The Bird Must Die

This morning a small raptor flew into the sweet gum in front of my deck, the one visible from my office window. The coloration and size led me, at first, to think it was a large dove, but even though it was partially obscured by branches with fledgling leaves, revealed that it was a small hawk of some kind, with an inert animal hanging below the branch grasped by its talons.

Raptors have been appearing with some kind of freshness or urgency in my world of late. This, of course, may be entirely subjective; I may only be noticing them with more attention.

My friend Amber has told me that the hawk is an important totem for her and that they have shown themselves to her in unusual circumstances, as though serving as tutelary figures watching over her.

While the usual birds flying about in front of my place are crows and seasonal doves or LBJs (“little brown jobs”)—when unemployed I have spent many daylight hours at the computer with a view out the window—there have this year been lots of turkey vultures hovering in the area and sometimes flying towards and directly over my unit. I usually refer to turkey vultures by the Mexican Spanish term (presumably from the Aztec) “zopilote.” It has a nice ring to it.

That large a bird flying by at close range does get one’s attention. I even composed my own silly song in the shower about it. The verses are already forgotten, but not the chorus.

Zopilote, Zopilote,
I’m still alive as you can plainly see.
Zopilote, Zopilote,
Please don’t try to take a bite of me.

Variant: reprise last line with…
Please don’t try to make your lunch of,
Please don’t try to feed your clan with me.

Amber’s comment on all this is that condors and their cousins are powerful birds that portend death and renewal, the picking clean of our carrion bones so we are freed of encumbrance—ready for resurrection, so to speak. Their appearance to me could thus symbolize a purifying process that will prepare me for whatever is coming next.

As I left for work this morning, I saw by the many small white feathers scattered on the ground that the hawk’s breakfast was a small bird. For the sake of the hawk, the bird had to die. For the sake of what is to come to be in me, the bird must die.

I wonder what unsuspecting bird within me is going to be hawk’s breakfast?

The BB

Spring camping on the arctic tundra by Richard Voss, Refuge Manager 

Speaking of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge

I feel the need to share this:

[ENS, Navasota, Texas] - Urging full protection of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, the House of Bishops of the Episcopal Church on March 14 adopted a resolution calling upon the U.S. Senate to oppose opening the pristine region to exploration for oil and gas. Alaska Bishop Mark McDonald, a leading voice for environmental protection and ecological justice, left the bishops' spring retreat, in session through March 16, to present the resolution to the press and to lawmakers in Washington, D.C. [Washington Senator Maria Cantwell is leading the opposition to driling, along with John Kerry and others.]

A Message from the House of Bishops of the Episcopal Church, USA, to the United States SenateMarch 14, 2005

Resolved, the House of Bishops of the Episcopal Church, USA, meeting at its Spring 2005 retreat at Camp Allen in Navasota, Texas, March 11-16, 2005, sends to the United States Senate the following message:

As the Bishops of the Episcopal Church, USA, we want to express our commitment to the vision of reconciliation of all peoples and share a common scriptural and theological belief that we have a responsibility to care for God's creation. We support protecting the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge fully. To risk the destruction of an untouched wilderness and an ancient culture violates our theological mandate to be caretakers of creation. Because of these deeply shared values we respectfully ask you to oppose legislation that would facilitate the opening of this sacred space to oil or gas exploration and development in any way. We specifically call on you our Senators to reject efforts to include revenues from lease sales of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge in the Budget Act currently being considered by Congress.

While the ecological and human rights values of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge are recognized by many, the cost from exploitation of the potential resources that may exist there does not justify exploration or development. The best estimates tell us that oil from the Refuge as a single source is equal to what the United States would consume in less that one year. Conservation, energy efficiency, and alternative sources of energy can do much more to address our country's energy needs.

The Arctic National Wildlife Refuge is one of the few ecosystems left on earth in its original condition. It is a national treasure and such natural places are anchors in a changing world. They help hold us in place and tell us where we have been; they often can be sources of inspiration and comfort. As Job counsels, "listen to the earth, and it will teach you" (Job 12:8).

