Some Glimpses of Hope

As is, unfortunately, common among people of my age group, I was at a funeral for the parent of a friend a few weeks ago. The service was at a Roman Catholic Church, very pretty, very large. As is usual when I attend a service such as this, I find my mind straying to all those Sunday masses I attended while in grade school and early high school, while also remembering the service for my father already fourteen plus years passed, and then imagining the inevitability of just such a service for my mother who is over 90 years old. That ever present link between the past and present and future.

Afterwards, at the luncheon, I sat with the work friends of my friend whose mother had passed, then when they left, sat with the granddaughter of the recently deceased, along with her three friends, all women in their mid twenties.

Other than my daughter's friends, who are now just entering their 30's, I rarely spend time in conversation with young women, and certainly not discussing the topics of the day. As a result, and despite the sadness of the occasion, I found some hopefulness after speaking with them for that hour or two although not necessarily because they were hopeful about what was happening today, but because they were aware of the issues, and able to express their opinions with clarity. 

Of the four, only one seemed content with her job, although, to be honest, the other three understood the nature of their current employment (to pay the bills), but still had hope that there was something out there on the horizon. They each had a gleam in their eye when thinking about the future, despite the obstacles that they were encountering. 

Two of the four were not in a relationship, but were not reticent to express their dissatisfaction with the dating pool. I have read a few articles recently about the seemingly immature nature of today's twenty something men, which was confirmed, although there was also lamentations as to where to seek a more compatible mate, internet dating apps not withstanding. 

I have often advised my own daughter to make sure she has a skill upon which she can rely for her own financial independence, so it was satisfying to hear that all four of these young women had taken such advice to heart themselves. At least for now, none of them was interested in selling herself short, whether such settling occurred in the social or personal or work aspects of their lives. 

In the recent past, there have been a number of actions that young people have engaged in concerning their awareness of the issues that will effect their futures. Obviously, there are millions of young people who are raising awareness of climate change and the damage we are doing to our shared planet, but just as vocally, protests and advocacy for common sense gun laws has also galvanized many people under 30 years of age, especially when they are the ones to have experienced active shooter drills while in elementary school. Not to mention that hundreds of school age children who have died on the alter of our country's veneration of the 2nd Amendment.

And, of course for the young women I spoke with, the simple fact that their reproductive rights are different depending on which state they reside in. They were fully aware that they have less rights than their mothers, and were less than happy to think that those rights were being restricted by, mostly, men.

Even more inspiring, there have been a number of articles detailing the high school walk outs that have been staged throughout America against the abuses and cruelty of ICE and the policies of the president. I would laugh, if it wasn't so sad, when I read school administrators or right wing pundits proclaim that anyone leaving school without permission would be punished, as if the threat of some kind of permanent mark on their high school record should dissuade them from voicing their concerns for the families of their fellow classmates.  

While I often bemoan the boomers who protested nuclear weapons, the Vietnam War, race inequality, gender bias, basically all the beliefs that the establishment used in attempts to teach conformity, but who now defend some of those very same injustices, especially as related to our horrific immigration policies, I can only hope that today's young people continue to strive for their ideals, to voice their outrage at what they find immoral and cruel. 

But more importantly, that they maintain those ideals even when their own comfort and privilege are threatened when those inequalities are addressed. Heaven knows, we, the baby boomers, sold our souls for bulging 401K balances, million dollar homes and yearly vacations overseas or to warmer climes. But if our young people are already compromising their ideals, what hope is there for real change?

Perhaps that in itself is naive, thinking that today's young people will do better than we did although I thought that was the foundational thinking of those we call the greatest generation; short term sacrifice to provide better opportunities for our children and grandchildren.

Over a dozen years ago, I wrote The Next Greatest Generation. The story reflected my hope, at the time, that in the near future a generation of Americans would alter the direction of America, and eventually, the world, just as it is said about the greatest generation of Americans who were born in the first 25 (or so) years of the 20th century.   

