the Heat Index

A matter of extreme importance to me...
the heat and humidity outside.

As I have such a sensitivity to heat and humidity, I have been doing a bit of research. And, in that research I learned about the Heat Index, which is a combination of the temperature and humidity. As the temperature and % humidity increase, the Heat Index value increases. So, there is a chart of the Heat Index. It lists the combined values for temperature and humidity and then categorizes these values along four dimensions regarding the relative safety of being outside. The dimensions are 'Caution', 'Extreme Caution', 'Danger' and 'Extreme Danger'. So much for the amateur meteorology lesson.

Here in Viet Nam, we have been lingering in the 'Extreme Danger' zone for the better part of the last two months. Combine the 'Extreme Danger' of going outside with my extreme sensitivity to heat/humidity and I now understand why I keep ending up on a gurney at the doctor's office getting an IV. What is shocking about this is that I am an otherwise very healthy woman!

So, finally the temperatures have dropped this week. Now, we are only in the low 90s F/30s C with 80 humidity. This means that we also have finally left the 'Extreme Danger' zone in which we have been lingering these last months. Now, we are only in the 'Danger' zone.

Why do I spend time talking about such an apparently trivial subject? Simply put - this is our future, my friends.

I am learning from first hand experience that climate change is deadly...and it is affecting us all. Of course, the frail, elderly, sick and poor will be the first to succumb to the impacts of climate change. But, we all are in danger, even those of us who are healthy and strong or who can tolerate higher temperatures and humidity.

So, I was thinking - in honor of those most seriously impacted by climate change, perhaps we all could change just one thing that we do today that contributes to the problem, like driving when we can walk, or turning off unnecessary lights and techno toys, or eating fruits and vegys that are from our region...

Some say these small things can not change the problem...that bigger changes are required. I agree that bigger changes are needed. But, I also believe we all can make valuable contributions. Just imagine if all the people in the US today chose to walk instead of driving? How much less pollution would we put into the air????

We CAN make a difference!!!

Contemplating Eating

Been thinking lately about eating.  It's been a month now, and my diet stays largely the same every day.  I eat three bowls of soup a day, rice, tofu, some small shrimp, vegys and occasionally meat wrapped in cabbage.  The food is very good and I always have my fill, so I am not complaining.  But, it has set me to thinking.
Why always the same food, for every meal, every day?  In part, this is due to the fact that I'm trying to avoid meat.  In part, it is the food that is available.  Given unrestricted resources, I could venture into the city to buy food in more variety, but unrestricted resources are not a part of this circumstance.
I noticed the last couple of weeks a strange feeling in my stomach.  I am constantly hungry, even after a full meal.

Minions NOT. Guardians of Life are We

Today, for the first time in two weeks,
  the heat index dropped just below the 'Extreme Danger' zone.
  Now, it's just plain dangerous to go outside.

What have I to say to that?
  I, a writer, am left without words.
  But not for long! :)

2/3 of the U.S. bakes in the hot, dry sun,
  suffering heat matching that in Viet Nam,
  watching as the nation's food source burns and withers.

If this is not the vicious god, Climate Change, unleashing Gia's fury,
  then what is it,
  exactly???

But, let's not let a political debate contrived by those profiting from earth's destruction
  stop our conversation,
  for it is through dialogue that we will find our way through this.

It is we, the people, who are suffering under this burden.
  Yes, the wealthy will suffer too.
  Though their ownership of virtually all the resources
  will provide them temporary protection, it is at best - temporary.

When we are all gone, the water supply will disappear.
  Food will no longer cover the face of this earth.
  We will no longer be here to cater to the will of the plutocrats.
  No, they cannot hide long from the ravages of climate change.

But wait, this was not to be a political discussion.
  I'm sorry, but my anger sometimes overcomes my sense of rationality
   or my desire to act from a place of wisdom.
  The insanity of this situation is often more than I can comprehend.

This growing sense of despair, however, can be crippling.
  So overwhelmed by the shear vastness of this unstoppable beast are we,
  that we give up, turn our head, harden our hearts and close our eyes.

But this, my friends, is not who we were meant to be.

  It is not the fulfillment of the loving, compassionate, creative force

  that lies within our souls.

  Nor is it a reflection of the warrior, fueled by honor,

  that steps onto battlefields mined with explosives

  to fight for life.

OK – so most of us are not world leaders.

  We are not the plutocrats.

  We do not see ourselves as leaders.

  And we certainly do not understand this god,

  Climate Change.

But, we also are not the minions of the wealthy.

  We are not mindless, faceless consumers.

  We are not the masses that must be silenced.

No, we are strong.

  We have a voice.

  We have each other.

And, we have a vision.

  A vision for ourselves

  and for our children and generations beyond.

A vision of an earth bountiful in food and water.

