Looking to the East

It has always been a regretable thing, that American schools leave out so much of history, of our connectedness and relationships with other countries. In a few words, entire cultures are summed up and dismissed, as if they have no significance next to our own. The older I get, the more I want to know, the more I seek histories and cultures that in school I barely heard mentioned, and some, not at all.


I have been watching a Japanese series, MAGI, about the Tensho Boys’ Embassy. This was an episode in history corresponding with the rise of the Hideyoshi Shogunate–the same period covered in SHOGUN, and afterwards. Elizabeth is near the end of her reign in England, and the Spanish and Portuguese have gotten the Pope to split the world into their possessions.  

It confused me at first, as a few months ago I read a novel, SAMURAI, by the Japanese author, Shusako Endo, which described such an embassy that traveled across the Pacific to New Spain, then onwards to Europe across the Atlantic. This docu-drama sent the boys westward to Macau, Goa, and on around the Cape of Good Hope. 

It turns out, the events of SAMURAI are derived from a later event. Both are fictionalized history. Both have been adapted to film/tv versions. 

Knowing some about the times in Japan of the first embassy, it is interesting to see what becomes more and more clearly a Christian-slanted view of the times, events, and players. This clearly colors the story-tellers’ interpretations of the Shogun, Hideoshi, and his attitudes towards Christianity’s attempts to change Japan, even make it a Christian state.

It also amplifies, perhaps, or at least focuses particularly on the Japanese persecutions of the Japanese Christians, and the European–mainly Portuguese and Spanish–missionaries. It has a few words to speak through the mouth of their Hideyoshi, regarding the concerns and fears of the Japanese ruler, about Christianity as a threat to established religions and philosophies. In fact, he comes across as almost paranoid. 

They don’t entirely ignore that the missionaries came to Japan “with the Bible in their right hands, and guns in their left hands.” It is acknowledged that some of the Japanese lords, the daimyo, converted to the one mainly to aquire the other. It is, after all, a Japanese production, and has a loyalty to Japanese history. Whether it dwells unfairly or inaccurately on the persecutions that ranged from expulsions to executions, I can’t say. 

I am wondering now, though, how focused on martyrdom many Christians seem to be; wondering what Christianity today would look like if they in their various sects had never been particularly persecuted. Even today, it is a major ‘card’ played by some Christians, to claim victimization–over, for instance, the temerity of anyone who says, Season’s Greetings rather than Merry Christmas. 

That seems so petty and narrow-minded, and bound up with the profoundly mistaken notion that the US is, or is meant to be, a Christian state. Of course, it never was–but the predominance of Christians in its early history, in American culture, made that an easy assumption to make, and to not be corrected early on. So, many Americans who have never really given it conscious consideration, still assume it, and base a lot of pernicious attitudes on it. 

Well, no religion, no state, no person is without flaw. To reach for a faith in the flawless sometimes means transcending the packaging, the promoters, even the true-believers who have no doubt of their righteousness. I have always appreciated the Celtic Christianity that was built on the foundational idea that communion between the individual and the Divine is a personal matter, that go-betweens only muddle the conversation.

Courteous comments and conversations are always welcome here.

Tolkien Tribute: Eru’s Gifts

In the cosmology created by Tolkien, there was first Eru, who created a great Music which manifested as the Universe. The Song included strains and themes that manifested as the Powers, and Eru made them the lords of Arda, tasked with preparing the world for Eru’s First Born.
One of the Powers, however, in his eagerness and impatience, created a people of his own– the Dwarves. When he came to understand Eru’s intent, he offered to remove his own creatures, but Eru would not allow these living, knowing beings to be destroyed, and granted them the right to carry on, as Dwarves are famed to do. But the Dwarves must sleep until after Eru’s own first children waked.
Last, Eru put Man into Middle-earth, and as this part of the Great Song came after the Powers had come to Arda, none of them knew how this theme went, and so Man and the destiny of Mankind is unknown to them, and Eru’s purpose in creating Man is a mystery to them, as well.