Here is a link to that story.

https://wurdsfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-next-greatest-generation.html

Since then, and especially in these last five years or so, my optimism has waned, so perhaps that sad event that led me to such an interesting conversation with four young women, and the walkouts and activism being demonstrated by young people across America, are indicators that there are many glimpses of hope out there, we just have to open our eyes to see them, but, more importantly, to encourage and support them. 

 

Olympics

I have been watching the winter Olympics these past two weeks, not every day, but most days. Sports can be a unifying force within America, and throughout the world, and the Olympics, despite the horrors of 1972, and the occasional political gesture by an athlete who chooses to use their temporary fame to make a point, is the perfect expression of men and women competing to win personal acclaim while honoring their country of birth. It is an attitude that belies those who believe that their country is the greatest ever, not because it is childish to think such thoughts, but because it is a shared belief that extends beyond arbitrary borders. 

I would even go so far as to say that pride in one's country is even more apparent among those athletes who, while successful in their own small world, have little chance of ending their event on the podium. They are Olympians even when they finish last, but still no less proud of their home country. It is a lesson that Americans often forget in our rush to celebrate gold, silver and bronze. 

Towards that point, over the course of the last two weeks, I witnessed a winter Olympic medal won for the first time for a few countries. Not first time this Olympic cycle, but first time, ever. Can there possibly be any more proud and moving an experience to be such an athlete who becomes the first of their countrymen to ever win an Olympic medal? Does it make that country any less exceptional to have achieved this initial feat, compared to a country like Norway which routinely wins the most medals at the winter Olympics?

Speaking of Norway, does their overall accomplishment in Milan -Cortina where they have won a total of 41 medals, which is about one for every 125,000 people, make them the greatest country of athletes in the world? As a comparison, America has won 33 medals, which is about one for every 10 million people. Don't get me wrong, I am extremely proud of the American athletes who won medals, but let's stop pretending that we are more proud of our accomplishments than people born outside our borders, or that we can come up with a bunch of statistics to prove we are the greatest country ever. Sometimes such bravado and constant need to proclaim excellence is more about insecurity than confidence.

But again, it was the athletes who set the tone that impressed me most. Athletes who celebrated the victories of their teammates as much as if it had been they who won. Athletes who comforted those who did not achieve a moment on the podium. Athletes who shared their success by acknowledging all those who helped them along the way. Athletes who smiled throughout their competitions and whose smile remained a fixture regardless of outcome.

One can only hope that for those athletes who did not perform as they expected, who fell short of their goal of Olympic Gold, the lesson of appreciation to have participated will allow them, should they be fortunate to find themselves in France in 2030, to be as honored just to be there as so many athletes who do not possess similar raw talent and the privilege of resources, have demonstrated these past two weeks.

While some might say that sports is the ultimate zero sum game as there are far more non-winners than winners, I maintain that true sportsmanship is better illustrated with the examples of hugs all around when the results are announced, or the handshake lineup that occurs after a hockey game when the winners and losers acknowledge the effort of each side.

It is a lesson completely lost on our current president, a person who is incapable of applauding the victor when the victor is not himself. Whether it be an election or a Supreme Court decision, he is incapable of congratulating the other side when he comes up short, instead resorting to exaggerations and outright lies to ease his damaged ego. He is the athlete that complains about the judging or who blames the sun in his eyes. The penultimate sore loser.

Fortunately, such behavior was mostly not in view during these winter Olympics, and that is certainly something to celebrate.

I was especially interested in the hockey competitions, both men and women. The fact that the United States won gold in both instances was certainly exhilarating, especially today's early morning overtime victory by the men's team. Perhaps it was a bit easier for me to cheer them on as it was obvious that the Canadian team was better. Not Miracle on Ice better, but certainly if not for our goaltender, the USA team would have lost 3 or 4 to 1. 

Is it not sweeter, then, to win in an upset than when favored? Truly, America was born from being the underdog, having bested the most powerful military in the world, at the time, to gain our independence. Perhaps it is too subtle for someone like Trump to understand, or for so many Americans for that matter, but there is always a bit of comeuppance that is wished for against the team, or country, that "holds all the cards", so to speak.

