Wild Apples

An Empty Quiver?

Some fool begins to chase the shadow, running after it so far that he becomes exhausted,

Not knowing that it is the reflexion of that bird in the air,

not knowing where is the origin of the shadow

He shoots arrows at the shadow;

his quiver is emptied in seeking to shoot it.

The quiver of his life became empty; his life passed in running

hotly in chase of the shadow."

 

Masnavi, Jalal Ud Din Rumi, Nicholson translation, lines 419-421.

 

" The quiver of his life became empty."  As I am putting on the monkish robes of age, I feel over my shoulder and check my quiver.  Are there any arrows left?  Have I spent my life chasing shadows?  Yes, I fear that we all are guilty of using our life's force in ways that are useless, or even unproductive, but isn't it possible that every now and then I have used my arrows wisely? 

 

A second question is, do I have any arrows left?  Is my quiver empty?  Unfortunately, I know some who at my age have lost the gleam in the eye, the hand on the throttle and the desire to pick up our bow and make a decisive thrust at life once more.  Tis a pity!  The sports hero who can no longer throw the ball, the businessperson whose advice is no longer sought, the mother who has lost contact with her grown children, the socially involved who have lost faith in what they have been doing;  these are the sad residue of a spent life. 

 

It would be folly to assume that any living man wishes to spend a life shooting arrows at shadows only to end up near the end of life with no fire left in his gut, and yet it is very unclear what we should be aiming at, or where the real target is.  What purpose is this life?  Is leading the life of an ascetic the way, or is generosity toward my fellow man my goal, is trust in God enough, or should I try to become powerful and use my power to fight for God as I see him.

 

Should I trust my senses to tell me of life's purpose, or should I search for the spiritual moment that seldom appears?  There are more questions than answers, but I have no sense that my quiver is yet empty.

 

 

 

Capital is the Fruit of Labor

"I know up at the top you are seeing great sites,

But down at the bottom, we too should have rights"

Yertle the Turtle, Dr. Seuss 

    Yesterday proved to me that every day has some form of inspiration attached to it.  It started out as a less than sought-after experience.  Ninety-five mile an hour winds bore down on Denverand swirled around our home with a power that only nature can create.  In the process, down came this very large tree in our yard, knocking out electricity on our street for many, many hours.

    We sat, we froze, we warmed our new puppy in our arms and we wished, fervently wished, for a warm cup of coffee!  Yes, a less than perfect day.  Thankfully, just before twilight, two crews of stalwart men descended upon our yard, chainsaws and mighty tools in hand, with an awesome task - how to dislodge this large, many branched monster from the wires that were designed to bring us warmth, warm food, light, refridgeration etc etc. 

    As I watched them work, even I could see the danger these crews faced and at the same time, I was  fascinated by the skill with which they worked to free the wires from this very determined tree.  It was an extremely difficult job, and one that required knowledge and skill that one only learns on the job and only because the men envolved knew just where to put a rope, just where to saw a branch was the task accomplished, and thank God, not one of these hard working gentlemen was injured.

    As if directed by baton, the tree men moved from the scene and 4 gentlemen wearing day lights on their helmets moved in.  Our darkening back yard was filled with something that appeared to be aliens from another planet. Up the poles they went, strung new lines they did and moved on to the next pole, the next transformer, and the next deadly serious job that needed to be performed- all in the dark.

 

    I was fascinated by their skill and hard work.  I don't know what their salaries were for this job, but they earned every penny.  Both the tree experts and the public service workers were performing dangerous tasks.  Electrical dangers, falls, and the danger of being crushed by this large tree as it fell were all part of the job these men did with no complaint.  I knew they must have  had children and wives at home waiting for them as the night sky darkened to black and I knew that as they climbed and prodded and did their job, my world would become more pleasant because of their focus and courage.