The Arctic Refuge is well-known for its Porcupine caribou herd, whose life cycle is dependent on the Refuge as an intact, virtually undisturbed ecosystem. The caribou are a chief link in the subsistence culture for the indigenous Gwich'in people. The Gwich'in call themselves the "Caribou People" and the Arctic Refuge is for them "the Sacred Place where Life Begins." The caribou are essential for Gwich'in cultural, social, and spiritual needs and it has been that way for over 10,000 years. Disturbances that lead to reduced calving success for the caribou may cause significant, irreversible, negative consequences for all involved in this unspoiled web of life.

Pristine places like the Arctic Refuge provide numerous benefits. For humankind, the Arctic is a control environment that helps scientists answer current and future questions in the changing environment. For animal kind, the Arctic is an important habitat and home for many species, including the Arctic peregrine falcon, gyrfalcon, golden eagle, snowshoe hare, ptarmigan, polar bear, grizzly bear, musk ox, threatened spectacled eider, wolves, smaller mammals and water fowl. "The psalmist proclaims, 'O Lord, how manifold are thy works! In wisdom hast thou made them all; the earth is full of your creatures" (Psalm 104).

We recognize that our use of fossil fuels and the resulting global warming has its greatest impact on the poor and vulnerable. Controversy over whether to open the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge to oil development requires us to ask ourselves: what kind of world will we leave to future generations? As Bishops of the Episcopal Church, we are committed to working for a world with justice for indigenous peoples and all creation and we support indigenous peoples' rights as a basic component of a just society. For these reasons and others, we ask you to oppose opening the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge to oil and gas exploration and development.

Source: Episcopal News Service [ENS 031405-2]

Phos hilaron hagias doxes tou patrou to hagiou tou ouraniou.... (O gracious Light, pure brightness of the everliving Father in heaven....) 

What a lovely way to end the work day! 

Mount Tamalpais at Sunset Today 

Tanker in the Afternoon 

Judicandus homo reus, huic ergo parce, Deus

Mortal under judgment, guilty--spare this one, O God.

Well, something like that. I am not reaching for my dictionaries or eloquent translations here, just sharing a line from the famous Sequence hymn of the traditional Requiem Mass, the Dies Irae. I had to head this in Latin, because that is the form in which I am familiar with its lines. It was the two words "homo reus" (guilty mortal) that leapt to my mind a few minutes ago.

Out the window I could see a tanker leaving a California port, with refineries in the background. Earlier today I had noted a faint brownish tinge to the sky from air pollution (so familiar to me from years in the Los Angeles basin). In a very short time I will be getting into my car to commute home. Not a long commute, but still driving my own car by myself.

Being a native Californian does not excuse me, though my commute would take much longer if I tried to pull it off with public transportation, and I suspect it would involve lots of walking too. The walking would be good for me, but with the demands on my time I do not even try to rationalize driving. I just do it.

One more willing cog in the vast machinery of U.S. oil consumption, our favorite addiction.

Mortal
Under judgment
Guilty

the BB

On the matter of abuse

Susan at Suburban Guerrilla has some interesting musings on the issue of abuse. I feel the post is worth sharing. After a quote from Everclear's, "Father of Mine," she goes on to write:

Last night I saw "Raw Boys," an intense play by playwright Dael Orlandersmith. It's about the effect abuse has on two brothers - one a writer, the other an actor.

I know so many men who were badly beaten as children. They're wounded, hostile, mistrusting. The sad thing is, men are still made to feel abuse is relatively normal and only weaklings are affected by it, so they rarely claim that pain. Instead, they stuff it down until it erupts later - on others, or on themselves, via chronic anger, substance abuse or depression.

There's a graphic scene in the play where the father beats and kicks his oldest son. It's all the more powerful because the actors never actually touch; they're at opposite ends of the stage.

It brought back far too many memories. It made me physically sick.
What do you do with all that anger and pain? Where does it go? Look how many men justify how they were treated by repeating it with their own children. "My father did it to me, and I turned out okay."

No. No, you didn't, I always tell them.

There's more. Click on the title of this post to read it all.

Thanks, Susan, for a great post.
The BB

eRobin said to steal it, so I did

From the American Street:

Steal This Post
Operating once again under the radar, the Republicans in Congress are doing their best to sneak funding for drilling in ANWR into the federal budget. Want to stop them? Find out how!
Continue reading…
Posted by: eRobin at 8:34 am

A Cultivated Mind

As rain leaks into a poorly roofed house, so does passion invade an uncultivated mind. As no rain leaks into a well-roofed house, passion does not invade a cultivated mind.
--Dhammapada I.13-14

Ay, no wonder I find myself often running in too many directions at once, i.e., not going much of anywhere. The invasion of passions indeed.