And, perhaps, that is the real issue for someone like Donald Trump. He believes that the powerful should always take advantage of the weak, if not, then what is the point of accumulating such power or influence or might? The fact that the United States has been a world power for 80 years, and that, for the most part, we used that advantage to attempt to improve everyone's lives, the global community, as it were, is translated by Trump into a belief that we were "taken advantage of". Only someone who believes that there is only one winner in an transaction thinks that way, and that is the essence of his thinking. 

And so it is no surprise when portions of the world begin to turn their back on us. To enact their own Make (fill in the country) Great Again policies. To stop caring about our neighbors, or even our planet, since the country with the most is being led by someone without empathy. Who in fact believes such thinking weak, and woke. Who would be the kind of athlete who looks with disdain at all those who they defeated, rather than as comrades who competed together, who helped make each other better for that competition, and who celebrate the effort knowing that the roles may be reversed next time.

What is truly sad, is that most people will agree with me about athletes who are humble and gracious in victory while disliking those who behave like spoiled children when a competition does not end as they hoped, yet still support a president who exhibits all the bad traits of that very same, selfish athlete who expresses their disappointment with a hissy fit, or an excuse, or both.

 

   

 

 

 

Gandhi and Pluto revisited

I was remiss in not mentioning my respect for the Buddhist monks who just completed their 2300 mile walk (yes, walk) from Texas to Washington DC. Their "Walk for Peace" began in October from their temple in Fort Worth on October 26th, finishing in DC yesterday. While short, here is a link with some basic info and reactions to their journey.

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2026/02/11/monks-celebrate-end-walk-for-peace-lincoln-memorial/88624584007/ 

While I can't say that I followed their trek daily, I did get updates from Nora. Such an inspiring effort by men who have made a commitment to their beliefs, but more importantly, try to live as those beliefs teach them. Such dedication and self sacrifice makes the raucous debate over Bad Bunny and the Super Bowl halftime show seem as trivial and petty as so much of the vitriol that is rampant in America today.

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I have altered my approach to updating my posts into a more readable (OK, a larger font) format. I am now systematically opening every post from newest to oldest and updating those which need the process. Fortunately, I began using the larger font in 2021, so last week I started accessing each entry beginning in December 2020. So far I have worked my way from 2020 through 2015, which leaves me with five years to go.

Today I updated a post called Gandhi and Pluto, from July 2015, and thought it appropriate to reprint it along with my reference to the monks walk. So, rather than a link, here is the post.

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The July edition of National Geographic has, among others, two articles I found very interesting.  One concerns the legacy of Gandhi's teachings in India today, the other the long awaited fly by of Pluto by the New Horizon spaceship.

I am not sure if the connection that occurred in my mind between the two articles would have happened had I not read them consecutively, but a connection nevertheless sprang to me as I walking the dog today.

Is it possible that other forms of life in the universe will only be discovered when mankind begins treating the forms of life on earth with respect and equality?

The Gandhi article recounted what many consider his penultimate action, the 1930 Salt March.  For those of you unfamiliar with this event, at the time, there was a tax on salt production, proceeds of that tax going to the coffers of Britain, as India was still part of its empire.  Gandhi's decision, in retrospect, to stage this march to the sea where he would illegally (not pay the tax) produce salt, is genius, but was not universally supported by those advocating for Indian independence.  As is so often the case with leaders who talk the talk but do not walk the walk, Gandhi understood that the way to reach the common people was to relate the need for freedom to their lives.  As Gandhi said, other than water and air, salt was the commodity most required by Indians considering the extremely hot weather of the country.  Noble concepts were one thing, salt was a part of everyday life.