  A vision of a people all the colors of the world,

  living in peace,

  sharing the resources,

  learning from each other,

  celebrating this precious life.

And why not?

We need now a vision

  more than we have in a very long time.

  

We need now a vision that transcends the devastation facing us.

  We need now a vision that will carry us forward into a future

  that we will design, for which we will offer our selves and our resources,

  a future which can come to pass

  Only

  if we, together, claim it.

Let this vision be audacious, bold and strong.

  Let us as warriors don our armor

  and step courageously and resolutely into battle,

  the battle not just for our lives,

  but for all life.

Now is the moment to which we all have been called.

Let us take our places as the stewards and guardians of life.

The Creatures: Part I...rerun

Some time back, I wrote this piece.  Then, as life would have it, I got caught up in my journey here in Viet Nam, leaving the next chapter unwritten.  I have some time now, so decided to see where this story might flow.  So, I'm republishing the first chapter here to be followed by chapter II.
--------------------

This is a story of creatures, seemingly quite small, that live below the surface of the water, a stream it seems.  These water creatures know this of life, ’Hold on to the giant boulders, always.’  Born, hold on, die.  And the generations pass.

Until one day, a creature is born who asks, 'Why? 'Why do we hold on?'  To this, none can find an answer.  This is, quite simply, a fact of life.  'It just is.  That's all,' state the elders.  And, they return to their business of holding on.

The one cannot find solace in this answer.  'But, why?' she asks.  They glance at her and smile knowingly.  'She is young,' they chortle.  'The young ask such silly questions.'  And they return their attentions to the most pressing of community issues.

Paid no heed by the others, she gazes up into the heavens.  There she sees familiar patterns on the liquid sky, the sparkles that dance in the light and are taken by the dark.  ‘Where do the sparkles go, really?’ she wonders.  ‘Why does the dark take them?’

The story, as told by the elders, is that there is an eternal war between the dark and the light, each stealing the sparkles in turn, when the other is sleeping.  One day, it is told, the dark will steal the sparkles and hide them where the light can never again find them.

On this triumphant day, a huge celebration is planned.  It will be the day of the creatures’ liberation from the beasts with the gaping maws that steal the young and swallow them whole.  The beasts with the gaping maws never come in the dark.  It is said that their spirits are taken by the dark along with the sparkles.

 Many believe the sparkles are the spirits of the great beasts.  No one knows for sure, but the elders seem quite certain.  And no one questions the elders, except the one.

She knows better, has been told to stay quiet, has been taught the ways along with all the other young.  But, the questions still come, begging for answers.  She senses there is more. 

Like the sparkles, the questions dance in her mind.  ‘There is more.  There is more.  But, what is it?’  ‘Why do the dark and light fight?’  ‘Where does the dark take the sparkles?’  ‘If the dark does hide the sparkles forever, will the beasts with the gaping maws really finally leave us and stop taking our young?’ 

And the question that sparkles more brightly than any other…  ‘If they leave, can we let go?’

All these questions, she asked the elders.  Their patience waning, they nevertheless answered, believing deeply in their veneered role of passing wisdom to the young and saving all from the gaping maws of the beasts.  But, when she asked that question, when she asked if they could let go, the elders flew into a rage.

‘Never!’ they screamed as one.  ‘Never shall you let go!’  ‘Never speak those words again!  And never, never let go!’

The others looked on in shock, holding more tightly to their rocks, as if the question itself would pry them from their fast hold on life and all that is.  There was a deep quiet that day.  The elders gathered closely, whispering and occasionally glancing back at her, with, it seemed, a mix of horror and disgust and concern.

Alone, hugging her rock, feeling once again like she was different, didn’t belong.  ‘Why don’t the others wonder these things?  Is there something wrong with me?  I am young. They are old and wise.  I am one.  They are many.  It is me.  There is something wrong with me.  Why can’t I be more like them?  Why can’t I just be happy with holding on?  Why must these questions steal my thoughts?  What are the answers?!’

And quietly, in the back of her mind, it emerges again, ‘What would happen if I let go?’

The questions hung on as tenaciously as did the creatures to their rocks.  Despite, or perhaps because of, the increasing rancor of the elders, the questions gained strength, became alive.  And, in their persistence, they bore yet more questions, leading ultimately to those forbidden from the mouths of all.  

‘Are the elders wrong?  Is the wisdom they teach untrue?  Is there, in fact, a different reality?’

Through the perpetual battle of dark and light, she watched.  As the great beasts with the gaping maws stole the young and those who could no longer hold on, she watched.  When the heavens shook under the pounding of the god’s fists, she watched.  And when the raging currents ripped even the strongest from their rocks and tossed them into the abyss, she watched.

Her questions, her inability to quiet them, and her persistence in asking slowly built a chasm between her and the others.  She held now to her own rock, separated from the community.  Even her own young had moved from her to the community, sensing her difference, confused by her questions, wanting security and friendship.  Wanting happiness for her young, she allowed their migration to the community and thanked the dark for hiding her tears. 

