Satan's Throne - Part 1

[I am reposting this series from the blog of St. Cuthbert's Episcopal Church, Oakland, California, where I posted them in February 2006. Just wanted them on my own blog, especially since the daily choice between death and life is ever with us. The New Testament frequently illustrates that choice as the question of the imperial way of domination or Jesus' way of love and justice lived out in reciprocity.]

In a time and place where speakers and writers depict the world in harsh contrasts of black and white, of good and evil, of right and wrong, those of us who are fond of the myriad shades of gray—not to mention the countless hues of the rainbow—hesitate even to begin a discussion with mention of Satan. Immediately images arise and our most fevered fantasies and fears color anything that may follow.

For some it may be an almost comic devil, mocked in Hallowe’en costumes or as the pushover paramour of Saddam Hussein on South Park. [If you don’t catch this reference, better you should not ask.] Some others may conjure thoughts of humans caught up in satanic rituals with black masses and unspeakable sacrifices. The less fearful may envision a small bound figure, helpless at the feet of Christ harrowing hell, as depicted in Orthodox icons of the Resurrection. The operatic among us may hear tunes of Gounod’s Faust or Boito’s Mephistophele, each recounting the timeless tale of the evil compromises we make in pursuit of our goals. Still others may wish they could shake so primitive a figure in our collective mythology but hesitate before the genocidal horrors that are woven through the past century. A few may clutch their crucifix a little closer, cross themselves, of seek the nearest drop of holy water at mention of the name.

Those raised on movies from 1977 onward may picture the “dark force” of the Star Wars series or the powerfully malevolent Sauron in Lord of the Rings, for these provide a clear sense of a potent and evil will bent toward destruction and dominion, working through violence and fear to achieve its ends. In almost any case, some reptilian portion of the human brain knows that life is tenuous, dreams are fragile, and there are unnamed forces we cannot control. When night falls, or winter comes, we burn fires and huddle closer for more than physical protection or comfort. We need reassurance.



Relax, my friends. This is no dissertation on demonology, nor pondering on the metaphysics of evil. Satan is not really my theme.

“Satan’s throne,” however, is a striking phrase from the Apocalypse [Revelation] of Jesus Christ to John. The phrase has stuck with me through the years, and what I believe is the key to its meaning. It is the significance of this passage that I wish to share with you here.

In the third of the seven letters to the angels of the churches, the Alpha and Omega addresses these words:

Revelation 2:12-13, 17 "And to the angel of the church in Pergamum write: These are the words of him who has the sharp two-edged sword: "I know where you are living, where Satan's throne is. Yet you are holding fast to my name, and you did not deny your faith in me even in the days of Antipas my witness, my faithful one, who was killed among you, where Satan lives.
…
“Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches. To everyone who conquers I will give some of the hidden manna, and I will give a white stone, and on the white stone is written a new name that no one knows except the one who receives it.”



Scholars agree that during those dangerous years of persecution John’s coded message would make sense to its recipients. We who are far removed from that context puzzle over all the rich symbolism. The language of the Apocalypse is strong and vivid, for it spoke of a violent and perilous time in the life of the earliest Christians. Depending on our temperament and taste we are likely to find it fascinating or repugnant and, upon occasion, comforting. I believe strongly that the book was written to provide comfort and encouragement in difficult days, but it not easy to recapture that message when so much codswallop has been written about it.

What did John mean by “the throne of Satan?” We can begin with what we know of ancient Pergamum and the key point is summed neatly in a resource provided by Our Father Lutheran Church in Centennial, Colorado:

Pergamum was also a center for the worship of a pantheon of pagan deities (Egyptian, Greek, Roman) and, as the provincial capital, it was the official home of the emperor worship cult, a great honor for the city and its leaders. But, twice in his letter to the church in Pergamum, John mocks the city's status as a cult center for emperor worship with the use of the phrases: "where Satan has his throne" and "where Satan lives." To John, the emperor was not a god to be worshiped, but Satan incarnate….Pergamum, as the provincial capital, was one of the few cities granted the power by Rome to inflict capital punishment. This was known as "the right of the sword." By introducing Christ as the one "who wields the sharp sword with the double edge" and as one who will fight "with the sword of (his) mouth," John was telling the Pergamum church that Christ wielded greater power than either the provincial rulers or the Roman emperors! [emphasis mine]

Five more parts to follow

The Loyal Opposable

Appreciating Opposition
It is a sad commonplace that we do not appreciate things until they are gone. Or at least temporarily out of commission.

Health, for instance, is a blessing we routinely take for granted until illness or injury comes along to shatter our illusion that we shall always be well (and live forever).

As primates we are endowed with an opposable thumb, something that allows us to grasp and manipulate things in ways impossible for most animals. This allows the development and increasingly sophisticated use of tools. And. So. Much. More.