Not surprisingly, when I am centered and mindful (cultivating my mind?), I don't get so caught up in illusory foolishness. So, part of Lent is clearly about getting the roof of one's soul in good shape.

The BB

Sunset viewed from Mare Island 

Cleveland Farewell 

Mischief Ever Lurks - Acrostic Poem

Mischief ever lurks in the corners of your eyes, a smile
Underneath the smile of flawless teeth, a playfulness
Sitting, Pucklike, on your brow—you thawed the
Ice that wickedly set my mouth in a Scandinavian line,
Cured my genetic dourness, taught me again to laugh.

How difficult not to be seduced, my full-grown playmate,
Ensorceled by that childlike freedom into wishing you
And I might not have to grow up! I thank you nonetheless for
Risible moments, for teaching me once more to hope, weep,
Dream, dare, let myself be me—to try for something with all my

Soul and body. What a rush! Yet insinuating itself into
Our games there was not only that better, nobler

Dream for each and both, that challenge to
Exert ourselves for something truly worthwhile, to
Earn a happiness we had not dared desire—but also the sickly
Pall of grief, of loss, of not quite reaching our heart’s goal;
Losing something precious, costly, dear; the sober wrench that
Yanks us back into harsh daylight, hard reality, solid ground.

This solid ground is firm, yes, and rock-strewn,
Hazardous, harsh, and hard on naked feet, unguarded souls.
At the core of many salt-water moments, the source of
Tears upwelling in my chest, shaking this solid body—as

If it were a small thing, dry thing, fragile autumn leaf
Tossed back and forth in playful breezes or hurled

In some divine anger (not Juno’s wrath again!) to earth—
Small at first but growing, is this grief, this sorrow:

Not at losing you, though that is ache enough to send me
Over the edge, and does, but my heart’s lament
That you, dear man, sweet man, fine man, good man with a

Heart made for love and hands for kindly deeds, should
Ever fail to see how much you have to give this world
And cannot feel—deep, deep within yourself—how
Rich your gifts and your complexity: your gentleness
Dancing fiercely with manly strength, your


Artist’s yearning after truth and beauty woven
Together with your first-hand knowledge of life’s pain;

All your openness to friendship, family, orphaned animals, a
Love of sky and water, tree and leaf, a joy deep-rooted in
Living—all of this pouring out like sand in an hourglass,

But not from one hour’s chamber to the next—no! Spilt
Upon the ground, pouring from some crack in the glass, some
Torn part of your heart, some little crack through which

Your hope, your love of self, your pain, your fear all rush
Out, soaked in seeming seconds into the earth, instantly,
Utterly gone, lost, unrecognized. You and I, my fellow fool,

Are alike in this, watching precious hours vanish with little
Real and lasting stuff to show for them. We are such slaves,
Each in his own way, to our fears and hurts, old wounds.

Terry, what would happen if we could resolve to
Hold our hearts open, our ears alert, our eyes ever seeking—
Each moment that we have—to Life, not fear? What

Might then come about? What healing waters lie
Under the deceptive surface of our turbulent, wasted days?
Surely the power that set this amazing universe
Into being, into action, into a dance of variety,
Complexity, and some strange balance of compassion and beauty

Will reveal at least a hint of our potential, and with
Heart-breaking (for we need our hearts broken open again)
Invitation call us back to life worth living!
Let Shawn’s passing before us, my brother-in-law’s daily wasting
(Eaten by disease), the news of every terror on this earth

Teach us not that all is vain but that each new hurt and
Horror calls us to learn from pain, from failure, from futility;
Each moment reveals itself as fresh opportunity to be the

Men that we were created to become. Even our wildest
Urges give flesh and voice to that creative fire, that
Spirit that gives life and binds all things together.
I weep, yes, to think your dreams are circumscribed,
Contained by something way too small, inadequate.


Lad, it is not too late to take our next small step
And say Yes to God, to Life, to Joy, to deepest Reality, to
Sit still that we may listen to our heart’s deepest yearning,
To want more, and more, and even more for ourselves, for
Such (believe it or not) is Heaven’s will. Dream deeply, dare bravely. Be!

