tommy Joy) can be seen throughout the play but in Horatio's last farewell the depth and passion came through (and I got misty).<br />
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David Richard Jones directed and chaired a talkover after the Sunday matinee. I appreciated the chance to hear more from him and several of the actors and to express appreciation to them all.<br />
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This is not the uncut version that goes on forever. Fortinbras hardly matters, but the guts of the drama are all here.<br />
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I commend the performance to all who might enjoy some of the Bard's most beautiful writing and richest drama.<br />
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--the BB<br />
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Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-67810122758256467312015-12-30T21:54:00.001-07:002015-12-30T21:54:17.783-07:00Oatmeal cookies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This is the next in my cookie series. Not holiday cookies, per se, but I bought raisins and, by God, raisins shall be used. The recipe is at the end.<br />
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First, we establish that my cookie dough is usually not done by Kitchen-Aid but by hand mixing with a wooden spoon. This butter had been removed from the fridge about one hour earlier but it was still not room temperature, so I got a bit of a workout as I creamed it. <br />
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Sugars and spices and all sorts of nice stuff.<br />
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OK, butter and sugars (with spices) are creamed.<br />
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Now the eggs. Notice that I am doubling the recipe, which is why you see two eggs instead of the one called for in the recipe below.<br />
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Next honey is added. Interesting, yes? <br />
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The flour. It is followed by the oats, which I thought I had photographed, but evidently I did not. </div>
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The raisins (homage to my Central Valley roots).<br />
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And here is the dough, ready to be refrigerated for an hour before dropping onto the baking sheets.<br />
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<div id="HeadNotes">
These humble cookies may seem old-fashioned, but
their signature oatmeal cookie flavor and soft/chewy texture never go
out of style. </div>
<div id="volume_or_weight">
<div id="v_ingredients" style="display: inline;">
<div class="recipe-ingredients" id="IngredientSet">
<ul class="ingredient-list">
<li id="IngredientLine">1/2 cup butter</li>
<li id="IngredientLine">1/4 cup granulated sugar</li>
<li id="IngredientLine">1/3 to 1/2 cup brown sugar, to taste</li>
<li id="IngredientLine">1 teaspoon ground <a href="http://www.kingarthurflour.com/recipes/detail.jsp?id=4960">cinnamon</a></li>
<li id="IngredientLine">1/4 teaspoon ground allspice</li>
<li id="IngredientLine">1/2 teaspoon ground ginger</li>
<li id="IngredientLine">heaping 1/2 teaspoon salt*</li>
<li id="IngredientLine">1/2 teaspoon baking soda</li>
<li id="IngredientLine">1 teaspoon <a href="http://www.kingarthurflour.com/recipes/detail.jsp?id=1842">vanilla extract</a></li>
<li id="IngredientLine">1 large egg</li>
<li id="IngredientLine">3 tablespoons honey</li>
<li id="IngredientLine">3/4 cup <a href="http://www.kingarthurflour.com/recipes/detail.jsp?id=3005">King Arthur Unbleached All-Purpose Flour</a> or 100% White Whole Wheat Flour</li>
<li id="IngredientLine">1 1/2 cups quick-cooking oats</li>
<li id="IngredientLine">1 1/2 cups raisins (golden or regular), or currants</li>
<li id="IngredientLine">*If you use salted butter, reduce salt to 1/2 level teaspoon.</li>
</ul>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="recipe-instructions" id="directions">
<h2>
Directions</h2>
<ol class="recipe-instrux-ol" id="InstructionSection">
<li class="recipe-instrux-li" id="InstructionSet">
<span id="Instructions">Lightly grease (or line with parchment) two baking sheets.</span>
</li>
<li class="recipe-instrux-li" id="InstructionSet">
<span id="Instructions">Beat together the butter, sugars, spices, salt, baking soda, and vanilla, mixing until smooth.</span>
</li>
<li class="recipe-instrux-li" id="InstructionSet">
<span id="Instructions">Beat in the egg, then the honey.</span>
</li>
<li class="recipe-instrux-li" id="InstructionSet">
<span id="Instructions">Stir in the flour, then the oats, then the raisins.</span>
</li>
<li class="recipe-instrux-li" id="InstructionSet">
<span id="Instructions">Cover the dough, and refrigerate it for 1 to 2 hours, until it's thoroughly chilled. <br /><br /><i>Note: To save time, you can freeze unbaked cookies for 1 hour, rather than refrigerating the dough; see step 6, below.</i></span>
</li>
<li class="recipe-instrux-li" id="InstructionSet">
<span id="Instructions">Drop the chilled dough by generous
tablespoonfuls onto the prepared baking sheet; a tablespoon cookie scoop
works well here. The cookies will spread, so leave 2" or so between
them. <br /><br /><i>If the dough hasn't been chilled, place the pans of shaped cookies in the freezer for 1 hour.</i> </span>
</li>
<li class="recipe-instrux-li" id="InstructionSet">
<span id="Instructions">Just before baking, preheat the oven to 375°F.</span>
</li>
<li class="recipe-instrux-li" id="InstructionSet">
<span id="Instructions">Bake the cookies for 10 minutes, until
they're barely beginning to brown. Reverse the pans (top to bottom,
bottom to top) midway through baking. If the cookies have been frozen,
bake them for 14 minutes.</span>
</li>
<li class="recipe-instrux-li" id="InstructionSet">
<span id="Instructions">Remove the cookies from the oven, and cool right on the pan; or transfer to a rack if you need the pan for the next batch.</span>
</li>
<li class="recipe-instrux-li" id="InstructionSet">
<span id="Instructions">Yield: about 26 cookies.</span>
</li>
</ol>
</div>
This recipe comes from the folks at <a href="http://www.kingarthurflour.com/recipes/soft-and-chewy-oatmeal-raisin-cookies-recipe" target="_blank">King Arthur Flour</a>.<br />