Life Without Opposition [or “how I found my options restricted”]
Last Thursday I slipped while descending the stairs. No bones were broken and my back and bottom were jarred but fine. My left hand, however, had made a rather sharp contact with the stairs and my thumb hurt. It still worked, so I trusted nothing serious was amiss and resigned myself to a few days of soreness.



By nightfall the soreness made its presence well known but I minimized motion and did not worry about it. While watching television (it had to be either CSI or Law & Order), I noticed the base of my thumb was not only swollen but a roseate shade indicating some serious inflammation. I moved the thumb and noted it robust sensory feedback. Not good.

Early Friday morning I called the office of my primary care physician (thank you, Dr. Bob, for connecting me with him) and made an appointment for a couple hours later. He examined my hand, probed and wiggled my thumb, and proposed a cautious course.

Next stops: the nearest hospital for x-rays and a medical supply store for a brace to restrict thumb motion. And on Monday, a visit to an orthopedic clinic.

A severe curtailing of motion brings one up short. Grasping, applying pressure and torque, fine manipulation—bid these farewell. Over the weekend I discovered how many simple tasks were now awkward, difficult, or downright impossible. These are temporary conveniences, however.

What scared me, quite frankly, was the remote possibility of long-term limitations of thumb motion. This was my left hand: the one I eat and write and draw and paint with. (And shave with, as I was reminded today.) As an amateur artist and someone who wants to go into his later years with greater creative expressions, that is a major threat. This is why I was more than happy to jump through medical hoops and spend time in waiting rooms.

The orthopedic nurse practitioner reassured me that no bones were broken (I had looked at the x-rays myself while I had them over the weekend and was already as sure as the medically untrained could be that this was the case) and the ligament in question was not torn. [Google helped me verify that we are talking here about the ulnar collateral ligament, the one involved in “Gamekeeper’s (or skier’s) thumb,” http://www.handuniversity.com/topics.asp?Topic_ID=29 the danger my primary physician had named. I could hardly take notes during the examination while my writing hand was being manipulated.]

The downside, from the standpoint of daily activity, is that the brace was replaced with a cast to really immobilize my thumb while the injured ligament heals. I could remove the brace for meals and wet activities such as washing hands or dishes and showering. Not so the cast. It is with me night and day, no exceptions. It also restricts the motion of my fingers as I type, an uncomfortable but not insuperable matter. The brace allowed me to grasp things loosely; the cast makes all but the grosses and most awkward grasping with the left hand impossible.

The Scene of the “Crime” and The Result


You will note that, in our world of fashion options, I could choose a black cast. Well, I can hardly carry off Prussian blue or coral pink and I know that black with white trim suits my coloring well.

For any readers who have been spared the experience, consider simple matters of hygiene and attempting to accomplish them with one hand. Shaving with one’s non-dominant hand? (I only cut myself twice; not bad.) Pulling on socks. Buttoning! Buttons are such a wonderful device and fiendishly difficult without full flexibility. I also have a new limitation in wardrobe. Anything that does not fit with reasonable ease over a forearm in a cast is out of the question. And the pulling on and off can be fun even then.

Well, patient reader, you are by now asking, “What is his point?” It is this:

We need opposition to function well. Without it we are awkward, flabby, weak. Our entire musculature is based on the calibration of opposing motions. The biceps brachii flexes our arm and the triceps brachii then re-extends it. [And yes, my friends, biceps and triceps are both singular, not plural, words from Latin. Let us hear no nonsense about a “bicep”—ugh!]

When I was learning about the Four Directions from Peter Brokenleg a few years back, he spoke of the North as the direction of the North Wind that blows furiously, cleansing and strengthening us. Just as we lean into the wind, so we exert ourselves against various opposing forces. In doing so we gain strength. That is the whole point of weight training, using resistance to build our strength. The harsh wind also blows away the no longer needful, cleansing us for the next cycle of the year.

Opposition to our ideas also forces us to look at what we think, to see it from other perspectives, to analyze it more closely and carefully, to defend it, to refine it, to articulate it more clearly and with better nuance. Opposition is a refining and strengthening force.

This is being tested in the life of the Anglican Communion right now. Large bodies of people who wish to follow Christ disagree over what matters and what does not in faithful following. Their assumptions and perspectives vary widely, making it difficult if not impossible to come to agreement on how they should live out and proclaim Good News in their concrete historical situations. There is a very real question of whether the Anglican Communion will survive without major rupture.

Frankly, I do not think it will, nor can I find it within me to even pray that it will. While the benefits of honest dialogue with disagreement can force us all to question our assumptions and test our knowledge and motives, I see coercion toward conformity to be something beyond parties of “loyal opposition.” My wording exposes my bias. I see what has emerged from the Primates’ Meeting in Dar-es-salaam, Tanzania, to be a simple ultimatum. The Episcopal Church in the USA must conform to the majority view within this calendar year or there will be hell to pay.

In other words, while both sides are self-admitted imperfect, sinful groups, one side has been declared “right” and the other “wrong.” I write from the “wrong” side, having already been excommunicated by several African provinces.