Elf-kind’s gifts–
— to be First Born, to rise and stand,
the earliest wanderers in the land
–to master every kind of speech
–to awaken, name, and teach…
–to live forever in glowing grace,
lithe of form and fair of face

Dwarf-kind’s gifts–
–to own kinship with the very bones
of mountains, metals, gems and stones
–the mastery of smithy-art
–strength of limb, firmness of heart
–to be as solid as Middle-earth
–to live long lives and value mirth

Man-kind’s gifts–
–to come to the world the least of all,
with fear and doubt, and prone to fall
–to struggle for life, to fight for learning
to reach and reach, forever yearning
and after all, the gift of Death
to bless his every living breath

Elves and Dwarves were the first holy sending
but Man-kind will last until the world’s ending.

Privilege and Waking

Sometimes I feel like I am in one of those novels like FARENHEIT 451, where I am one of those proud citizens of one of the world’s best states–suddenly having to confront the evidences that it is not. Comes the waking, the gradually realizing that in fact it is one of the ugliest, most abusive, least honorable of states… That its promises are lies, its ideals are hiding terrible truths, that its justifications are disingenuous, and ultimately that its actual effect on the rest of the world and its own citizens is pernicious. That it’s greatest potentials are held back unrealized, unrealizable, by the sludge in which it stands.

All that is happening now in the bright light of day has always gone on, and all the good things–opportunities, wealth in sufficiency, benefits of technology– have been only for a select few. Being one of those few, I didn’t see it so clearly before, always thought that the suggestions of it as aberrations from the norm. I believed that what was true for me was true for most.

The current social and moral crisis is not Trump’s doing, he is the product of it: The champion of the absolute worst of what America is. Trump is simply the mirror of America’s own, long darkness that has gone so long shoved back into closets and cellars, has for so long been laughed off or ignored in the light of better things… That has finally floated to the surface and demanded attention.

The sludge we stand in is the composite of our weaknesses unaddressed, our debts unpaid, our problems minimized and ignored. But, as stories will have it, Truth will out! What is real will always, eventually, outlast and outmaneuver the glamours, the distractions, the glib contrivances we use to evade the unpleasant and inconvenient. “Reality is that which, when you ignore it, doesn’t go away.”

These kinds of stories seem always to resolve in either annihilation of the individual and national soul, or in revolution. It depends on the courage of the participants and the unwillingness to be devoured by a machine.

Courteous comments and conversation are welcome on all I post here.

We Might Have Been Friends

Who told you
who I was?
Who cast the shadow
of their own bitterness
across the vision
of your honest eyes?

Who was it
that suggested
hurting me
with your disdain
was the proper thing
to put me
in my place?

Who was it,
made you feel
so small
that to feel big at all
and safe
you must diminish me?

Does concensus
of like-persuaded views
convert
delusion into truth?

Does being wrong
together
make the wrong
a right?

How do you weigh
the cost
to your own soul
of burning witches,
gassing Jews,
bombing populations
who occupy
the ground you want?

And, in the end,
when you
and all your pals
have gathered
to yourselves
the sum of everything
you thought
I wanted,
how will you see
yourself?

I’ve heard that the 20s are the cruelest age, because their social power has grown but compassion has not, nor the realization of how great their effectiveness on the hearts and souls of others: They have not realized yet their power to cause real pain.

But the dynamic of scapegoating comes into play at an earlier age.

I had the experience of being targeted by Laura, Susan and Margaret–three unkind, pettily vicious girls who made my life as much hell as they could, when we were classmates in 7th grade. At the end of the year, they had the gall to come up to me, and say, “We didn’t mean it, we’re sorry, we really like you…” by way of being magnanimous. I asked, “So what was wrong with the rest of the year?” They did not take that well, and went huffing off, happy that I had made it all my own fault.

