Is It Prayer?

Close your eyes and imagine him praying. The room is luxurious, yet simple. Plush latte-colored carpet rests atop thick padding to warm and insulate his sacred place. Woven artwork drapes the walls and matches the robe that wraps his body.

Diffused light glows from recessed, façade windows placed high on the walls, but whether the light is natural or artificial is indiscernible.

As he quietly and reverently speaks his consecrated words, he gently rocks back and forth over his knees on a meditation pillow. His focus is intent. Only an occasional presence and barely audible footsteps are heard outside the room.

A bird flying over the prayerful man’s anointed space chirps and swoops to capture his breakfast fare, then another that he dutifully carries to his brimming nest. Farther away, donkeys haul their burdens down a mountain, and men speak loudly as they travel.

Miles off in the distance through the cool, crisp air, screams can be heard—first that of a woman, then one from a child, followed by silence.

Still farther away bombs can be heard, shaking the earth like a quake. Missiles whistle through the air at lightning speed before making their resounding impact. Groans and cries from old men fill the air like thick smoke.

Thunderous noises envelop vast areas from range to mountain, earth to sky. All that once lived quietly dies. Animals cannot comprehend. Babies are terrified, a feeling that will not leave them in this lifetime—perhaps not the next.

While the holy one prays, he receives the death and destruction for which he asks. For all those who do not follow his beliefs as their own, he will destroy.

But first he will instill fear. Women to fear men. Children to fear their fathers. Former followers to fear rebellion. Christian to fear Muslim.

Fear will separate us, isolate us from each other. It is his hope. When we fear, we are suspicious, we react, we decide poorly, we destroy each other. He hopes we will do the destroying for him, so he won’t have to. He will stay home and have more babies with all his wives, all of whom will be as safe as he will allow.

If I were a Muslim, I would start a peaceful rebellion with all other decent Muslims and work together to cease the insane, destructive behavior of those giving our religion a bad name.

And so it is.

The idea for this story came from listening to Dina Temple-Raston’s story March 10, 2011, at http://www.npr.org/2011/03/10/134402971/muslim-americans-question-scrutiny-at-border

Silent Songbird

I’m a rare bird and not ashamed of it. And since birds of a feather flock together, my friends tend to be rare birds too. One rare birdism we share is, we think about our impact on earth and her people in regard to sustainability, noise, pollution, and consideration. In a word, respect. We know we’re not the only ones who matter, and tread lightly.

I feel deeply sorry for Earth. Like the old woman who lived in a shoe, she is providing for more human life than she is comfortably capable of sustaining, and her population is expected to keep growing. Each person in 1994 needed 1.2 acres to maintain American dietary standards, acreage that relates to food production.

But what about fresh water? (I won’t even get into oil consumption here.) Glaciers are melting, so we can sip off them, but what do human, animal, and plant lives drink after all our fresh water has been polluted or drunk and there’s nothing falling from the sky but ash?

Earth needs to go on a people diet and not have so many, not only because of sustainability but for our hearts. When Mother Nature binges, she swallows large numbers of Earth’s beings. Earthquakes, tsunamis, floods, storms of all kinds consume lives, and the more densely populated the area of impact, the more heartfelt tragedy we experience. That includes the tragedy of hunger from human overproduction. Fortunately, researchers and medical professionals have diligently worked to reduce deaths due to disease, so farmers no longer have to supply their families with more help.

Densely populated areas also means concentrated noise pollution. Though I lead a quiet life, it doesn’t suit everyone. There are TVs and electronic games to fill quiet spaces, dogs to bark how dreadful their lives are, vehicles creating tension and shouting for attention with other machines, sirens, and incessant chatter. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only person affected by noise, but reading The Unwanted Sound of Everything We Want: A Book about Noise by Garret Keizer, I felt less lonely.

“I was raised with a keen awareness of noise. As a child I was told ‘Keep your voice down’ whenever my voice was likely to disturb ‘the neighbors.’ When my family came home late…my father would insist that we latch the car doors as quietly as possible and then press them fully closed. This taboo against slamming a car door at night was part of a code whereby holding down a job and getting oneself to work on time were sacred.… Interfering with a neighbor’s sleep was something akin to horse thievery on the old frontier, as assault on another person’s livelihood, a hanging offense.”

What happened to the common courtesy of honoring another with respectful quiet?

When I had my baby, I purchased the quietest vacuum cleaner—a Panasonic, bought a push lawn mower, and played my music quietly in honor of her hearing. I had quit watching the tube in 1975, but bought one at age 35 so my daughter could watch Disney sing-alongs. And when two friends each wanted to gift me with a “real” mower, I passed. Sure it’s more difficult to have a perfectly manicured lawn with a push mower, and I have to pass over each blade of grass four times, but my posterior is a lot firmer than gas-blower pushers’.

Again, I am not the only one who likes quietness and thinks about noise’s impact on others. Noise Pollution Clearinghouse tested more than 80 pieces of lawn equipment, rating them by decibels. Wouldn’t it be cool if everyone mowed his lawn on the same day at the same time, so we would hear only one blended, powered blade noise?