I have long believed we need tension, that it is built into the universe and, if one believes in some “higher power” that it is an intentional part of the design of reality. I do not think it is necessary or desirable that one side of a polarity prevail. Most of us live most of our lives somewhere in the middle of tensions. I know I operate much better with both left and right hands, though my left is dominant.

[And a quick shout out to all the wonderful, brave men and women who have been injured in military service, to victims of conflict or accident, and to all who have to struggle with one hand, or one leg, or one eye, or none. Our wholeness as human beings is not based on our inventory of parts.]

So, I would have urged the Primates, had I the opportunity, to acknowledge that they see the Holy Spirit’s actions from differing perspectives and that though this may be painful it cannot be resolved at this time without violation of conscience on one side or the other. Since the violation of conscience, we should all be able to agree, is not of God, it cannot be our way forward. We must live in tension. It will make us all stronger and healthier in the long run and may well blow out some extraneous matter.

Let the Holy Spirit and the North Wind blow, my friends.

But do not submit your conscience to another.

—the BB

Night Photos

My front yard on the Tuesday before Christmas
The Sandias viewed from Sun Plaza
Leaving work the week after Christmas, looking southeast...
...and northeast, between the office and the parking structure.

The Feast of the Theophany

"He Fills All Things with Blessing"

Icon of the Baptism of Christ

St. Cuthbert's Episcopal Church, Oakland, California

(c) Paul E Strid

Footsteps in the Jordan

So many sandals mask the sky
From soil and grass, while passing by—
The union of above, below,
Disjointed where we humans go.

Which blades were bent whereon he trod
Whom heaven named the Son of God?
Who can descry a mark or stain
That shows the whole world’s weight of pain?

Did angels footsteps leave a trail
From riverbank to cross and nail?
Where is the mark of holiness
Amid the crowd, the noise, the mess?

If he was consubstantial then
With mortal women, mortal men,
Would cosmic ripple shiver stars
And rock and sand show sacred scars?

Is it unfaith that dares suspect
Creative Word in flesh bedecked
Was truly human, weighed no more
Than any other on the shore?

Is truest sign that God is here
The lack of signs, the doubt and fear,
Uncertainty and sometimes dread,
And destination with the dead?

Which sons of Adam or which daughters
Of mother Eve can enter waters
Yet not be claimed as heaven’s child,
Or bear that Spirit, fierce and wild?

From dust and clay the Image, warmed
By God’s own breath and formed
To manifest Immanuel
From farthest reach to deepest hell

Cannot be lost, against all odds,
For it is named, and it is God’s.
We each and all behold the dove
Descend in fire and grace and love

To claim us and declare that we
Too bear that Word, and also see
In ordinary things of earth
God’s own true self come forth in birth.

O Holy One of mercies sure,
Whose truth and justice shall endure,
From whom the galaxies are sprung,
In whom all life is ever young,

Help us to see your presence here
In time of misery or cheer;
Your hour as now, and we your folk,
Today the breaking of each yoke.

Reveal your children, one and all,
And rend illusion’s deathly pall
Cast over eyes and minds that we,
May serve you—whole and strong and free,

Anointed as your Christ, and one
With him who is our Source, our Sun
Of Righteousness, our Light,
Our Peace and Joy, our soul’s Delight.

With Jesus in the flood we go,
With him arise, and with him know
Your will and pleasure, sin’s release,
The world’s redemption, heaven’s peace.

Renew each galaxy and quark,
Let light eternal dance with dark,
Let all creation flourish, sing
Your praises, let the cosmos ring

With everlasting Hallelu!
You dwell in us, and we in you,
The Source of all, the Word of love,
The blessing-bearing gracious Dove,

The glorious Trinity of grace,
God of each moment and each place,
Present wherever we may turn,
Whose love in all shall ever burn. Amen.

(c) 2003 Paul E Strid

The Matter of Morals

The embarrassing, shameful, unconstitutional, and reckless behavior of the George W. Bush White House can easily provoke a passionate rant. [What did we call it before making “rant” a very common noun? A tirade? A venting of anger or letting off of steam?] I have been given to such spontaneous outbursts over the past several years. It is not my intent for this to be one, but I offer this prelude to disclaim neutrality.

What is it that makes behavior moral or immoral?

This is no small question for it entails much of human reflection. I am reminded of a professor from days of yore—back when I was taking Introduction to Greek Philosophy—who spoke of two focal questions. My memory is too unreliable for any hope of reproducing the questions accurately but I believe the trustworthy substance of the questions are as follows: What is the nature of reality? How ought one to live?

These questions, for me, are the philosopher’s equivalent of the summary of the Torah given by Rabbi Hillel and Jesus. After these two questions all the rest of Greek philosophy is commentary.