What is so amazing about Gandhi was that his focus on salt, so basic yet so powerful, was just a part of his message.  During his walk, he stopped at some of the poorest villages in the area, and went out of his way to challenge the caste system by inviting the "untouchables", not only to be part of the walk, but as a symbol to those Indians who supported the caste system that they might understand that the meaning of freedom was not just freedom from British rule, but freedom from poverty and social injustice for all Indians.  To further that ideal, he encouraged spinning of cloth, not just, again, as a protest against Britain, but to encourage everyone to wear khadi, to look the same, as an analogy to his hope that by looking the same, everyone, high born or low, might be treated with similar fairness.

The thought that started the connection to Pluto, was Gandhi's belief that religions are not for separating men from one another, but to bind them.  He revered Jesus, could quote verses from the Bible and Koran, and was a devout Hindu, but he also knew that true  independence needed to be founded on a democracy based on laws not religions. Considering the misguided attempts by fundamentalists in many corners of the planet to fashion their governments from specific tracts of their religious tomes, Muslim and Christian, it is not surprising that Gandhi's dream is still illusive, both in India and in much of the world.

Perhaps, if we were to judge our religious leaders on their similarity to Gandhi, his lack of material possessions, his time spent among those with the least, his efforts to promote equal treatment of all people, we might find those leaders to be without moral high ground, and it might explain why too many of those leaders advocate messages of blame, isolation and hatred as opposed to unity, community and love.  It is far easier to get rich when your message promotes friction than it is when you advocate for tolerance and peace.

And, perhaps, despite our best efforts to find life in the universe, despite the myriad number of vessels we have cruising through the solar system and beyond, despite the radio and TV signals that even now communicate how we live and how we die, we have not found life outside planet Earth because we haven't learned how to treat life on planet Earth.  

Whether it be the animals that we slaughter for their skin or their bones, the sea creatures we poison via our dumping of trash in the oceans, the birds we kill by belching toxins into the air, or the people we dehumanize because their skin color, gender, age, or any trait that has been deemed different, our lack of love for life on this tiny blue ball spinning anonymously in the cosmos, might be the reason for this lack of success.

There are those who worry what life from afar might do to us, but perhaps they have not come forth because they worry what we would do to them.  Based on what we do to each other, it would not be surprising.

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In June of 2022, I wrote a story called the Universal Guild which concerns that very same premise that I touched upon in the last paragraph of Gandhi and Pluto. The idea that we will never find other life in the universe until we learn how to treat each other on this tiny blue planet we call Earth. Here is a link to that story. 

https://wurdsfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2022/06/the-universal-guild.html

It is very clear to me as I reread those posts 2010 to 2016, up to 2020, that the exact problems that I discussed, the exact same issues that I wrote letters to my local newspapers about, the exact same topics that were being debated in our country, have not changed.

This, in itself, is not necessarily a bad thing, or a surprise if you were to research the debates that our founders had with each other as they developed the foundations for our country 250 years ago.

What is sad, nay, depressing, is not only the lack of progress, but the depth of the backsliding that has occurred in the years since I established wurdsfromtheburbs.

Are my feelings the result of being more politically aware than before? Perhaps, although I can recall having strong political views as far back as 1980 when trickle down economics under Reagan began the slow deterioration of middle class buying power. 

Certainly, the nature of the news media today with its extreme us vs them message that distorts everyone's opinions, may also be a factor. It is far more difficult to find unbiased news that it was even a decade ago.

But what if the real blame is actual reality? That there really is a decline in progress, and that is not just the normal pendulum swing that sometimes means two steps forward will always be followed by one step back. I would imagine that people who lived towards the end of other great civilizations, Roman or otherwise, may have felt the same foreboding but then may have just as readily chalked it up to the normal cycle of things, not knowing that their uneasiness was true.

Predicting doom is as old as communication between people, written or oral. I would think that since we are all mortal, if would be natural for us to have thoughts that broached our own mortality as well as that of the culture or society as a whole.

Yet it is still true that great civilizations that accomplished magnificent feats of creation, invented incredible mathematics, developed insightful philosophies and explanations of the world, eventually declined, some to be absorbed into the general knowledge base of humanity, some to be lost forever within our known history.