She accepted now her exclusion from the community.  The dark and light had come enough times that she knew her difference was real, and that she likely would never again be able to stand inside the community.  The chasm between her thoughts and theirs spread wider than the gaping maws of the beasts and seemed to grow with each passing light and dark.

She sought the quiet, the separation from what she had grown to recognize as the noise of the elders shaping the reality they wished others to see.  Their work never ended for new were always born and the world they wished to be quiet continued to shift and change, creating fear and requiring yet more efforts to pacify and maintain the creatures’ focus on the rocks.

Apart from the community, she heard her own voice more clearly.  She sought answers to the persistent questions inside her own being.  She learned to listen inside, to trust that perhaps answers could be found in the quiet of her own heart.  As the light and dark passed, so dawned a new understanding.  Yes, she was different.  But, that difference did not make her bad or defective.  It made her uniquely who she was.

And as she gazed at members of the community, she became aware that each had a unique sparkle.  That sparkle was dim for many, obscured more and more for those who experienced many passing light and darks.  But, it was strong in the young, bright, dancing, vibrating and pulsating like the sparkles in the heavens.  The young would look her way, recognizing the bright sparkle that surrounded her being, unaware of their own sparkle and fascinated by a connection they could neither name nor describe, but which they knew.  Often, she would hold their gaze and they would share a secret smile.  And then, noticed by the others, they would be pulled back within the fold, blocked from her view and taught by the elders.

She had grown to love herself in a way never possible in the community.  She came to believe that she was, in fact, good and that her uniqueness was not a curse, but a blessing.  And she relished the time to be with her self.  But still, there was an ache, a longing and a profound sense of sorrow that she could never reach far enough to span the chasm between herself and the community, that she could never again be a part of them.  At times, the aloneness consumed her.  Again, she thanked the dark for hiding her tears.

The Creatures: Part II

That she was different, she had finally come to accept, albeit with some trepidation.  The difference had been the source of much pain in her life.  For, it was not the difference of the rich and beautiful so emulated by young and old alike.  No, it was the difference of thought, the difference of voice, the unwillingness to ‘fit in’ and abide by the ‘rules’, and yes, even the audacity to ask who wrote the rules in the first place and what gave them the authority to do so.  This difference had earned her the ire not just of the elders, but of her companions.  It had led to the separation from her community and to the journey into her self.

The journey into self began with many battles and more tears as she relived the consequences she had suffered for being the ‘outsider’.  And through the tears, she came to realize that she had internalized the judgments of the others.  She had accepted the judgments and grown to see herself with derision and contempt.  In the dark, when even she couldn’t see the tears, she would curse the difference that was her.  But, she also knew there was no way to change.  This is who she was.

And, as she meditated she was visited by spirit guides who showed her visions; dreams of the lives past; visions of futures unfolding; visions of a world wherein she fit, where her difference was exactly what was needed.  She saw people of a different color and tongue beseeching her to join them, inviting her to step into the beyond.  

The spirits spoke with her, walked through the stars with her, showed her the heavens and the depths of the earth.  They danced with her, carried her on their backs, taught her to fly…  Then, one day they dissembled her, extracted the pain and rebuilt her from the remains.  The spirit guides were always by her side, in meditation and while awake, always reminding her that she was never alone, that she had a purpose and that it was time to step onto the path.

And then she remembered.  She remembered the vow she had made so many years past.  And she knew that every step of her life, all of it, had led to this moment.  It was time.  One last time, she gazed upon her young and her companions of old and smiled, assured that they would be okay.  And then, 

she let go.

Thinking Reality into Being

So, today my worst (current) nightmare became reality.

My air conditioner died.
  No more does it's sweet cool breath whisk the deadly heat from my skin.  It's only remaining viable function is to circulate warm, moist air.

I have been dreading this for some time,
   especially since I learned that

I was to be alone on campus for the month of July.

This is how the scenario played out in my imagination....
  The AC worked great until
    everyone was gone,
    the heat and humidity were absolutely unbearable,
    and on the weekend when the few remaining souls were nowhere to be found.

This is how it played out in reality...
  The AC worked great until
    everyone was gone,
    the heat and humidity are absolutely unbearable,
    and on the eve of the weekend when the few remaining souls are nowhere to be found.

Of course, aside from the panic this creates in my already melting body,
  I am pondering with interest that my fantasy materialized
  almost exactly as I had imagined it.

And then, I look back over a lifetime of such experiences...

I imagine it, think it
  and then, it exists.

Even now, I am living out dreams I've carried for many years.
  I'm doing development work in a developing country.
  I'm doing my favorite kind of work on my favorite topic.
  I'm working with an International Nongovernmental Organization
  And, I'm starting a new contract with the United Nations!