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I will post a photo of my finished product on Facebook later.<br />
--the BB<br />
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</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-64449975442327854372015-12-27T12:33:00.003-07:002015-12-27T12:33:55.168-07:00Toasty coconut macaroons<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Remember, if you click on the photo you can enlarge it. <br />
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Once you have toasted the coconut, the rest of this is beyond easy. The cookies are almost nothing but egg whites, sugar, and toasted coconut. Fun to dip in chocolate also.<br />
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Below are the ones that have just come out of the oven. <br />
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<br />
Happy baking!<br />
<br />
--the BB</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-40846263556375337212015-12-25T22:17:00.000-07:002015-12-25T22:17:23.868-07:00Pepparkakor<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mrs. Londquist’s Pepparkakor</b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
(Swedish Pepper
Cookies)</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 Cup melted butter</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1-1/4<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cup sugar
(white or brown)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cream butter and sugar together.</div>
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<br /></div>
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1/2 Cup sour cream</div>
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1-1/2<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cups
light molasses</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1-1/2 teaspoons baking soda</div>
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Mix together in a very large bowl and add the butter &
sugar mixture.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1/4 teaspoon cloves</div>
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1/2 teaspoon ginger</div>
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1/2 teaspoon black pepper</div>
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1/2 teaspoon nutmeg</div>
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8 Cups flour</div>
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<br /></div>
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Mix dry ingredients together then add to wet
ingredients.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mix thoroughly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Roll to 1/8 inch thickness on floured board.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cut.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Bake at 350 degrees F. for 15 minutes.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This recipe makes a lot of cookies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You may keep the dough in the
refrigerator and roll out and bake some at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It takes a bit of work to make the cold dough malleable but
if it gets too warm it does not handle well either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it is too crumbly, I apply a bit of melted butter and
knead repeatedly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Practice, and
lots of sprinkling with flour.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They are best made around Thanksgiving, stored in an
airtight container, and served at Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We love making holes in some of them and hanging them on the
Christmas tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those hanging on
the tree will be perfectly edible when Epiphany arrives.</div>
</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-63810437848208801142015-12-25T13:52:00.000-07:002015-12-25T13:52:18.611-07:00Biscotti di meliga<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Lemon-Cornmeal Cookies</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Biscotti di meliga</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
(Piedmont)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 Cup fine-ground cornmeal</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3/4 Cup 00 flour (all-purpose will work fine)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
10 Tbsp. butter, diced</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3/4 Cup sugar</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2 large egg yolks</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2 tsp. pure vanilla extract</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Grated zest of 1 large lemon<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Salt</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Preheat oven to 350º.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a food processor, combine the cornmeal, flour, and butter
and process until the mixture resembles coarse sand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Add the sugar, egg yolks, vanilla, lemon zest, and salt and
process until just combined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turn
the dough out on a work surface and knead it for 1 to 2 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dough will be dense and sticky.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Working in batches, put the dough in a cookie press and
press out simple one-part shapes onto the prepared baking sheets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alternately put flattened
teaspoon-sized mounds of dough on the prepared baking sheets.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bake for about 7 minutes, depending on the thickness of your
cookies, until just lightly golden at the edges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let cool to room temperature on the parchment paper or wire
racks. (If you try to remove them from the parchment paper before they are
cool, they may crumble.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
cookies can be stored in an airtight container for several weeks.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yield: 2-3 dozen</div>
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<br /></div>