There is no guarantee that the American experiment of governance will last forever, no divine right that our vision will succeed. 

Whether the real truth is that we are one of millions of species in the vast universe, or the one and only sentient life form created as an experiment to see just how close we might come to a Great Awakening, it kind of doesn't matter in the short run, and frankly, as beings whose lifespans rarely exceed 100 years, we are the epitome of the short run.

What does matter is that we take seriously the lessons of the monks who just completed their walk, or of Gandhi, or even the person in our own lives whose example has inspired us to do better, to treat all those we meet as we would want to be treated. And, not just person to person, but nation to nation, and, perhaps, someday, planet to planet. 

  

Christmas Is

I have often recently mentioned that I am far less optimistic about the future of humanity, let alone America, than when I began posting in 2010. I have also speculated on how much of that increase in loss of hope is related to the mere fact that I have entered the last 20% of my life span, in other words, the fear of death and the confrontation with mortality. 

As I continue my process of editing the past posts which were created with a font that I now find far too small (again, a sign of getting older), I encountered this poem from January 2017, a poem I sent along with our yearly Christmas cards to family and friends and which I then posted for my "readers".

It clearly reflects a hopefulness, in addition to an acknowledgement of the blessings in my life at the time. And, to put a time stamp on it, was written as the first Trump Administration began.

Not to put too fine a point on why I might be less hopeful, nine years later, I feel we have gone backwards when thinking about the hopes I detailed in the poem. That our evolution towards a "spiritual enlightenment" has taken a back seat, way back in the communal bus we all share, to selfishness as depicted in America First, and to an embrace in cruelty as is playing out in the mass deportation policies that are wreaking havoc on American communities and American families. 

And, to be blunt, how such thinking is not considered "woke". 

Worse, that we now seem aligned with the other bullies of the world, in an almost choreographed plan which will create two or three areas of the world controlled by those with the biggest armies and most powerful weapons, a scenario which men like Stephen Miller not only seek, but believe is justified from past violent regimes which controlled large swaths of land in centuries past. 

Or as he says, "the real world is controlled by strength, by force, and by power."

Anyway, here is the poem I sent for Christmas, 2017, which, I believe actually reflects what most people wish for but are afraid, too selfish, or just unable to connect the path to such a time with the actual actions by those in power who prevent that future from developing, and our communal responsibility for electing such people in the first place. 

 

Christmas Is

It is not the presents we get

although it is nice to feel the love

that inspires our family.

It is not the gifts we give

although the delighted faces of

our loved ones warms the heart.

It is not even the time we spend

with our family and friends in

celebration of the holiday season.

Christmas is more than the wonderful

memories we accumulate over the years

in ornaments, pictures, and holiday meals.

Christmas is hope.

 

Hope that the New Year will bring happiness

and good health to our friends and families.

Hope that our country will focus on our similarities

and finding common ground, rather than elevating

our differences and points of debate.

Hope that humanity, all races, creeds, and nationalities

will continue to evolve towards a spiritual enlightenment

which results in tolerance, acceptance, and Love.

 

Just Kids

A book review in The Atlantic about Patti Smith's new book Bread of Angels prompted me to borrow Patti Smith's first book, Just Kids from the library, as I thought I would read that novel first before her newest effort. I was extremely happy I did.

For those of you who are not familiar with Patti Smith, and I include myself in that category, she is an incredibly versatile, talented woman who has mostly flew under the radar during her prolific career. Yes, her debut album Horses was met with wide acclaim for its originality and depth, but she is so much more than a rock star, punk rock star at that.

Born in 1946, Smith was one of the many millions of babies born after the atrocities of WW2. I believe it is a given that the horrible acts committed during that world wide conflict, led to millions of people to seek joy and a new perspective after such a horrific conflict, creating what we now call the baby boomer generation. To put numbers to it, in the eighteen years generally considered the baby boomer generation, 1946 to 1964, about 76 million babies were born to an American  population that was about 140 million in 1945. Talk about replacement theory! 