And this is just the beginning,
  Coincidence?
  I think not.
  I think, rather, synchronicity and active creation.

Now, I need to start imagining how the AC story ends...
   with a fixed air conditioner and me NOT sick!

in the image of God

I rode with Gia
  on the wind.

I saw the blighted earth,
  raw wounds, blackened ground, dead lakes.

And as I gazed, Gia could no more hold her fury.

Her scream turned to a roar, so loud that life stood still.
  Total, utter silence.
  The wind dared not blow.
  The rivers stopped running.
  Even the leaves upon the trees broke their dance.

In her beauty and majesty,
  light dancing off her countenance,
  Gia wept bitter tears for her children.

Children once so full of promise;
  now little more than whirling dervishes of greed and gluttony,
   spinning, spinning, spinning out of control,
  desecrating the sacred and leaving only destruction and destitution.

What happened to this creature made ‘in the image of God’?

How did we turn such a blind eye to the gift of life given us?

Can we, will we, dare we pull the veil and see
  the preciousness of this gift, life,
  and take the actions necessary to honor it?

Or will we
Just
Let
It
Pass?

Forgiveness

Forgiveness

For the fact that, though I try,

  I can not understand your culture, your ways, your beliefs.

For the fact that, despite my acknowledged ignorance of your ways,

  I still judge you.

For the fact that I allow myself to dwell on 

  preconceived notions of who you are and who you are supposed to be,

  rather than see you for who you really are.

For the accident of my birth that affords me clean water, food and shelter,

  even as you, out of sheer desperation, drink from fouled waters, 

  your only real choice being whether to die from thirst or 

  from the pestilence living in the brown water you bring to your lips.

For the sins of my nation’s leaders, 

  heinous, self-serving acts 

  shrouded in language of ‘freedom, democracy and “free” market’.

For the contribution of my self and my fellow Americans 

  to your plight, and for our total ignorance 

  of the impact of our actions on you.

Gia's Revenge

I’m trapped here in my room for the months of July and August. Actually, it started in late May when my body refused to comply with the ‘acclimatization program’ to which I was submitting it. So, all said, I will have lived primarily in my room for the better part of three to four months.

Get me not wrong.  ‘Living in my room’ means, quite literally, just that.  I cannot go outside for more than 15 minutes before my body starts sweating profusely.  Within 30-60 minutes, my heart is pounding, and I am drenched.  Much longer, and I start feeling dizzy.  Last Sunday, I stayed out for two hours and suffered heat exhaustion for the next two days.  So, yes, when I say ‘living in my room’, I do mean just that.

This circumstance was not one that I ever, ever considered in all my imaginings of how this journey might unfold.

‘No,’ my body said. 

‘I will not tolerate heat, nor humidity - period.’

‘And, while you ponder that, can you please infuse me with an IV drip

  as your little experiment has left me severely dehydrated.’

So, among the many blessings for which I give thanks, the air conditioner in my room ranks high, along with the bottled water filling the empty spaces on my floor.

Yet, here I sit under what I have to consider to be the ‘house arrest’ of those weakened by the heat by that notorious and merciless assassin, Climate Change. 

This god, Climate Change, was unleashed by Gia after years of gentle, but persistent warnings to her ungrateful, willfully ignorant, and self-indulgent children.  No longer can she withstand the continual and brutal assault.  No more patience has she for children run so afoul.  And, so she sends her god, Climate Change, not as a teacher, but as an assassin to cleanse the earth of that which soils the sacred gifts so freely given.

The god, Climate Change, is growing in force and impact.  It lays siege not just to the millions in developing countries who are hidden from view by the world’s wealthy, but now to millions in highly industrialized countries. 

Climate Change has no favorites.  The privileged position so favored by the highly industrialized countries does not shield them from the angry rejoinder of Gia to our arrogant and mindless destruction of the very forces she offered to protect us. 

Climate Change has many faces, severe drought, torrential rains, scorching heat, flash floods…  And, as only a god can, Climate Change dons those many faces simultaneously, inflicting sorrow and death across the globe with a litany of equally callous, yet always destructive assaults.

Make no mistake, Climate Change is not a political debate.  Climate Change IS a henchman, cloaked in black and carrying a broadsword dripping with blood.

My heart weeps with daily news of the devastation unleashed by this war god.

But, my heart is crushed by the unequal share of the brutality apportioned to those who had no part in unleashing this vicious god.  The poor and voiceless all round the globe, by definition, could not and cannot partake in the outrageous and arrogant behaviors that led to this debacle.  Yet, they remain the most vulnerable to Climate Change, the first to suffer the assaults of Climate Change, the least capable of withstanding the devastating blows, and the most likely to die.

My God, my God!

What have we done?!?