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Notes: I did not have the more finely ground cornmeal available. Find it if you can, but regular will work. You might want to use the food processor to grind it a bit finer. I shaped small balls and got four dozen out of the recipe.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--the BB </div>
</div>
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-6893512515167465862015-12-24T22:58:00.001-07:002015-12-25T11:58:17.750-07:00Apelsinkakor (Orange Cookies) - updated<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
This is one of my favorite cookies for the holiday season. The recipe comes from a Swedish-American cookbook.<br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Orange Cookies</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Apelsinkakor</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1/2 Cup butter</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 Cup sugar</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 egg</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
grated rind of 2 oranges<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1/2 Cup chopped nuts</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2-1/2 Cups sifted all-purpose flour</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2 tsp. baking powder</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1/2 tsp. salt</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1/4 Cup pieces of nuts</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">A.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Cream butter; add sugar and cream until
light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beat in egg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Add orange rind and chopped nuts.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">B.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Sift together flour, baking powder, and
salt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Add to first mixture and mix
well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chill several hours or overnight.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">C.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Roll out to 1/8 inch thickness and cut with
1-3/4 inch cookie cutter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arrange
on ungreased cookie sheets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Press
a piece of nut on each cookie.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">D.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Bake at 375º for 8 to 10 minutes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yield: 8 dozen</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Note: one may also treat these like ice-box (refrigerated) cookies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find this easier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Form rolls of the dough, wrap in wax
paper, then plastic wrap or aluminum foil, and refrigerate for several hours or
overnight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take them out of the
refrigerator and slice thinly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Proceed to bake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dry climate note: flour in New Mexico is very dry. I doubled the recipe tonight but used only 4.5 cups of flour instead of 5.0. This gave me a much more malleable dough than I have often had in the past. </div>
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<br />
My preferred method of making most cookie dough: a wooden spoon and the bowl I inherited from Grandmother Strid. It is so much more involved and satisfying.<br />
Creaming the butter. <br />
<br />
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<br />
Creaming the sugar with the butter. <br />
<br />
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<br />
Butter and sugar nicely ready for the next step.<br />
<br />
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Add eggs (this is a double recipe I am making, hence: two eggs instead of one).<br />
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A beautiful batter is forming.<br />
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Add chopped nuts and orange zest.<br />
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The dry ingredients have been added. This is the stage where I move from the wooden spoon to my own hands. The warmth of my hands helps the butter to hold the rest together and blend. I tried to take a photo of my gloved hand about to plunge into the dough but it evidently did not take.<br />
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Here a portion of the dough is rolled up into a log and wrapped in waxed paper. Tomorrow I will take the logs out of the fridge, slice them, and bake cookies!<br />
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The following photos were not in the original post. Taken today (Christmas morning).<br />
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Slicing the log into cookies. (It is not safe to eat raw cookie dough with eggs in the mixture so we do NOT recommend it. Just don't tell anyone this is one of the best tasting doughs around.) <br />
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Ready for the oven. I am sorry I did not appreciate baking parchment much earlier in my life. Wonderful stuff.<br />
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And here is the end result of a double recipe. When fully cooled they are very crisp and might last in an airtight container were I not around to nibble on them.<br />
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--the BBPaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9222643.post-8530861509597098232015-12-03T00:54:00.000-07:002015-12-03T00:54:16.044-07:00Una cosa ho chiesto al Signore<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I went into my library and pulled from the shelf Volume One of <i>The Liturgy of the Hours</i>, read the Psalms and Canticles appointed for Evening Prayer on Wednesday of Advent 1, and the Readings.<br />
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Given that I pretty much abandoned this practice a few years ago, this may or may not be remarkable. Let us allow it to be whatever it is without labels.<br />