July 20, 2002

For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts.
—From “The Dry Salvages” from Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot

The Pleasing Boy--Poem

The pleasing boy
who played by the rules
earned the smug toleration
of the unimaginative—
not affection, respect, or love
(perhaps a quiet admiration
for his ability
to tolerate crap)

It’s not enough,
he concluded tardily,
and decided to take his soul back,
to color outside the lines
and follow his imagination,
to take risks and live
with the consequent failures
as well exhilarating successes,
to let fly the snarky comment
and show disapproval
as well as bestow
the wonted compliments

He’s gone back to dancing
in streets and hallways,
singing out loud,
drawing on sidewalks with chalk,
naming bullshit,
laughing too loudly,
playing with children and elders—
and even the occasional midlifer
who has begun to wake up
and wants to play too



17 October 2003
Paul E Strid

Urban Haiku

September sun slants
into a Friday office—
frustration, fatigue
Y

American flags
ripple above building cranes,
docked ships in the haze
Y

Racing mists, ghost shreds,
dance by night, by day among
San Francisco joys
Y

Laughter is better
in most everyday things
than hot, bitter tears.
Y

I am reminded
daily and repeatedly—
silliness redeems
Y

Today was the day
my heart was eager to work
productively—hah!
Y

September 26, 2003

Medicine Wheel, private collection 

Locating Ourselves

The following paragraphs are excerpted from a paper I wrote last December titled "The Medicine Wheel: Image of Lakota Spirituality." They are related to the theme of finding our own sacred space found in one of the earliest posts here.

Peter Brokenleg, a Lakota singer and teacher, postulates that the purpose of all ritual is to create, restore, and maintain relationships.[1] Relationship is thus central to all Lakota ritual, and most Lakota prayers end with the words “Mitakuye Oyasin,” variously translated as “we are all relatives” or “for all my relatives.” This represents more than human relations and includes all creation: the four-leggeds, the wingeds, the swimming, the creeping, the plant and tree nations, the sun and moon and star nations, mother earth, our ancestors and our descendants, all spirits and powers, and ultimately that Great Mystery we call Grandfather, the Creator. This intimate connection with all creation—which itself is seen as a living reality, “thou” and not “it”—is understood in the recognition of the circle and the directions.

After “sending a voice” to Tunkashila, Grandfather, the Creator, the directions are addressed. Elaine Jabner notes that “[i]n all Sioux ritual, the four directions are greeted with the usual order for the greeting being the same as the myth's order for the establishment of directions.”[2] West is thus the first direction and they are then saluted “sunwise” (or “clockwise”): West, North, East, and South. Black Elk continued his prayer thus:

You toward where the sun goes down [West], behold me; Thunder Beings, behold me! You where the White Giant lives in power [North], behold me! You where the sun shines continually [East], whence come the day-break star and the day, behold me! You where the summer lives [South], behold me![3]

He then continues turning toward the zenith and nadir as follows:

You in the depths of the heavens [Above], an eagle of power, behold! And you, Mother Earth [Below], the only Mother, you who have shown mercy to your children! Hear me, four quarters of the world—a relative I am! Give me the strength to walk the soft earth, a relative to all that is! Give me the eyes to see and the strength to understand, that I may be like you. With your power only can I face the winds.[4]

This salutation of the six directions—the four cardinal directions plus up and down—characterizes and begins Lakota ritual. Participants are thus located, grounded, established, before they proceed. Such relatedness carries with it blessing, obligation, and great power. It also places each person at the crossing of the two roads, the center of the circle, for in Lakota thought this represents “here and now.” Each person is always at this crossroads, facing all its choices.[5] As Black Elk noted, “anywhere is the center of the world.”[6]

[1] Class notes from “Native American Ritual,” GTU summer school course taught at PSR.
[2] The story is well summarized in Elaine Jabner, "The Spiritual Landscape," I Become Part of It: Sacred Dimensions in Native American Life, ed. D. M. Dooling and Paul Jordan-Smith, (New York, NY: Parabola Books, 04/12/03, 1989)197-199. A fuller telling of the establishment of the directions may be found in D. M. Dooling, ed., The Sons of the Wind: The Sacred Stories of the Lakota (Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 2000).
[3] John G Neihardt. Black Elk Speaks: Being the Life Story of a Holy Man of the Oglala Sioux. (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1988) 5.
[4] Neihardt, op. cit., 6.
[5] Brokenleg, class notes.
[6] Neihardt, loc. cit.