Standing for Gia and the People

There once was a man…
  Mind you, I mean it literally, a man.
  As we all know, women are not running the world
    so play a supporting role in this story, not the lead.

Anyway, there was a man.

This man suffered the fortune of being born
  into extravagant wealth.
  For that accident of birth, we can bear him no malice.

Through his youth,
  he did not experience hunger nor thirst nor, in fact, need of any kind.
  Of course, he had many wants -
  boats, techno toys, more variety from which to select, unlimited oil for his boat…

But, somewhere along the line
  he lost the capacity to discern between want and need.
  Or, perhaps
  he never learned the difference in the first place,
  having never really experienced need.

In his youth, this man was strong and virile,
  spawning children who as he, knew not of need,  but who,
  also as he, suffered from insatiable want.

But, forgive me.
  I have not given you the name of this man and his family.
   We shall call him Ubank Sovereign, Ubank for short.
   His family name is Plutocs.  The family is
   the US Plutocracy.

Together, this family celebrated their good fortune,
  new wealth,
  new power,
  new toys.
  So many reasons to celebrate.
  And celebrate they did,
   with feasts of such variety and enormity
   that there was always extra to be discarded.

And as the Ubanks before him,
  Ubank combined strategy, wile and cunning with his enormous wealth
   to accumulate yet more wealth.
  This, after all, is the US Plutocracy family dream,
   to accumulate wealth…all of it.

To his great delight, wealth generation came easily,
  for, as we all know, you can’t generate wealth without first having wealth,
  (wealth being defined as income above and beyond that required for basic sustenance).
  And, as he already owned the lion’s share of the wealth,
  well, quite frankly, it was (like) stealing food from a baby.

Of course, he made contributions to earn these immense rewards.
  To his credit we now have ‘forced obsolescence’,
    and a ‘throw away economy’,
    not to mention a thriving industry of waste removal, and yes,
    waste storage, what with the vast rivers moving downstream from his penthouse,
    and the oceans and sky at his behest,
    or should I say disposal?

But, his greatest accomplishment was the vast network of friendships
  he developed in a burg called Washing town.
  As required of any good relationship,
    he and his friends shared with each other
    in compassionate and enduring camaraderie.
  Nothing could break this (iron) triangle of friends.

Now, a few things happened in the course of Ubank's life
  that disturbed his otherwise unmitigated pleasure-taking,
   (or rent-seeking, which ever term suits you).
  and proved a lifelong irritant.
 What were these annoyances, you ask. Well, they were 
   obtaining resources to feed his family’s gluttonous appetites,
   and the pervasive whines from unwanted rabble gathered on his front steps.

He was brilliant in developing strategies to deal with the whining masses.
  ‘Manifest destiny’ moved many off his doorsteps and
    located them where he could no longer be bothered
    by their inexorable whining.
  Anointing avarice with moral and constitutional legitimacy
     busied the many who believed (!) they, too, could live as did he.

And, with his enormous wealth, he built ships of the sea and sky,
  and sailed to appropriate resources from heathens around the globe.
  His good and abiding friends in that burg, Washing town,
    lent their assistance to this noble cause through agreements with
    the folk of the Bretton Woods and other Ubanks around the globe.

Yet, all his sleepless nights and devoted work could not quiet
  the whining of the masses.
  Worse, the whining rose not just from his door steps,
     but increasingly from all corners of the world.

And out of the cacophony of ear splitting whining,
  there arose a voice,
    a voice that could be silenced neither with the pen of his Washing town friends,
    nor with the arms, that ironically, generated much of his wealth.

The voice shouted,
‘No more!’

‘No more shall you rape and pillage the poor and unpowerful!’

‘No more shall you steal the birthright of every human being
   to food and water and a livelihood and safety!’

‘No more shall your vile lies, depraved self glorification and extravagance
   feed on the human spirit and desecrate her mother Gia!’

'No more!' I say.

'No more!'
---------------------------
Though this piece is inspired by the plutocracy in the United States and it’s devastating effects on people and earth alike, it would be unfair to lay all the blame at their feet.  There are, in fact, in every society, those who amass untold wealth unto themselves and spend their lives (when they are not enjoying that wealth) implementing strategies to silence the voice of the people.  In all countries, there are wealthy and poor, not just in the USA.

Yet, we cannot avoid the fact that less than 20% of the world’s population in the USA and Europe consume 80% of the world’s resources.  And no, we do not have those resources in our own soil.  We steal them from others.

So, there needs be an accounting.

The earth, our mother Gia, is starting to exact that toll, even if we be in denial or engorging ourselves so that we can’t hear it.  The accounting has begun.

We are standing up…NOW.

The birthright of all human beings

 - food, water, a livelihood, freedom, safety,
   a world abundant in life and rich in blessings -

the birthright of ALL human beings.

NOW.

Fools or Heroes

The question arose, unbidden, in the dark-of-night sojourns of my sleepy mind.