What if we were all thoughtful of each other? Takes me back to the sixties “peace, make love (using contraception), not war, smoke this” culture. I’m not a liberal, but I’d certainly welcome a lot of peace.

I recently read “Revolutionary Road” in Smithsonian magazine. David Lamb wrote a story about Vietnam now and during the war. He quotes Le Minh Khue, who at 15 joined other Vietnamese youths helping to clean up immediately after war’s devastation. She talks about the bond these kids shared and says she “felt completely happy,” despite burying the dead, filling bomb craters, and ending each day covered in mud.

Khue recalls the kindness people shared with each other. “We came upon a mother and two children with no food. They were very hungry. We offered to give her some of our rice, and she refused. ‘That rice,’ she said, ‘is for my husband who is on the battle field.’ That attitude was everywhere. But it’s not there anymore. Today people care about themselves, not each other.”

Birds of a feather… Let’s quietly ruffle some feathers. Breathe deeply and silently smile. Open a door for someone and accept thanks with a namasté. Still your soul and turn something off when you’re not using it…even your mind.

Now that is something I am still working on.

1 David Pimentel, Cornell University,
Mario Giampietro, Istituto of Nazionale della Nutrizione, Rome. “Food, Land, Population, and the U.S. Economy.”
Nov. 21, 1994. http://dieoff.org/page40.htm (accessed 8/12/10). (Carrying Capacity Network, 2000 P Street, N.W., Suite 240 Washington, D.C. 20036, (202) 296-4548.)
2 Garret Keizer, The Unwanted Sound of Everything We Want: A Book about Noise (New York: PublicAffairs, 2010), 11.
3 Noise Pollution Clearinghouse, “Quiet Lawns,” NPC Special Report (summer 2005), http://www.nonoise.org/library/qz/QuietLawns05.pdf.
4 David Lamb, “Revolutionary Road,” Smithsonian (March 2008), 62.

I’m a Repubrat

This little auntie doesn’t like to get political, but as I’m listening to the Eagles sing about war and peace, I’m reminded of something a friend told me last year. “More Democrats have taken us into war than Republicans.” Another Democrat friend recently added, “And more Republicans have gotten us out of those wars.”

Not one to take words spoken to me for granted, this journalist takes to research. Sure enough, America has lost 200,000 more lives in war under Democrat leadership than Republicans (650,000 vs. 450,000). Our founding fathers lost 5,600. See two of the many links below. I’m open to discussion and clarification if these approximate numbers are off.

We have short memories when we don’t read our history books, but our grandparents might have been able to enlighten us on times of war. I’m primarily a Republican who abhors war; however, if someone were to threaten or hurt my daughter, I would have no problem declaring war of an appropriate sort. Think genitals.

We all have wars. They take on varying forms: divorce, custody battles, insurance companies not covering charges, speaking truth to dishonest judges, teachers not being fair, contracts and promises not being kept. Conflict of any kind stresses me out.

I am also not in favor of overpopulation, which Republicans appear to condone, because it’s killing more than people, such as fauna, flora, air quality, water quality, peace, quality of life.

The fact is, I appear to Republicans to be a Democrat. Maybe I’m both.

I am a Repubrat.* I have never fit into any box or category in intelligence and personality tests, nor do I in the political arena. They tell me I’m balanced, and you know, I feel balanced. I believe it’s okay to have opinions, beliefs, and values—and stand up for them! Be a blend like many humans. It’s fine not to live categorized (she says when the United States Census is calculating again).

Just because you’re a Christian, doesn’t make you a Republican.
Just because you’re an environmentalist, doesn’t mean you’re a Democrat.
Just because you believe abortion is okay, doesn’t mean you believe overpopulation is bad.
Just because you don’t believe in abortion and like to have lots of kids, doesn’t make you a Republican.
Just because you’re gay, doesn’t mean you’re a Democrat. Well, I’d better ask my gay friends about that point.

I like Barack Obama, very much. After listening to his audio book The Audacity of Hope, I remarked, “If I were to choose a husband, he would be like Obama.”

And though I didn’t vote for him, he is my president as long as I’m an American, no matter what my party affiliation, and will stand by him—something a lot of Americans didn’t do with Bush. Even I am guilty of that. Today I feel bad about some of the things I said—sometimes it’s better to be silent. I don’t know the whole story and will never.

When our kids mess up, we don’t disown them if we’re good parents.

And when Barack Obama messes up—which he will, they all do—I will stand behind him, because we the people of the United States elected him to be our commander in chief, our leader, our president.

* Now, friends, please don’t confuse this with reprobate: an unprincipled person (often used humorously or affectionately).

(Puzzle piece number 32 of 38.)

copyright © 2009 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.

If you like it, link it!
http://auntieeartha.blogspot.com/2009/02/im-repubrat.html

http://retiary.org/misc_pages/us_presidents_and_wars.html
http://www.mapsofwar.com/ind/american-wars.html

Inauguration Day

What a glorious day for the United States of America!