Bullies make wounds that don’t heal, that make crippling scars that never go away. For years, I thought they, or people like them, were still on the fringes, watching, sneering, condemning… It took me many years to stop caring what they thought or said or did. It has reverberated through my entire life.

Sometimes it is the power of one person, focused through the lens of the many. And so we have Jonestown, and the Little Bighorn, and Aushwitz and bombs in Belfast, and genocide in Ruanda, Somalia, and eastern Europe, and women starving behind their veils and doors in Iran, and soldiers marching steadfastly into the guns of other soldiers pointed at their hearts wherever in the world armies face off, and in all the places where someone believes their own righteousness supercedes the lives and free souls of everyone else.

I hope that the effect of this poem will be to open the eyes of some nice-enough, decent-enough people who get caught up in that dynamic, because they are casual members of a clique that has opposed itself to some person, or ethnicity, or idea, but they have not fully realized or taken responsibility for the effects they are part of. Respecting the most powerful, the guiding personality of the group, they accept without much discrimination that what that leader says and does must be all right. They cede their own morals and ethics to those of the Alpha, and ignore their own better judgement.

It is in our nature to make cliques and to use the power of the many against the one who shows weakness or difference. Humans do it, just as do chimpanzees, rats and sharks. Some animals seem incapable of transcending their instincts. But primates, including chimpanzees, gorillas and ourselves, have proven the ability to rise above primitive urgings, to consciously choose a path that embraces compassion, and perceives the longer-range benefits of altruism.

This is a choice that must be made by each of us, independent of our clans and cliques. It is the mark of our humanity, our integrity, and the measure of our maturity as human beings, that we have this capability to choose. It is, perhaps, the one thing that makes us more than just “animals with pants.”

2006

In Memorium: 9/11

On the anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, many people will have many things to say about sacrifice and heroism. This is the two cents-worth that I have to contribute to the conversation and it applies to terrorists of every kind, of any religion or political agenda, in any nation in the world.

On this day 18 years after, it is time to repeat what rational people have always known:

Terrorism does not work.

Every goal it accomplishes is counter to its intentions. It makes everything worse for the people it is meant to promote.

Terrorism is narcissistic and delusional, thinking itself significant and effective.

It is the perigee of futility, of short-term, vertical thinking; it is the least meaningful of all sacrifices for any cause.

In short:

Terrorism is stupid.

Journal: On the Luck Spectrum

I don’t think I needed a flat tire today. But if I did, I needed to have it in front of the house, which it is. And I needed to have one more AAA service before renewing–next week, which I do. And I needed not to have to be anywhere right away, which I don’t. Also, I needed someone to drive by while I was trying to figure out why the truck was driving weird, and tell me I had a flat. And she did.

On the spectrum of luck, this isn’t a bad day.

Tolkien Tribute: The Golden Wood

The leaves shine like gold
in the long light of autumn,
adrift upon the last breath of summer,
sailing, like kites cut free,
taking their own sweet time
to come at last
to rest.
Years and seasons without number
crunch in their layers
beneath the feet that wander,
among the grey-like-silver trees
that stand and sigh in autumn’s scented air…
as if remembering
the past…

A time there was when trees were silver
and growing leaves were truly gold
and laughter light as lace,
of magic folk, made lyrics for
the music of the streams and breezes…
and Mystery crackled in the air
in every season
endless…
And Elven grace danced everywhere…
and Elven power shaped the Land and Time,
And Names were Named,
and Speech was Taught,
And the night was filled with stars
that sang
and also blessed…


Yet Autumn came for Elven kind,
and for all their works, the silver and gold–
Faded, the woodlands; faded the grace;
breeze sighing without words;
waters running without mirth…
Until we, remembering,
restore them
at last.