    Have we begun to lose the respect we had for the working man; the kind that Carl Sandberg extolled; the kind that built this nation and fought its wars?  Barack Obama is right.  It all begins at the bottom.  No CEO works as hard as these men with cleats on their boots.  No financial guru makes life more available to more people than the woodsman, the electrician, the train engineer, the airline pilot, the home builder, the carpenter, the road and bridge builders and those who get up very early every morning, put on their helmets and do the job of this country.

    I wonder if we have not been incorrect in our ability to judge the worth of our working men and women by sending jobs overseas and keeping the financial experts here.  Perhaps we should have sent the financial genius to India and kept the online workers here!  They are the heart of America

; it is because of them that America has always been a land of opportunity. It is sad that we have to rebuild that base and the respect for work we once possessed – something we should never have lost. 

"Labor is prior to, and independent of, capital. Capital is only the fruit of labor, and could never have existed if Labor had not first existed. Labor is superior to capital, and deserves much the higher consideration." 

                                                                        Abraham Lincoln

Words, words, words!

 

I wish that I could buy at the shops some kind of
india-rubber that would rub out at once all that in my
writing which it now costs me so many perusals, so many
months if not years, and so much reluctance, to erase.

                                                Henry David Thoreau, Dec. 27, 1853

    Henry has been observing the snow and its ability to disguise and clothe the countryside and in true Thoreauvian fashion he uses it as an analogy of a common writer's problem.  Question is, do we handle the problem of word choice or verboseness  well in 2009 – or indeed, is the erasure problem more of a dilemma today than it ever was in Henry's time?

    True, today we can erase and change our words with great speed and efficiency, but do we?   If ten words are good, are not twenty words better?  We have the ease of delivery but do we have the wisdom to know when we have said enough?  Consider the 'reluctance' factor that Henry speaks of?  Are we too fond of our words?  Yes.

        To quote Pythagoras,

"Do not say a little in many words, but a great deal in a few." 

OK.  Blog away my friend, but please say something. 

Chasing the Higher Law(s)

    I just reread "Higher Laws" in Walden. What a wonderful chapter and how beautifully Thoreau uses the English language. He deals first with the thought that man has two natures, a higher and a lower. He discusses hunting in this regard, but we'll skip over that part to

 "the true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched."

     He ends the chapter with the story of John Farmer who sat at his door one September evening. He heard a flute and 'the sound harmonized with his mood.' Henry describes a moment in which the sound of the flute triggers an inner voice in John,

"Why do you stay here and live this mean moiling life, when a glorious existence is possible for you?" said the voice.

    He ends the chapter with John Farmer's thought and it seems to me that this is the thought of all who yearn:

"All that he could think of was to practise some new austerity, to let his mind descend into his body and redeem it, and treat himself with ever increasing respect."

    What a glorious sentence! Higher laws is well worth a reread, I think. We talk so much about how we see the spirit, the higher law, or whatever one wants to call it, but what Henry is saying, is something I learned in 1st grade Sunday School. "Open up your heart and let the sun shine in." Is it really that simple?

        When the infidels begin to storm the walls of the castle, it is the peons who rush to the king and beg to be saved. When the crops are bad, it is the peons who run to the castle with bowls outstretched crying "Please sir, some more sir!" When a plague strikes the fiefdom, fear sets us trembling and rushing to the peaked hats to save us and give us light more light.

        Lux, semper lux! Always light - but no one tells the peons how to intelligently pick the Lord of the fiefdom and effectively work to create the kind of world they need.  Should our chosen leader have to pull a sword from a stone - and why a sword? Why not a shepherd's staff? Should he have to be a he?  Should he be compassionate? Well, I want compassion for me and mine, but not for that shiftless trash down the road. Make them sweat!

        I read somewhere that what we call a democracy is really more of a feudal society; we want someone to save us and speak for us.  Have we forgotten that anything worth having is worth fighting for.  Have we forgotten the work and pain that made our labor movement, our women's suffrage movement and yes, our civil rights movement?

We will not have the Lord of the Manor who will save us from all evil unless we know what we want and are willing to work for it.  Who would have believed that the American people could have raised almost a billion dollars to elect a black man for president!  It was more than all talk that pulled that off!