The issue of morality, then, relates to the second question of how one ought to live. The faith and wisdom traditions of the centuries offer many excellent guidelines. One may ponder Hillel and Jesus in light of the Decalogue or the entire Torah. The prophets and wisdom literature of the Hebrew Scriptures have much to say about how one ought to live. Christian Scriptures can be frustratingly open-ended in terms of living according to the Spirit but they also offer the model of Jesus’ behavior and the new commandment to love one another. Socrates echoed the inscription at Delphi with the daunting imperative to know oneself. Patanjali articulated ten commitments from a Hindu perspective, Buddha offers the Eightfold Path, and Native Americans remind us to walk in a sacred manner (or walk in beauty). Most people are aware that some variant of the “Golden Rule” is part of all spiritual paths.

The tricky part is usually discerning what is good, and what is better. We turn to the many guidelines, such as those just mentioned, to help us in this discernment.

• Knowledge of reality, knowledge of self, knowledge of the other;
• loving the other and loving oneself (as one loves the Ultimate);
• doing what is helpful rather than hurtful;
• lessening suffering and enhancing wellbeing;
• leaving behind the paths of ignorance, fear, and hatred for the ways of understanding, love, and compassion—all these help us to do the good.

Yesterday I wrote about developing compassion and the practice of kindness by understanding that others suffer as we do and they also have their own mighty struggles. It is in the common ground of our shared humanity—and at a more basic level, shared creatureliness—that we discover the ability to understand, to care, and to develop the mutuality that enables us to live together without destroying each other and ourselves.

When we think of the “amoral,” we usually envision those who either have no sense of right and wrong or, knowing the distinction, simply do not care. I believe that what usually underlies this sort of sociopathy is a missing, or at least stunted, ability to feel compassion. The amoral either cannot envision or bring themselves to care about the feelings of others. The suffering of another person or the destruction of our planet: these are of consequence to the amoral only to the extent that they might impinge upon such a person’s own will or self-defined wellbeing.

A person may have the outer appearance of leading a “good” or “righteous” life yet be only observing public superficialities. A degenerate “moralism” that places its emphasis on narrow lists of righteous, godly, or admirable behavior will become lax in matters that matter widely and deeply. This is the sort of thing Jesus denounced when he spoke of straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel! (Matthew 23:24)

Such a “good” man or woman may participate regularly in religious observances, care for both children and parents, maintain personal hygiene, pay bills on time, observe sexual monogamy or abstinence, rarely raise either a hand or voice in anger, and refrain from “bad language.” The same person may also, with no hesitation, participate in business dealings that exploit others; espouse policies that degrade the earth; waste precious resources with no thought for future generations; and—by thought, word, and deed—foster ignorance, prejudice, fear, and violence (to the point of war).

An amoral person may have principles, beliefs, an ideology; these will not keep such a person from causing great human suffering, either directly or indirectly. Indeed, a sociopath may take pride in conviction and consistency. W. B. Yeats said as much in The Second Coming: “The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.”

The problem lies in the utter lack of imagination that enables one to feel with and for another (since that is what “compassion” means). We see it in children who torture animals and, if alert and responsible, recognize this as an early sign of sociopathy. It is to be hoped some helpful action can be taken then before it is too late, though I do not know at what point it is too late.

As I indicated at the beginning, I do not want this to be a rant but rather a dispassionate consideration of morality. What it all leads to is the assertion, which I truly believe, that George Walker Bush is not a moral person.

By some chance and much corruption he has come to occupy the White House [no, I do not believe he was legitimately elected either time] and the United States and the world must suffer the consequences of that unfortunate reality.

As a child, W used to shove firecrackers up the asses of frogs and blow them up. Now he has launched a “pre-emptive” war, invaded a nation that posed no realistic threat to the United States, continues to pursue an ill-defined and disastrous course that leads to thousands of American deaths and hundreds of thousands of other deaths—and he sleeps well at night.

At formative moments in his early life his parents were largely absent to him, most especially after the death of his sister Robin. His parents played golf the day after her death and there was no funeral. George never learned to grieve, to allow himself to feel loss, to mourn another human being. It was not modeled or encouraged. His mother famously said that things worked out rather well for persons temporarily warehoused in a sports stadium after their homes had been destroyed by Hurricane Katrina—a destruction made more likely by the failure to maintain and improve the levees of New Orleans in the first place, then exacerbated by gross federal inaction, and further compounded by the fact that so little has been done for the hurricane victims over a year later.

For GWB it was all a set for photo opportunities (pulling visiting firemen aside from their work to be seen in a photo walking around with him). He utters the platitudes, but he does not give any serious evidence of EVER feeling anyone else’s pain. He attends state funerals for his presidential predecessors but he has not attended a single funeral for our military men and women killed abroad. He makes inappropriate jokes. He belittles other people—staff, reporters, foreign dignitaries, and the condemned—but he is quick to take offense at the smallest perceived slight to himself.

His world, his thoughts, his actions are all about him. The devastation he wreaks on others does not trouble or haunt him. The consequences of his policies—for the poor, for the sick, for future generations—seem to be given no thought. If it works for him, for his political power, and for his corporate buddies, then it meets his criteria.