Fools and heroes...
  Are they one and the same?
  Or, are they entirely different?
  Are they the opposite ends of a finite pole?
  Or, are they locations on a circle that has no poles, no beginnings, no ends?

Taking risks that any 'sane' person would 'know' were outlandish.
  Articulating dreams that stand in stark contrast to 'reality'.
  Standing by those dreams when everyone, everything, stands in the path of their realization.

Believing in the impossible.
  Seeing the unimaginable.
  Stepping into the unknown without protection.

A fool's errand?
  Or the makings of a hero?

If you stop to consider, regardless of whether we shall name this person
  fool or hero,
  the synergies are many.

So, what is it then, that marks a person
  a fool or hero?

Is it the outcome of the person's endeavors?
  If so, then we would add to the category of fool
  Aung San Suu Kyi, her years in prison, and a country still in desperate turmoil;
  Nelson Mandela, his numerous years in prison, and a country still ruled by the wealthy;
  Mahatma Gandhi, his self inflicted starvation to stop the fighting, and a country divided;
  The mothers of disappeared children in war torn countries who search endlessly...

Are these the ones we would relegate to the court of fools?
  Their visions weren't realized and they suffered greatly.
  Yet, few would consent to add their names to the court of fools.

So, if it is not the dreams nor the outcomes the person sought to realize,
  then, what is it?

Is it the actions taken, or the timing of those actions?
  To this, I submit a question...
  How can one possibly predict the many implications of one's actions?
  I assert that it is humanly impossible to know what ripples one will create with her actions,
  and that ultimately, the fool and the hero, have to act in semi-darkness.

So, fools and heroes alike,
  step into the unknown,
  take action based on a vision,
  and know not what may come.

Some are lucky in that their actions mingle with the currents of humanity
  to result in changes across the generations.
  The M15 popular uprising in Spain is living out Gandhi's dream of nonviolent demonstrations.
  Like M15, social movements across the globe recite the words and vision of Gandhi.
  He could not stop his country from fighting, but he has inspired generations.

Some are unlucky in that their courageous endeavors go unnoticed, or are silenced
  by those more powerful than themselves.
  Mothers are still searching. Many will never find their children.

But, they are still searching.
  They are still searching.
  Be they our fools?

To be a hero or a fool takes vision, courage, the audacity to believe one can make a difference.
  This, mind you, is not a fairy tale.
  The journey is never easy, and many times stretches beyond the person's life.
  There are not always 'happily ever after' endings.
  And the 'right' do not always vanquish the 'wrong'.

Yet, some will venture forth
  on a fool's errand or a heroe's journey.

And, at day's end,
  who are we to judge?

For while we debate and pronounce our judgments,
  fools and heroes
  are creating our world.

Heroes and Fools...Let's We be It

I started watching the news again
  after a 4-year hiatus.

I once had a bumper sticker that read,

  ‘If you’re not outraged, you aren’t paying attention.’

Only, I had paid so much attention
  that each day, I wept
  and struggled under a growing sense of
  ineptness, inability, and smallness
  in the face of so many seemingly intractable problems.

So, I retreated to a place of quiet,
  shutting out the world, and
  listening only to the quiet voices
  inside me.

In my cocoon of self-imposed abstinence from humankind’s vagaries,
  I found solace and peace, quiet and insight,
  images that seemed to verge on wisdom.

In that space, I learned to trust myself,
  the spirits that guide and watch over me,
  and the currents that flow through our lives.

Yet, what is real wisdom if not epiphanies
  rising from the ashes of failure,
  born of sorrow and
  forged in destitution?

No, I could lay no claim to wisdom
  if all I could do was to
  pronounce judgment from the safety of my cocoon.

We have botched it up, my friends.
  We were given a precious gift
  and we slandered and desecrated it.

But, even from the depths of my darkest despair,
  there calls forth a vision, a belief,
  that it is not over.

It is not over.

While we breath,
  and with every breath we take,
  there is another opportunity
  to shed the straightjacket of complacency,
  to allow our blood to fill with outrage,
  and to decide just what we can do
  to make change.

Each day,
  with every breath,
  each one of us.

And, in our valiant efforts to
  right the wrongs
  and breath life into this earth and our fellow beings,
  we will earn the wisdom forged
  of real, hands-dirty, blackened-eye living.

Let’s we be the heroes and the fools.

Synchronicity & Hope

I am struck by a strange and wonderful experience of late.

  I have written many poems on this blog in the last months.

  Usually, just a few people read the posts...my family and friends.

But, recently something happened.

  For some reason that I can not fathom,

  one of my poems caught fire.

Just two weeks after writing it, 

  more than 100 people had read it.

  I didn't say anything as I didn't want to bias

  what people read when they visited my blog (that's the researcher in me!).

  I wanted just to observe and see how this evolved.