Let me quote Henry Thoreau here: Journal, June 18, 1854. In previous entries Henry is attacking the state for its attitude toward slavery and he says

"Men may talk about measures till all is blue and smells of brimstone, and then go home and sit down and expect their measures to do their duty for them. The only measure is integrity and manhood."

 

 

How To Become Practically Perfect

I sometimes feel we all show the mental alacrity of the governor of Illinois! Our economic woes could be solved by letting the consumer drive the market by their needs, not by their wants and the wants of corporations. My son is Director of computers for a pasta making company and their stock is way, way up! When the people are broke, they eat pasta! When the people are poor, they buy cheap things! Business here is fine in Walmart, Sears and Target. Colleges - same way. Time has a good article on the plight of the small liberal arts college. At $38000 a year there aren't as many takers as there used to be and lots more demand for financial aid! The moral for most Americans is clear - scale back, cut down, live simply! Duh! Where have I heard that one before? What was it Thoreau told us over 160 years ago? Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned here - a woman I know who cleans houses said she wants to give her son everything she didn't get as a child - now here is a desire that is putting tremendous strains on that family. I asked her if she didn't feel that she would be raising him to expect too much in the way of material things - she said she thought he should expect a lot. "A lot" to some people means all the gadgets and goodies of an extravagant lifestyle. "A lot" for others means a rich loving family with other goals and aspirations rather than the accumulation of goods. Let us define 'the good life' more readily in our media and government programs. Let us make cars that will be good for the environment and develop advertising and media presentations that make that something the people desire. (I'm not sure we know what we want until someone tells us!) If we continue to collect Hummers like flies on flypaper, we are dead as a human race. We decry the downfall of the daily newspaper, and yet it is we 'oldies' that still take the paper. If we don't support it it will die. After all this meandering around, we really don't know what is good for us. We wait until time and lack of concern turn the page of history, and then say, "OHHH, the sky is falling! Help! Help! What have THEY done to us???" Yes, let's not make fun of the Illinois gov. He's no more stupid and self-centered, and lacking in solid goals than most Americans. This turndown has made a slight change in my thinking: I refuse to buy anything from China. We have cut way back on this spending orgy we call Christmas. I have put on the sweater and turned down the heat and I drive a '95 Previa and don't intend to change that at the present. This winter is a time I have set aside to go through the trash we have collected in 50 years of marriage and get it to people who can use it. It is a winter to tidy up our Ark to keep it from sinking in this tide of stupidity in which we find ourselves. Do you see my halo and my pulpit?? Yes, you're right - like Mary Poppins, I'm practically perfect in every way!! ;> )

Clancy

    It's the little things that add the ornaments to our tree of life. As Christmas approaches, we once again give thanks for life – for the joy of experience, the love of friends and family, and yes, we give thanks even for the tragedy of loss. It is from loss that we learn to cherish and is from cherishing that we learn to love.

    Cherish – love – oneness. It all fits together in the grand scheme of the Great Teacher . We experienced something like that this Christmas season with our Boston Terrier, Clancy. Clancy was our dearly beloved eight year old member of the family. Clancy wouldn't have been allowed in a dog show if he had bought a ticket. If he had been human we would say he was born on the other side of the tracks: born in a puppy mill and adopted by us at a time when we foolishly paid no heed to the necessary questions to ask in order to get a well-bred puppy.

     Clancy was 35 pounds when he should have been 20. He was the bull in the proverbial china shop; a clumsy, oafish, utterly loving bit of nature! His ears never stood up and he was, physically, more than a bit flawed. However, in the love department, no one outshone Clancy. He could love you up with gusto and you always knew when he needed love – and he needed a lot of it. Clancy never met a bit of food he didn't like, and he never saw a human tush that didn't just ask for a wee nip He just didn't like to be ignored, I like to think. Others think that he badly needed to be taken to a dog trainer!