He makes flowery speeches about blastocysts when vetoing stem cell research but give little evidence about caring for children already born, especially those who do not have the advantage of great wealth.

He talks about Jesus and says (and, God help us all, I think he really believes) that God put him in the Oval Office for a purpose. If God did so, I think it might be more in line with the admonition of Micah to “do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8) George W. Bush does not do humble, though his academic “performance”: and business “career” are reason enough for humility, without even considering the damage done to health care, the middle class, workers, the environment, education, international cooperation, and national security. He has consistently behaved as though he and the executive branch of the government were above the law, flouting the Constitution and international treaties (which, once ratified by the United States, are also the supreme law of the land).

That any president or holder of office in the United States could even consider torture, much less implement it and try to justify it, goes beyond moral bounds.

We have an amoral President. He is not “a good Christian man.” He is a bully and a slacker. He is willing to gamble American lives on fool’s odds. He will make a bad situation worse just to shore up his own ego. He will not admit mistakes or change his mind. He does not give a damn about others. Period.

This is a great sadness and a great tragedy for our nation and the globe. Although some of this has the tone of a rant, I have been able to write it dispassionately, quietly, without elevating my blood pressure. Furthermore, it does spring from some of the consideration of the previous days.

In the midst of all the problems George W. Bush has made worse and all the damage he has done, he now seems to be gathering resources to repeat his greatest mistake. When he wanted—so desperately he could, I believe, taste it—war with Iraq, I knew he was going to get his war. He protested that nothing had been decided but I knew he was lying. Now the whole world knows it was a lie.

Frankly, I think we are a hair’s breadth away from him doing the same in Iran. The catastrophe would be far greater than the disaster he has created in Iraq. I believe he wants it and I don’t know how the American People and Congress can stop him.

If GWB were anything like a moral person, one who had the capacity to behave well because of understanding and compassion, I would say that based on his actions he is out-and-out evil. I hate resorting to that sort of language about any person. I have concluded,however, that he is simply amoral, not even capable of being immoral.

He is a badly damaged human being and he is a human doing vast amounts of damage. He is, alas, a spoiled frat boy, a bully, and a careless, reckless person. It is a pity that thousands suffer because of it. And the “intervention” of the Iraq Study Group did not succeed.

I would like to get through one day’s political news without feeling that

We.

Are.

So.

Fucked.

For all the excitement of a new Congress, I am still very anxious. And I hope I am wrong about Iran.

—The BB

Crosby Stills Nash & Young - Teach Your Children

You who are on the road
Must have a code
that you can live by
And so become yourself
Because the past is just a good bye.
Teach your children well,
Their father's hell did slowly go by,
And feed them on your dreams
The one they picked, the one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why,
if they told you, you would cry,
So just look at them and sigh
and know they love you.

And you, of tender years,
Can't know the fears
that your elders grew by,
And so
please help them with your youth,
They seek the truth
before they can die.
Teach your parents well,
Their children's hell
will slowly go by,
And feed them on your dreams
The one they picked,
the one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why,
if they told you, you would cry,
So just look at them and sigh
and know they love you.

Facing the Darkness Together

A dear friend in California shares with me a sensitivity to the solstices. Both of us are rather fond of daylight. We mourn at midsummer when the days begin once more to shorten. The winter solstice, in contrast, offers the encouragement that now, at last, the days begin to lengthen once more.

I thought of her while looking out my window the other day, hoping that she had also gladdened at this turning of the year.

Here is a photo taken by a colleague after work last week, with me standing in front of a snow-dusted tree in the early evening. I am dressed mostly in black and snowflakes swirl all around. The landscape lighting and the flash manage to etch highlights in the dark.

I have, since last April Fool’s Day, been at work on my first novel. My current best guess is that I am at the two-thirds point and eager to finish the homeward journey so I can see the completed first draft in its entirety. Then begins the hard work, for I find the imagining to be play; revising will be another matter altogether.

Though I have never before attempted anything so grand in scale, this is but the flowering of an old seed. When composing some playful tales back in the early 1970s, I conceived of related stories in a larger cycle. The first tale, chronologically, though not in order of imagining, was of a lad who became an epic hero. His deed was the slaying of a demon, a discarnate force of darkness and despair. The outline was in my head, the general course of his hero’s journey discernible on my maps of an alternate world.

And there the tale has remained, ever present in my head but not yet on paper (nor, in more recent times, on disk). Since those early days I have learned more of darkness and depression, not to mention the human condition in general. One would hope that I might learn some things in over three decades!

As a recently ordained assisting priest I came to realize that, as I put it, “everyone is bleeding on the inside.” Whatever our perceptions of others, no matter how “together” they seem—how successful, smart, talented, good-looking, wealthy, powerful, peaceful, charming, and spiritually evolved—they have their own wounds, pains, anxieties, and fears. This unseen hemorrhage is a great leveler and a key to compassion. One need not know the specific pain of another to acknowledge simply that it is there. It is not necessary to open the door of their heart and mind and look within. Trust me, the wound is there.