Just Kids recounts Smith's childhood days, her struggles in school, and her early search for her identity, a search which eventually takes her to New York City. It is there that she meets Robert Mapplethorpe, the yin to her yang.

As someone who often thought he was born a bit too late, having just missed the 60's and the social upheavals that fashioned the lives of those who entered that decade as teenagers rather than infants, I devoured this book imagining myself traversing the challenges of developing an artistic identity while working in menial jobs to pay the bills. 

This is not to say that Smith glorified those early days. To the contrary, bouts with lice and hunger, uncertainty about shelter, while seemingly the stereotypical experience of the struggling artist, were presented as the daily difficulties that she faced, often with tears and depression.

It is an honest depiction which does not ask for pity for the bad times or express a "I-knew-it-would-all-work-out" false bravado when she does start to achieve some success. 

Sadly, the book, although written in 2010, ends with the death of Mapplethorpe in 1989. In fact, Smith recounts the deaths of many of her acquaintances during that time, not to mention her reactions at the deaths of more famous people like Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin, among others. Although Smith is married to the late Fred Sonic Smith by then, and has two children, the loss of Mapplethorpe is palpable. She often states in the book that Mapplethorpe considered her his muse, but it is obvious that without his influence she would have never succeeded. Losing someone like that is true loss.

In my musings about being born in Smith's time, I wonder if I would have gravitated to New York's artistic scene, or perhaps California's campus protests. Smith only passingly touches on the Vietnam War, and as far as I can remember does not mention losing any friends to that overseas conflict although peak loss of American soldiers lives was from 1966 to 1970, which means that in took the lives of her contemporaries, people born between 1946 and 1950.

Of course, it is just as possible that I would not have survived those years. That like many of her friends I would have succumbed to a drug overdose or disease through an experimental homosexual encounter. Or perhaps I would have fled to Canada rather than serve in an immoral war, or fled merely because I was afraid to die. 

Another reason, a harsh truth if you will, to pretend that I would have pursued a writer's life had I been born eight or ten years earlier is to provide an excuse for not doing it regardless of my birth year. I certainly had the opportunity to follow a path of creativity in the years after I dropped out of college to "find my myself". Perhaps it was just a lack of discipline and persistence and focus. 

The good news is that I wouldn't trade my current life for these what-ifs. My life with my dear wife Nora, and the two children we raised, would never have occurred were it not for my path which resulted from the hand I was dealt by the birth lottery, and the decisions I made as I navigated my "life".

All of which increases my admiration for Patti Smith as she saw it through, stayed true to her belief that she had something to say, that all those early experiences added together enhanced her ability to create, to entertain, and to inspire others through her music and poetry. 

And, if I may be so bold to say, helps fuel my continued maintenance of this blog which is now approaching sixteen years of existence.   

It seems to be a very fine line which separates those who become famous in the worlds of music, art, writing, etc, and those who toil all their lives just below the point of "making it", who continue to write, perform, create, just for the love of it, and just to share it, and perhaps, at the odd moment, inspire someone as well. 

We are all the luckier for both those whose names are well known and those who create without achieving fame or fortune, especially when so many of the latter become teachers and mentors for those who are just beginning their own life paths. 

And, without appearing too metaphysical, I wonder if it the latter group will experience the more complete reward in the next life, the former having attained their reward in this one. 

Finally, two quotes from the book.

"In the war of magic and religion, is magic the ultimate victor? Perhaps priest and magician were once one, but the priest, learning humility in the face of God, discarded the spell for prayer." page 61.

Smith often touches on religion and spirituality, a result of her Catholic upbringing and her insatiable quest for truth.

"I learned from him that often contradiction is the clearest way to truth." page 200.

This quote appears towards the end of the book, as Mapplethorpe comes to grips with his homosexuality and his fear that by accepting that trait, it would deligitimize their relationship. That being categorized as a gay man would mean that his deep connection with Patti Smith, physically, emotionally, spiritually, would be deemed some type of false experience.