Will we hear about this on the nightly news?

Bob Herbert writes in today's New York Times ("Thrown to the Wolves") about Maher Arar, a Canadian citizen who was returning home from a visit to Tunisia.

While attempting to change planes at Kennedy Airport on his way home to Canada from a family vacation in Tunisia, he was seized by American authorities, interrogated and thrown into jail. He was not charged with anything, and he never would be charged with anything, but his life would be ruined.

Mr. Arar was surreptitiously flown out of the United States to Jordan and then driven to Syria, where he was kept like a nocturnal animal in an unlit, underground, rat-infested cell that was the size of a grave. From time to time he was tortured.
...
Mr. Arar is the most visible victim of the reprehensible U.S. policy known as extraordinary rendition, in which individuals are abducted by American authorities and transferred, without any legal rights whatever, to a regime skilled in the art of torture. The fact that some of the people swallowed up by this policy may in fact have been hard-core terrorists does not make it any less repugnant.
...
A lawsuit on Mr. Arar's behalf has been filed against the United States by the Center for Constitutional Rights in New York. Barbara Olshansky, a lawyer with the center, noted yesterday that the government is arguing that none of Mr. Arar's claims can even be adjudicated because they "would involve the revelation of state secrets."

This is a government that feels it is answerable to no one.

How have we come to this from our founding ideals?

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

Amendment VI: In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defence.

Amendment VIII: Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.

My friends, we must defend our own Constitution.

-Deuteronomy 27:19 19 "Cursed be anyone who deprives the alien, the orphan, and the widow of justice." All the people shall say, "Amen!"
-2 Chronicles 19:7 7 Now, let the fear of the LORD be upon you; take care what you do, for there is no perversion of justice with the LORD our God, or partiality, or taking of bribes.
-Ecclesiastes 3:16 16 Moreover I saw under the sun that in the place of justice, wickedness was there, and in the place of righteousness, wickedness was there as well.

The following verse may have other than messianic application:

Isaiah 53:8 8 By a perversion of justice he was taken away. Who could have imagined his future? For he was cut off from the land of the living, stricken for the transgression of my people.

Isaiah 59:14 14 Justice is turned back, and righteousness stands at a distance; for truth stumbles in the public square, and uprightness cannot enter.

Micah 7:3 3 Their hands are skilled to do evil; the official and the judge ask for a bribe, and the powerful dictate what they desire; thus they pervert justice.

Yes, I used to be a Bible thumper, and though I abhor the misuse of scripture, the Bible still shapes my thinking in very positive ways.

Let us, the people, take back our nation... "that government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth."

The BB

Plus ça change....

In my class tonight we were looking at a statement from the Fourth Plenary Assembly of the Federation of Asian Bishops Conferences (FABC), The Vocation and Mission of the Laity in the Church and in the World of Asia. This came from their meeting in Tokyo in September 1986.

Given the current concerns about the role of media in American society--consolidation of ownership, government manipulation, impact of the internet, censorship and secrecy, bias and disclosure--I found some remarks by these Asian bishops from 19 years ago to be most intriguing.

3.6.2. Finance and the mass media determine to a very large extent the destinies of nations; in fact, finance uses the media to this end. Those in power are well aware of the potentialities of the mass media, which they manipulate to mold public opinion and to consolidate and perpetuate their positions. One test of the freedom prevalent in any society today is the degree of autonomy enjoyed by the mass media. [emphasis mine]

Wow! A nice polished summary, completely applicable to here and now. The subsequent paragraph opens with this sentence:

3.6.3. Today, the mass media in Asia are predominantly controlled by authoritarian governments or by a handful of economically and politically powerful persons, while the vast majority of the Asian people are passive recipients.

Try re-reading just the bolded portion [again, emphasis mine].

It would seem that the world's sole remaining superpower has not made good progress.

The document may be found in Rosales, Gaudencio and Arevalo, C.G. (Eds.). For All the Peoples of Asia, FABC Documents from 1970-1991, volume 1

The BB