But, now it is 3 1/2 weeks since I wrote it

  and the results are so interesting that I decided to comment.

  This morning I checked and 227 people have read this one poem?!

  Most people are not stopping to read the other poems,

  so I surmise they are visiting my blog specifically to read this one poem.

No one has commented on the poem,

  so I remain 'in the dark' about who is reading it

  and why.

But, one thing is sure;

  this one poem has attracted significant interest.

What's funny is that I wouldn't even count this poem as my best,

  yet, it is the one that seems to be making an impact on life…

  which leads me to the title of this piece, 

  and the contemplation this experience inspires for me.

The ideas I share next arise from my (limited) understanding of lessons from the New Physics.

    I believe that at an energetic level, everything -- all of life -- is connected.  If you were looking at the earth from the vantage point of the gods, you would see fields of energy spreading across the globe.  These energy fields contain an imprint or knowledge or spirit that affects all those who touch the field. 

    With this idea, you can explain simultaneous inventions at different points on the globe without shared communication.  We have many examples of that throughout human history.

Anyway,

  we are not gods, so our vantage point is ‘from the ground’.

  We mostly see what is directly in front of us.

  We have no way of knowing, must less understanding,

  how our actions fit into the vast energetic fields of life.

  So, we can’t possibly predict all the implications of our actions.

  I spoke of this quandary in my poem, ‘Fools or Heroes’.

In my own life, I have many stories of circumstances that had outcomes

  far different from those I had anticipated or even intended.

 

In one case, I found myself in a hotel room preparing to attend a meeting.

  I almost chose not to go to the meeting as I felt I had nothing to offer,

  and that my participation wouldn’t be beneficial.

  I was feeling particularly ‘small’.

  I finally decided to go and make whatever contribution I could.

  Several months later, I learned that

  my recommendation had been incorporated into a major international agreement,

  and is now guiding the work of many people around the world!

This is just one, rather extreme, example.

  But, it demonstrates my idea.

 

First, you never can know the full results of your actions.

  We are earthbound creatures and our perspective is limited.

  Second, whether we can see it or not,

  our actions might be part of a bigger energetic field,

  a force that is guiding human development and evolution.

I believe we are not asked to have the perspective of the gods.

  Rather, we are challenged to understand as much as we can.

  And then, we are challenged to take a risk to offer what we can.

We are to toss the pebble – ourselves - into the pond.

  Then, we watch.  We observe the ripples that our pebble caused.

  We learn whatever we can from our observations.

  And then, we act again based on our best knowledge and intuition and trust.

In this way, each of us can have an impact.

  Each of us can make our own unique contribution to life.

  Each of us can make a difference, make this world better.

This does, however, challenge us to trust that,

  perhaps we are part of something bigger.

  And that in order for us to develop and evolve as humankind,

  each and every one of us must find the courage to make whatever contribution we can,

  even when we feel small and insignificant.

There is synchronicity in life.

  Things, people, thoughts…are connected.

  Each action, no matter how small, adds up to something bigger.

We are part of something great and wonderful – life.

  And our life force is in trouble.

  Our planet is in trouble.

 

We are not small and insignificant.

  Rather, we all matter; we all count.

  So, we each make our own unique contribution.

  Our contributions work in sync with the contributions of others

  and together, we co-create and nurture the force that is life.

Now is not the time to give up and lose hope.

  Now is the time to discover that

  we are the hope!

Welcome Loneliness

Sometimes, my stomach rolls over and
  I feel a hole inside my soul
  that has no bottom.

It is a profound sense of lonliness
  that seems to come out of nowhere
  and wants to drag me back to that nowhere.

I am, by nature, an introvert.
  Not only am I comfortable spending
  many hours with myself,
  my soul seems to require alone time,
  even more so now that I have
  entered what my father lovingly called
  the third age.

But, this sense of loneliness does not originate
  in, nor is it caused by, my alone time.

It seems to have a life of its own,
  emerging in moments when I suddenly
  am immersed in quiet;
  stabbing deeply in the minutes after
  I bid farewell to my children;
  making surprise entrances
  like an acquaintance I had hoped
  had faded into my past.

It holds closely the fears and anxieties
  that come with this package called 'me'.
  It remembers the sorrows that have torn through my heart.
  It carries the worries, the disbeliefs, the doubts
  that haunt me in the night.

Many a visit from this unwanted specter,
  I run and hide, make my mind and body busy
  so I don't have to feel that which it brings.

But, sometimes I dare to face it, feel it,
  allow it to be inside me...
  like now.

And what can I say in this moment
  that I sit with this unwanted, but insistent guest?

I suppose I shall say, 'Welcome',
  albeit with a certain amount of trepidation.
  Yes, I shall say, 'Welcome Kristen.'

For this is a part of me,
  not some apparition.
  It is me.