Once we recognize this, we can more easily set aside envy, resentment, or intimidation in order to behold our fellow sufferer. It is not a matter of “pulling them down” to our miserable level. Actually, I find it ennobling of all. We all suffer, we all try to cope, we all do what we can. Some may do it more elegantly, or more effectively, or more convincingly. But we are, as we affirm so often that it is a cliché, all in this together.

Today I came across a parallel insight. Wee Mama, as she (I assume “she”) identifies herself on Daily Kos, has a tag for her signature line that struck me: “Be very kind, for everyone you know is fighting a great battle.”

This actually takes it a step further. Not only do we all suffer our inner wounds, we all struggle in our own way. Each of us has our own epic battle, the living of our particular life. Each of us is torn constantly between good and evil, most often in the small choices among sundry goods and various evils. It is the decision for the greater good or the lesser evil, and the repeated settling for the lesser good or being swallowed up in the greater evil, that shapes our struggle.

To recognize these truths about each other is to be aware of our common humanity, our limitations, our great failures, and our potential for glory. Once we see this, and realize the truth of it, it is so very much easier to “be very kind.”

How much better our struggles, small and large, might go if we were more kind to ourselves and to one another, if we chose to be allies in each other’s attempt to do right, to do well, to do better.

One of the benefits and dangers of writing fiction is reflecting on what the telling of a tale has told about ourselves. I know that I am in every character and situation and they are all a part of me. (Memories of learning about Gestalt many years ago….) What am I revealing of my own reality or what I wish my reality were when I tell a story of a young man—far younger than I—who has a mystical vision of ultimate light and also, willingly, enters utter darkness?

As midnight approaches and my mind and body weary, I do not propose to answer that question here. Indeed, the question will stay with me through the finishing of the first draft, and the revising, and the pondering when the tale is told.

I wrote on New Year’s Day about “Black on White,” the ebon motion of ravens against a snowy background. Tonight it shifts to light and darkness, hope versus despair.

And so I share the photo: darkness and light everywhere one looks and myself in the middle of the mystery.

“Be very kind, for everyone you know is fighting a great battle.”

(h/t to Wee Mama)
--The BB

Black on White 2007

In a rapid shift from “how silently, how silently the wondrous gift is given” to how noisily we chase away our fears, my year began with me standing outside in a snow-covered world watching fireworks in the street and beating a few of my drums. The neighborhood was not lost in total racket but this was not a time to sleep in peace. Back in California I could never be sure I was not hearing guns fired at the beginning of the year but the only pops in the midnight air last night seemed to be fireworks. (We live in hope.)

Having chatted earlier with Don Cuervo (not the tequila—never the tequila) about my perpetual mild sleep-deprivation, I allowed myself to sleep in today. When I arose and looked out a bedroom window, the world was still layered in powdery white (not cocaine—never cocaine) and the sun was shining on the construction sites of future homes, and beyond that to new homes not unlike my home, and further west the low rise of the mesa. I spotted a corvid, then another and some more, perhaps a dozen or so in all. Without a close look or a chance to hear their calls, I am rarely certain if I am viewing crows or ravens. Then I noticed two of them in tandem flight. They flew low and wove their way around the masonry walls dividing the lots. One appeared smaller and was usually flying above or only slightly behind the larger. Was it a game, a courtship pattern, or one just mimicking and harassing the other? I have no idea but it was fascinating to behold.

Since ravens delight in aerial acrobatics, I shall assume they were ravens, Don Cuervo’s people, his totem critters—creative tricksters among the ranks of the gods. Let us call it auspicious, the flight of these ebon avians across the snow-covered landscape at the dawn of a new year.

However arbitrary our civil calendar, I wish health, inner peace, and the astonishment of beauty for all. With less fear and more wonder in our lives, may we then blossom and bear the fruits of mutuality and upbuilding of the common good. From that may justice and peace flow like the mighty rivers of Amos’ thundering imperative.

Love yourself this day. Then love someone else.

—The BB

Don't forget to Vote next Tuesday, November 7

One of the first things I did upon arriving in New Mexico was register to vote. I also have my New Mexico driver's license and just received my first property tax bill. Well, two out of three were exciting!

In addition to absentee ballots, New Mexico also makes provisions for early voting to avoid the rush or meet personal scheduling needs. So I voted two weeks ago. Now I am free to remind others to vote and, possibly, encourage people to vote for a change in Washington, DC.

Many have commented that this may be the most critical vote in our lifetime, and I believe this may be true. I do not believe it is any exaggeration to say our constitutional democracy is under threat from within.

While groups from without can do great damage, such as that wrought on 9/11/2001, I do not fear their destroying the United States. What can undo the grand experiment begun when this nation was formed is the dismantling of the checks and balances written into the Constitution. The founders were very conscious of the threats posed by power concentrated in one person or one small group.