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Following through on the vineyard theme from the Vineyard Song in Isaiah 5, here is a portion of the Chartres windows depicting the harvesting of grapes and trampling of wine. <br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>5<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One thing have I asked of the LORD;</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>one thing I seek; *</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that I may dwell in the house of the
LORD <br /> all the days<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of my life;</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>6<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>To behold the fair beauty of the LORD *</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and to seek him in his temple.</span></div>
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Psalm 27, BCP<br />
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These are some interesting verses and I am framing them with scenes from Chartres Cathedral. The photo above is one I took in May 2014; the one below from the internet.<br />
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When I was about forty years younger, these verses spoke of my sense of vocation to priesthood. With Chartres in mind, it is easy enough to get rather sentimental about it. The reality, of course, is more one of roof repairs, bad sound systems, problems with heating in winter and cooling in summer, landscaping, access, signage, and all the other attendant challenges of a house of worship. I am not even listing the challenges of life in a faith community. Not very romantic.<br />
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Nowadays, in fact, I rarely enter a church building. I do so mostly to attend concerts. Many concerts touch my spiritual core quite deeply. The inner fire that believes in Grace and in Uncreated Light and an Ultimate Reality we name as Love--this breaks through when certain texts and sonorities combine. I tend to weep at a majority of the concerts of the Santa Fe Desert Chorale.</div>
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As I read the verses from Psalm 27 this evening they struck me as intriguing vestiges of my past. So what abides? Is there a greater truth or reality here that can still speak to me?<br />
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For starters I would affirm, as many do, that all Creation is the Temple of the Lord. The Universe is sacred, an incarnation of the Holy. The Earth is sacred. Sign me up as a Celtic Christian or a happy pagan here; it works for me. I do not discount houses of worship. Just because I claim that they are not the Church but where the Church meets does not mean I think they are unnecessary. For humans to form community, they need to gather. Baptism and Eucharist may occur outdoors but as concrete material events they must take place in specific places. The inward and spiritual graces of sacraments cannot be separated from the outward visible signs. Christianity is a faith of Incarnation, a faith rooted in time, space, and matter.<br />
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I am too much of an aesthetic personality to dismiss sacred spaces. They may be as humble as a grove or sacred well or as lofty as, well, Chartres Cathedral. Endowing a sacred space with honest material and visual beauty does not offend my sense that we should be about caring for human needs (and not merely human, for we live within a web of life and must also care for the planet). I refuse to play the game of saying A negates B and we must choose one or the other.<br />
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My sense of the presence of God, however, has slipped the tether of specific places. As Helen Colman reminded us many times, "Every meal is Eucharist." As Christ rises from the waters of Jordan he fills all things with blessing. The world does not become blessed because I bring it into the walls of a church or pronounce a traditional formula. It is already blessed by divine choice, by divine action, by eternal divine love. All I can do is recognize that prior blessing, that prior reality of existence that is everywhere filled with grace. If I, in my priestly role, pronounce a blessing I am only articulating what by grace already is true.<br />
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I have long believed, and often repeated, that there is only one place. It is deep within the Heart of God, the eternally loving heart, the lance-pierced heart. All of time and space is ever and always there. So no matter where I am, I am always in the presence of the fair beauty of the Lord. I cannot stray outside that beloved place, nor can anyone.</div>
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This belief--a stance that is metaphorical, poetic, mystical--sustains me and helps me not fret. Like a child I pray, each night, that God will bless folks but I believe that is already God's will and action. I just want to align myself with it and with those I love. I don't pray for anyone's salvation or worry about it. For me, salvation, however it is to be understood, is a given by grace. Neither faith nor works will make it happen, nor will the lack thereof hinder it. Yes, I am a universalist. So sue me. The gates of the New Jerusalem are open by day and by night; never closed. Enter if you will. The Spirit and the Bride say, Come!</div>
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What does this have to do with Advent? I am quite uncertain.</div>
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8 December 1990, Grace Cathedral, San Francisco - a newly ordained priest sets the Table. Next Tuesday will be the 25th anniversary of that moment.<br />
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December 2013, San Gabriel Episcopal Church, Corrales NM - the last Mass I celebrated.<br />
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I don't mind being, as I put it, "very retired" from formal public ministry. Even so, it is a very real part of who I am. No sudden insights or conclusions this evening. I am simply sharing some bits and pieces.<br />
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--the BB<br />
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Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06090720645937634051noreply@blogger.com0