And, if I can't welcome my self
  in its darkest forms,
  how can I possibly feel compassion for,
  empathize with, reach out to,
  another
  in her darkest moments?

For, I know in the deepest reaches of my heart
  that my loneliness is your loneliness
  and that of tens of thousands of others
  past, present, future...

We just want to know we are welcome.
  I know it's not quite so simple,
  but for me, it's a really big start.

Rise of the Phoenix

Dedicated to my Dear, Sweet Children

In life, the familiar routines of our days

  are occasionally disrupted by events
  that catalyze deep and life-altering
  change.

These are not the minor alterations of our design,
  like starting a new diet or even a new job.

Rather, these events often take us by surprise.
  They force their way into our lives 
  without invite or welcome.

And, they lay waste to 
  all
  that we know and cherish.

It, really, is only a matter of time
  before each one of us hears the song
  of these harbingers.

I call them harbingers for I believe
  that as long as we walk in this life,
  the events themselves are
  but a herald of the changes
  we are asked to make inside our selves.

Though these harbingers often
  take center stage,
  it is we who are the main characters and
  the authors of the story that follows.

I have been visited by harbingers
  a number of times these past 52 years.
  They arrived with a determination
  equal my refusal to recognize 
  that they came not for another,
  but for me.

And they persisted:
  sometimes with an abiding patience
  that my denial ultimately could not outlast;
  sometimes with a vengeance that 
  cut short
  my desperate and futile efforts
  to make them disappear.

And then, 
  they drew their sword
  and lay waste to my life.

My routines, my expectations, my relationships,
  my home, my future, my knowledge, my beliefs, my 
  self...
  All were challenged, turned upside down,
  or destroyed.

Many times, I felt as a bystander watching
  the destruction roll through my life,
  leaving nothing in its wake
  but the carcass of 'me',
  the memories past,
  and the horrible empty feeling
  of loss.

So why, you may ask, do I relegate
  these life-altering events to the singular role
  of harbinger?

It is precisely because,
  having lived through these events,
  I now realize that the purpose of the 
  harbinger was to herald a future as yet
  unbeknownst to me,
  and to prepare the way for me
  to create that future.

The destruction brought by the harbinger
  is a necessary prelude 
  to the creation process
  that follows.

It clears a place for the new to emerge;
  understanding, abilities,
  wisdom, focus, purpose,
  relationships, experiences,
  paths...

It creates the ashes from which
  the Phoenix may arise.

Looking back now, 
  I wonder...
  what portion of all the excruciating pain
  that I felt during these times
  was caused by
  my own refusal to see or accept
  that the time for change was upon me?

We find solace and security in the known.
  Change is, at an elemental level, 
  a direct attack on that sense of security.

So, it is natural that we would respond
  to the harbinger with denial, refusal to accept,
  and even an all-out-war against the change
  it is announcing.

But, having traversed this path,
  I have learned that
  new life awaits on the other side
  of the pain and devastation.

It's a new life of our making,
  and it brings a fullness and wisdom
  that we could never have experienced
  had we not accepted our role as author
  and lead character in the story
  about to be written.

Coming Home

What does it mean, I wonder,
  when the dream you have had your entire life
  does not match what your body will tolerate?

Does it mean the dream was out of whack?
  Or that your body is out of whack?
  Is it a cruel trick of the gods to send one
  into the dark abyss of 'then, why am I here, if not for this?'

Or, is it part and parcel of the journey?

The evidence is overwhelming and entirely consistent,
  starting clear back in May when I found myself on an IV in a health clinic bed,
  suffering from severe dehydration and heat exhaustion,
  and continuing through my brief walk home from the store today
  and the massive reaction my body had to the temperature and humidity.

I thought, perhaps, I could beat this thing,
  or outsmart it with my AC and water gluttony.

But, it seems that my body grows more intolerant
  of the heat and humidity each day.
  It reacts immediately and fiercely when I step foot outside my door.
  Three hours outside one weekend left me sick in bed for a week.

So, it's real.
  The sensitivity to heat and humidity that has plagued me since childhood has not been outgrown,
  cannot be outsmarted and will be ignored at my own peril.

I live now in my AC room 24/7 with brief jaunts outside for food.
  I can open my balcony door for up to 1/2 hour
  with the AC running before the heat becomes intolerable.

I thank God that the work I've been asked to do has required me to write and research,
  which I can do from the safety of my AC room.

But, the reality of the matter is finally sinking in.
  And, perhaps I'm finally listening.

No matter how much I dream or wish or get angry or...
  my body will not tolerate the heat and humidity.

This physical limitation means that there are many things
  I can not do in the development field and,
  for that matter, in developing countries.

If you look, you'll note than many of them are located in hot and humid climes.

I don't know what to do with all this just yet.
  There is a lump in my throat and my eyes are clouded.

To see clearly can be so very painful...