We have seen one political party control both Houses of Congress and the White House, with little restraint from the Supreme Court. Within that framework, a very small group dedicated to (1) expanding the power of the presidency, (2) retaining one-party control, and (3) enriching their cronies has been hard at work undermining any structure, process, or person that would lead to constraint, review, or accountability.

We have watched rights to privacy, habeas corpus, trial, free speech and assembly--all be threatened, diminished, and reduced. We have witnessed the granting of unusual and, I would say, completely unconstitutional power to the executive by the Congress. We have stood by as a wall of secrecy has been built around almost everything the White House does.

All this while efforts to deal with the perpetrators of 9/11 were siphoned off into an unnecessary and illegal invasion and occupation of a country that was not threatening the United States; while concrete steps toward enhancing security were neglected; while incompetence and corruption have not only allowed the excessive destruction seen in Katrina but also done little to deal with the aftermath; as employment and wages have not kept up with population growth and cost of living (especially health care).

We have listened to platitudes about supporting our troops while sending them needlessly into danger without a plan, providing inadequate armor, cutting their pay, and reducing their benefits, then standing by and letting them die or return home maimed and injured, all the while making a bad situation worse without making America or the world any safer. We have listened to sermons about moral values and family values while destabilizing the world, taking advantage of the poor, holding back minimum pay, reducing child care and educational funding, doing nothing about those uninsured, watching health care become increasingly difficult to find or pay for, and seeing the number of families in poverty grow. Ignoring the warnings of Amos, we have seen the gap between the extraordinarily rich and the vast majority increase obscenely. Our government has subsidized the wealthy (e.g., energy companies) while burdening our grandchildren with colossal national debt. Talk about tax cuts has obscured what are really only tax deferrals.

The President behaved as though unconcerned about imminent threats to the nation yet flew back from his vacation "ranch" to sign a bill, of questionable legality, over the unfortunate Terri Schiavo. Instead of following the example of Ronald Reagan who vetoed a critical bill because it had 600 earmarks (pork barrel items) in it, he has passed spending bills with 6,000 earmarks, then vetoed only one bill, and that was one supporting stem cell research. This was supposedly out of respect for life, protecting blastocysts that are almost always destroyed in any case, while callously having no regard for the lives of our troops and the lives of the Iraqi people. He has allowed, and in some cases actively spread, death throughout the world and our nation.

So, if the invasion and occupation of Iraq, the response to disasters such as Katrina, the blowing off of education, the increase of general poverty contrasted with the growth of wealth for the few, rampant corruption (I have not even discussed the K Street lobbyists, sex scandals, outing of a CIA agent, and the environment), secrecy, and violation of basic rights aren't working well for you, vote Democratic this November 7 and send to Washington a Congress that will hold hearings, issue subpoenas, and demand answers and accountability.

Thank you.

The BB

The beauty of Albuquerque

I tend to have a distinctive way of viewing nature. My eye is caught by both vast sweeps of landscape and by small details. This becomes evident when I take walks with my a camera in hand. Since I was working in ABQ at this time a year ago, and at the same place, much of what I enjoy now is revisiting the familiar. I look forward to seeing and exploring new things too. Here are some tidbits.

Leaves filtering sunlight against the autumn sky

The Sandia Mountains viewed from Sun Plaza
I never tire of the trees. The cottonwoods and ashes (alamos y fresnos) are now golden

The Big River Bear

Yes, friends, I have made the move and am now resident in New Mexico, La Tierra Encantada. The California Bear now takes on a new aspect, living as I do near the Rio Grande. So now I am the Big River Bear.

I begin a new job next Monday (hooray!) and for the first few weeks here was busy unpacking and trying to solve the puzzle of what is in which box. Yes, we tried to label well, but life has little glitches. Things are mostly functional.

Have been busy working on The Deed of Ian, a tale that is rapidly taking form as a novel. Over 80,000 words so far and this is only the half-way point. Huge cast and huge territory, a classic hero quest, fictionally based on an epic poem of Mithernesse. Currently into roughly day 38 of the journey. Lots of fun imagining another world, its culture and customs, its spirituality and values. I'm loving it. Revision will be a beeyotch, since the tale almost flows onto the keyboard. Let's just say the first draft is coming along swimmingly.

OK, time for pics. --The BB

The Sandia Mountains

Desert Farne, my new home
Looking south from two blocks away
Eureka, I found gold!

Experiment in YouTube

I ran across this music video from Iraq, essentially a slide show, through a post by the compiler's mother on dailyKos. My first video post.

Still learning, folks, be patient with me.

The BB

How's your BS detector?

If you would like a refresher in basic logic—say, for the sake of dealing with all the distortions and untruths floating around in the political arena these days—then you may find a lovely summary by Liberal Jarhead at Bring it On! I highly recommend it.

Here is one of Jarhead's introductory paragraphs:

There’s nothing wrong with disagreement, and a good debate leaves everyone involved better off for having had to consider other points of view and reassess their own. But for that to be true, the disagreement has to make sense. What I’m talking about here has nothing to do with honest, reasonable debate and everything to do with substituting ugly emotions and closed-mindedness for thought and real argument.