2004


Tolkien Tribute: The Ranger

JRR Tolkien, in creating the full and profoundly-envisioned Middle Earth  gave some of us an entire world  to explore and adopt for visions of our own. He hinted and suggested at so much he didn’t ever get around to writing, showing us doorways but not going through them. He expressed it in letters, in fact, the hope that others would also enrich the world he’d begun.  I have wandered there for many a year, and love it like home, and it is a great pleasure to share the dreams and visions I discover there. 

(In reference to the third piece below,  “Arda” is Tolkien’s name for Earth.)

THE RANGER


1 Lurkers

Storm and ice howling through the winter passes…
The bellies of the scudding clouds,glowing dull and fitful,
reflecting back the desperate firelight
from which all warmth is blasted by the winds…
Alone is better, the huddled traveler thinks,
Than the company he knows is lurking in these peaks…
And he shivers only partly from the cold…


2 Brothers

Brisk chill breeze of spring whips budding hazel branches
Rattling to and fro, little birds a-clinging, feathers ruffled–
Little brothers share the coming season
With one who wanders out from winter, too;
In a visage etched by ice and bitter rains…
A thread of softness starts, and grows,
And blossoms in a faint and weary smile…


3Embrace of Arda

Night flows over hard-baked plains, cools the raging furnace-heat of day
Relief becomes a chilly breath no longer welcomed
By one who shivers in the summer night…
A breeze arises somewhere in the west,
Sweeps softly in from distant desert sands,
Unlooked-for cloak, caressing warmth…
A gift beneath the silver net of stars…


4Out of Sight

Still… Utterly still… Still and silent like the stones, the dead…
A creeping insect makes its way from collar down the back,
It’s purpose is its own, and not betrayal…
Tension ripples just beneath the skin;
Sand teases in the throat, seduces silent breath
to rouse in thunderous cough…
When will the enemy move on?


5 Out of Mind

In the wood, sitting in the mulch and drift of falling leaves…
In the town, the fairy-lights of family hearths and goings-on…
Do they look out and see the little fire
That gives all that it has of warmth and cheer?
They do not, cannot see it, they are blinded by their own…
Complacent in their comforts.
By this little fire rests content.


6Touching Sky

Clear, the air, as leaded crystal glass, like a bell it rings and calls…
Eagles cry back, soaring upon winds higher than the heights…
No higher place to stand than this,
Toes upon the mountain’s utter peak,
And in this moment, all the world’s free
Of evil, war,  and undermining enemy!
Descent– Much harder than the climb.


7Unknown

A new road, a path unknown, unseen by most men’s eyes, it draws the feet…
Has ever any human foot trod here before, along this secret track?
Trees– ancient, hoary mosses draped, bedewed–
anchor its beginnings in their roots,
from whence it wanders carelessly
to find its way along a fragile rocky ledge
then wanders to the plain and disappears…


8Reunion

The Ranger in his world-stained garb comes to a place he knows, and waits…
Another comes, nods greeting, sits beside him in the glen…
The Company of Rangers–it gathers slowly in,
embracing all the sons of long-dead kings
who in their time cared for the lands
and all the folk that there, within them, dwelt–
These still do the same, and also wait…

2005

Essay: Ownership

Consider…

Communities are entities and their inhabitants belong to them, not the other way around. They are composed of everyone in them, they are rich in life and art, in ideas and motions and sounds and smells. Power and wealth create illusions of ownership, but all illusions dissolve in time: lives come and go, all part of the whole, a whole that is lifetimes and generations long.

These entities grow and change over time, they evolve as living things do. To bind them to one form, hold them to one idea or model of perfection is to kill them. There are many ruins in the world to attest to this.

So, consider rotating any idea in your head that the community, the city or nation belongs to you or to any single group of people, any single ideology. Stop thinking it is your city, your neighborhood, your state, your nation. Stop trying to impose your ideas, your values, your beliefs on the whole thing.

Give up your notions of supremacy.
Give up your assumptions of privilege.

Give up the hubris.