   A year and a half ago, Clancy developed a small wart-like thing on his side. We consulted our vet, and she removed it, telling us it was a 2 plus cancer. It could spread, but it might not. And so we hoped; humans always hope, at least until unreasonable fear or cynicism takes over. Well, our hope was in vain. 3 weeks ago Clancy started coughing – this croupy kind of cough and he developed a rash on his over-grown tummy. Cough, rash and a baseball sized tumor in side that tummy. The cough worsened and Clancy began to have seizures, obviously with a lot of pain. Yes, he had 5 seizures and we knew that our little bull was fatally damaged.

    There is a large hole in our family. Nobody clumps onto the bed in the middle of the night, tromping on all bodies therein. No one greets every guest with undue enthusiasm, and it seems so quiet. We have filled our dog-need-space with Emma, a 9 week old Boston – picture attached. She can't take Clancy's place, but she is fast creating a place of her own.

    Ah me! We will have lots of pets waiting for us if and when we get to the rainbow bridge, and each in his turn has added his joy and his pain to our lives. I wouldn't have gone this way without each and every one of them, for it is the little things, the little creatures that add so much to our love quotient and teach us what it is to feel the emotions of life. We cherished Clancy and I like to think that he loved us. Goodbye old friend.

Knowing Is Not Perception

Knowing Is Not Perception

I’ve known her - like forever,
But knowing is not perception.
Watching, as in a far-off place,
tears spilling from her eyes,
I wondered if I had ever
even tried to be so close.
I wondered,
Can we stand such familiarity in our
Narrow, self-centered world?

“Mother was alcoholic, and…
and…I didn’t really know what that meant
to me. Until just recently.”
This said at 56 years old.
“It changed us all, my brother, my sister
And me.
And when I saw her, down in Arizona
As she lay dieing – caught in the consequence
of her illness,
I couldn’t believe the pain I felt.”
Years later, here and now,
the tears still flow. Sadly,
A permanent part of her everything.
A permanent unknowing.

She wiped them away and I listened.
Bless my heart, I listened! I didn’t offer solutions,
I didn’t offer advice – for once in my selfish life,
I just listened.
Can we stand familiarity in our
Narrow, self-centered world?
Can we ‘just listen’?
Can we bear to hear the ‘unknowing’ of our friends?

Spring Wonder

Totally amazing!
Unbelivingly awesome!
Almost too small to be called a tree
the April buds winking at me
as childlike eyes,
wrinkling their noses
under the slight skiff
of Spring Snow.

Each pale green bud
covered with cotton white.
Hundreds and hundreds;
touched by some hidden hand
with a brush filled with
snowy flakes.
Viewed by one whose breathe is caught
in a moment of disbelief.

As sand, or seashells, or flakes of white
we inhabit the buds
on which we are placed;
winking and loving and
Emblazing
our corner of this earthly
twig.
Take a deep breath and wrinkle your nose!

Sue

A Few Favorite Things

A Few Favorite Things

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with string,
These are a few of my favorite things.
“A Few of My Favorite Things,” from
Sound of Music
The Easter Season is a time for me to remember some of my favorite things; raindrops on roses and sitting close to my parents on Easter Sunday in our old “upper room” church in Freeport, Illinois, seeing everyone wreathed in smiles and shaking hands as we left the church to go home to a delicious Easter meal.
This time of year is so special to so many different cultural groups – it is New Years for my Persian friends and Passover for my Jewish friends. In all cultures the signature of God’s forgiveness and benevolence in the promise that Spring brings. Aren’t we lucky to once again see the robins return and hear the woodpecker beating out his rat-a-tat-tat love call on our metal stove pipe. I look out my door and just feel the spark in the air – the spark of life as all dormant things begin to thrust their way through the damp earth.
Puppies are born and nuzzle the mother, anxious to be out and about in the greening of nature. Mothers wrap their newest babes in warm sweaters and hats and walk with purpose and vitality; thump, thump thumping along and making a song of their own. Young boys with kites and girls without mittens. Fathers with new cars and a house full of kittens, small tiny flowers push through the earth, new clothes, new day, new start, new world. Ah, Spring. An everlovin’ Wild Apple for those who see.