—The BB

Thought I'd disappeared?

A reasonable inference. I have been doing other things than blog of late. Transition is the keyword.

My Monday-to-Friday life has been full of transitions, assisting an office as its functions were split between two entities and two locations, traveling with the smaller portion, and providing continuity and cross-training.

My weekend life has seen me say goodbye to my dearest work in the Bay Area and end a position I had held for 10.5 years.

I have just completed my sixth course at the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley as part of a postgraduate program.

I have been writing fantasy fiction in the past few months, picking up a thread I laid down 31 years ago. Four full stories are emerging from this and I am at the halfway point in the one that launches the entire series. It has only been in my head for over three decades and is finally coming into text. A huge challenge and great fun.

And on the larger stage, I have celebrated my sixtieth birthday by purchasing a new home in Albuquerque, after a lifetime lived in my native California.

All right, "transitions" is an understatement.

I am excited and have dubbed the sixties as "the decade of adventure." T. S. Eliot said that old men should be explorers.

That's the news in a nutshell.
The BB

It must be springtime

With the red-breasted robin (Turdus migratorius, or migratory thrush) perched outside, spring must surely be here. I ignore the vernal equinox as the announcer of season because in the San Francisco East Bay more certain signs are the blooming plums and Magnolia tulipifera which blossom by my feast day (Conversion of St Paul, January 25). The robin may be seen through the blinds in this shot I took this morning.

I noted this as several robins have been showing up lately and I do not recall seeing them outside my window in prior years.

Church, State, and Theocracy

I have been posting an essay/extended meditation on the way of Jesus versus the way of Caesar on the church blog for St Cuddy's (St Cuthbert's Episcopal Church, Oakland). Rather than crosspost--because I am a technopeasant and have no idea how to do it--I am simply linking the installments here.

Satan's Throne
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

'Shrooms on the lawn

These seem to have popped up in the past couple of days.

Speaking of the last couple of days....
Yesterday a great egret flew by in front of my place, a sight I had never seen from my office window before. I used to see them all the time when I worked next to the Aquatic Park in Berkeley, but not it is rare. They are such beautiful birds. I have no idea how to interpret such a sign but I know I was blessed by it.

The BB

January 29, 2006, Sunset

Northumbrian Pilgrimage 1997

During the Summer of 1997 I was blessed to spend two weeks in Durham, England, for a seminar on Celtic spirituality and modern mission. We stayed in the Bishop's Castle, which is now a dormitory for University College of the University of Durham. Across the green from us sat Durham Cathedral, site of the shrine of St Cuthbert of Lindisfarne and the tomb of the Venerable Bede. The entire complex has been designated by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site.

We had day trips to Lindisfarne (Holy Island), Hexham Abbey, Wearmouth and Jarrow, Hadrian's Wall, and other sites related to Northumbrian history and the Celtic and Saxon saints who flourished during a rich age of cultural and spiritual cross-fertilization.

The timing of posts related to this extraordinary pilgrimage is related to my having a new scanner and being able to scan the photographs I took back then, along with having a bit of down time to do it. The posts themselves are at the blog for St Cuddy's and I am merely providing links here, but I wanted friends of the Byzigenous Buddhapalian to have easy access to them.

May blessings from the Creator abound in your lives and the prayers of St Cuddy support you.

The BB

Lindisfarne / Holy Island

Lindisfarne Priory-Part 1

Lindisfarne Priory-Part 2

Hobthrush Island

Lindisfarne & Durham Architecture-Part 1

Lindisfarne & Durham Architecture-Part 2

St Mary's Parish Church-Lindisfarne

Lindisfarne / St Mary's

The Chi Rho Page of the Lindisfarne Gospels

St Cuthbert foretells a death

Cuthbert becomes a bishop

I will update this if and when I have some more. Happy journeying to all weblog pilgrims!

The Retrograde Metronome

Gnus and views
and baby Kangaroos;
Fillets and skillets
and soldiers in very odd billets.

There once was a bearsy named Boris
Who questioned a tree in the forest,
"Can a teddy bear fly?"
"We don't know, silly guy,"
Replied the required Greek chorus.

As the rain still continued to drizzle
And the bull dribble piss from his pizzle,
The wind softly soughed
As the cannon was stuffed,
But when lit, all the fuse did was fizzle.

With that we conclude today's intro
Thought we're not really sure what we meant, so
We will quit while ahead
As the ungrateful dead
Haunt the vacuous spaces al dentro.

You've been great! Thank you all! Good night!

PES
18 February 2006

Well, I just thought my whimsy output had been way too low of late and this bubbled up while sending an e-mail to a friend.

Light Perpetual

Lois Barloon, my beloved stepmom-in-law, passed into larger life today. May her soul and the souls of all the departed by the mercy of God rest in peace and may light perpetual shine upon them. I shall miss her.