We the people in our republic, democratically elected a gentleman of African American, English, and Irish descent. Many of my friends must feel profound joy in helping bring Barack Obama to his position of Commander in Chief, particularly my black friends, who may not have imagined this success possible.

My sister, whom I met October 6, 1986, isn’t much older than I. She remembers having to nurture her thirst from a drinking fountain for blacks only. It’s hard to imagine a world like that, yet prejudice exists. I know.

And though the reflections in Ecclesiastes 3 say…

“There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.” [NIV]

…my prayer is that the world will see America’s vision to work hard and in peace toward a loving, sustainable home planet, and we will all work together to plant, to build, to dance, to embrace, to be silent, to love in peace [using more contraception], and in a sense, to be born again.

copyright © 2009 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.

If you like it, link it!
http://auntieeartha.blogspot.com/2009/01/inauguration-day.html

Finding My P’s and Q’s

Where can I find a little peace and quiet? While you’re at it, I’ll take a lot of peace and quiet!

I’d like real, honest-to-God peace where no offensive noises peal past my canal, strike my eardrum, vibrate my ossicles, fill my cochlea with fluid, tickle my organ of Corti, and land in my temporal lobe.

I want to hear sweet sounds, birds chirping, water flowing, a handsome young studmuffin asking, “May I bring you another drink, honey? How about a massage?”

No cars speeding on highways, no blaring train horns, no detestable television, no yipping or barking dogs, no people talking loudly, no men snoring or emitting flammable substances—nor women doing the same, for that matter.

My home should be my sanctuary. Lately it’s been more of an animal refuge at high-occupancy season. I don’t understand how people can allow their dogs to bark incessantly.

I need to feel safe and comfortable, so if you’re thinking, I know of a wonderful, peaceful campsite near a stream, I’ll take the stream, but you can keep the outdoors.

Sleeping outside is for animals. When I tinkle, I want to hear the whoosh of water afterward. When I arise, I want to smell fresh coffee brewing, feel a hot shower, see clean, fluffy towels. I love being in warm water, a tub or springs—it’s better than the hot water I used to be in.

When school ended in May, my daughter and I decided that Ojo Caliente Mineral Springs was the answer. Guests are asked to whisper, and we walk around in swimsuits and robes. First, we drove to Santa Fe to amble around in shops and galleries. Though shopping’s not my bag, nor am I an art aficionado, I love to meet people and dine in new atmospheres.

The first night, after swimming in the hotel pool, my daughter and I felt relaxed. We had packed some food that we enjoyed while playing chess. Suddenly at 9:00 p.m., like a bull charging into a plaza de toros, a hotel guest rushed in above us. For the next two hours, this 900-pound beefsteak stampeded back and forth as if dodging a matador. I politely knocked on the ceiling, as if petting the bull.

By 11:00 p.m., long after we’d turned out the lights, I was prepared to enter this bovine’s toril (entrance) with my little picador by my side and introduce the moose to my vara (lance). I came here for a little peace, and I was ready to give him a bit of mine. There would be no paseo tonight! My final, threatening ceiling knock took him down—and at last I slept.

The next morning we headed to Ojo Caliente, a place my girlfriend and I used to visit annually till work overtook our lives. Driving through an Indian reservation, curving on back roads, we arrived at the oasis! Too early to check in, we aimed at the bathhouse and slid into our swimsuits.

This is the life. Little to no conversation, a slow-moving environment, and pools of arsenic, soda, iron, and lithia—there’s even a mud pool. Pigs never had it this good, though several were spotted on location in swimsuits. A couple of wet hours later, we checked into our cabin and had a bite to eat before slipping back into the pools.

That eve, my daughter treated me to a delightful dinner at Ojo Caliente’s quaint Artesian restaurant with a gracious wait staff, where we observed a more-than-usual number of heterosexual guests. I like this place for a variety of reasons, and one is that I never have to worry about the men making passes at me.

Back in the cabin we again relaxed over a game of chess when, at 9:10 p.m., a member of the Harlem Globetrotters moved into the cabin next door. The floor in our cabin shook as the ball bounced repeatedly on boards that stretched through a string of cabins. We knocked politely on the bathroom wall.

Once Mom, Dad, and their little Globetrotter had carried all their things in and slammed the front door for the last time, we smelled cigarette smoke coming through the air conditioner next to us. I turned on the back porch light, opened the door, and asked Mr. Fumé Cloud, “Did you hear someone playing basketball out here?”

“No,” he said, “but I heard someone knocking on our bathroom wall.”

I decided I didn’t like this guy. He was polluting my air, so I kept the porch light on, hoping bugs would bite him and make him swell up like a balloon, and he’d float away.

The next day we drove back to the neighborhood noises, and I’m still trying to find my p’s and q’s. Maybe I should have stayed in town and gone to the local pub. After a few pints and quarts, I’d forget about peace and quiet and join the rest of the noisemakers.

copyright © 2008 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.

If you like it, link it!
http://auntieeartha.blogspot.com/2008/07/finding-my-ps-and-qs.html