So, Ariel is at it again. Dreaming. When Ariel was a child, we lived way in the country of New Hampshire. My kids went to Pine Hill Waldorf School. It was a bit of a commute in our VW bus, not because it was far away, but because the dirt roads and the hilly territory were often a challenge. I mean that. Another challenge was getting the kids ready and out in the morning. And part of that particular challenge was that Ariel meticulously recounted her dreams from the night before.
I mean meticulously. I mean every detail and corrections and going back if she missed a bit. We were truly interested. I didn't dream that much and certainly didn't recall that much. Somehow we knew it was special, yet we had to get on with the day. So, while making lunches and finding mittens and racing around, we tried to pay attention.
But my attention was not worth much because I didn't have any framework for knowing what her dreams meant. I still don't have much. She, however has learned a lot about her dreams. She is still leading an extremely rich life during her sleep. At one point when she was in college, her dreams were disturbing. Seriously disturbing. We found her a Jungian dream annalist to see. It didn't help that his offices were in an old Gothic former mental hospital. Let us add ghosts to the dreams. Ariel had always been sensitive to ghosts and spirits around. This building was right out of a horror movie. Even I could practically hear the screams of the suffering inmates.
I think he was a big help to her, that guy. And now, many years later, I find myself listening to her dreams and we are both hoping to gain some insight.
In my sketchy and positively minimal understanding about dreams and from my own personal experience, I have gleaned a few tidbits. I discount dreams as 'livery' or 'kitchen nightmares' if I have eaten a lot of cheese or chocolate right before bedtime. (same goes for booze, I assume) They don't usually offer any deep insights into my unconscious.
It is an interesting Jungian perspective to look at every person in your dream as yourself; the baby, the brat, the goddess, the farmer. It is also interesting for me to separate dreams into types I recognize. I do have the 'liver" dreams, but I also have recurrent dreams and prophetic dreams.
It is not hard to recognize the recurrent dreams, duh, they reoccur. I had two that kept coming back during the 21 years I was married and stopped dead when we split up. One was a kind of Andrew Wyeth scene on a small farm on the Maine coast. I was in the field next to the house. A strong breeze was blowing. I was hanging things on the clothesline. The 'things' were clam shells. They were blowing and rattling in the breeze. That's it. Year after year, I saw this scene in my dream. I need you Dr. Jung. And when it was over, it never returned.
The other dream I had during those years, I think of as a past life dream. I was a beautiful, dark skinned young woman in India. I assume that I was Muslim. I was with a bunch of people on the street, mostly very young people, men and women. We were yelling and screaming and throwing rocks at a handsome upper caste young man riding through the countryside on an elephant. He was so high above us (super elephant?) that our noise and protests could hardly reach him. We were the angry peasant rabble and he was not.
Gets confusing if I think I was all the characters. Never did figure that one out and then it was gone.
There was this dream which I think of a prophetic one. It was a one off, but it was in super vivid color and clear sound. The kids and I were living in the magical cabin in Temple, New Hampshire. It was the one with the mile long dirt driveway built on a little quarry pond. The one built around two pine trees that grew through the roof. I had gotten divorced and it was untenable to stay there. I used to say that the house had all of the luxuries and little or none of the necessities. We had a six foot fabulous bath tub, but the pump often didn't work. We had a giant stone fireplace, but no heat. I had to sell and move to somewhere where I could work and take care of my kids.
The house sale proved to be one of those nightmares. We had 33 acres, but no legal road access. It was an oasis and on and on. Buyers came and sales fell through. I was getting pretty desperate. A fabulous buyer came along and then had a heart attack right before the sale. Blah, blah.
In the dream there was a pirate ship, very old, very decayed, very rustic, very romantic (just like the house). There was a swash buckling buccaneer up on the mast yelling cheers and threats to the wind as the decayed ship was being chased by many other ships. A storm was raging. The ships timbers were groaning. The crew was trembling and wanted to cave in and stop the chase. The chasing ships had herded the pirate into a situation in which he was headed at full sail towards the shore. Doom was certain not matter what. Everyone was screaming. Then the ship hit shore and the storm stopped, the sun came out. The other ships disappeared. Everyone was safe.
Thank you, Jesus. I awoke having no fear about the house sale. The sale took a good while and more drama ensued and then, just as in the dream, it all was done, everyone was fine, and life moved on.
In that dream I know I was every character. I have a lot of swash buckle, but I have a lot of fear and trembling also. I look forward to hearing more of Ariel's dreams and her wisdom about what they are telling her.
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Monday, September 28, 2015
Bohemian Nomad" Sounds better than "Homeless Grandma".
At least to me, it does. The thing is that I have a kind of mortal dread of owning things and I tend to get high as a kite when I am setting off on a new adventure. That being said, I have become part of a far flung community of similar folks. We 'Bohemian Nomads' are all ages, from all over the planet, and my gang tends to have very specific types of destinations. We want warm. We want want inexpensive. We want beauty. We want strong local culture and flavor. We wand a simple life style. We want an absolute minimum of hassles for a good life.
We do not get freaked out when the internet doesn't work for a day. We do not get upset if the electricity goes off. We have time to hang out a lot. Everyone has his/her own set of interests. We often see each other when it happens, more by accident than by plan.
I know that there are countless subcultures that function this way. This is the one I have fallen into. Surprisingly, more and more young people are becoming long term nomads. One Australian couple I met had worked tech jobs in London 70 hours a week for a few years. When they realized they hadn't seen the sun in 2 years and were drinking gallons of coffee by day and too much booze at night, they ht the road. I met them after they had been traveling for 2 years and they were fit and healthy and happy and planned to go home someday and maybe buy a house. They had learned several languages, learned lots of skills, worked for orphans, rescued animals and so on. They owned nothing.
Some folks do remote work while they travel. Some get a pension, the usual spread. Well, as I firm up my plans for this winter (I mean I purchase a few tickets, and make myself aware of what visa limits I have in which country), I have heard from some of my fellow nomads. I am meeting friends from the US in Bangkok on their way home from China. I am meeting a Brit friend in Bangkok also. She is on her way to Vietnam for a spell, and figuring out where to rent in Nicaragua for the rest of the year. I will see some inspiring nomads in Bali. She is from Argentina, he from Scotland. It is kind of coming together this week. Each of us made our plans separately and now find we are on the same path.
I tend to go somewhere, establish a routine, (coffee shop, church or temple, news source, favorite restaurant, SWIMMIMG POOL) and then wander from there. People have been doing this forever and everywhere, and I am pretty new at the game.
Most of the older nomads have a foothold at home, that is to say they have a home and a car and a change of clothes. Many are tired of being maintenance people for their homes and are selling. Others are getting over wandering and looking for something at home that gives them comfort and freedom. I am still not ready to land anywhere partly, to be honest, because I am so sanguine about what I like and partly because if I had a permanent home in the US, I don't see how I could afford to wander.
Happy today and, God willing, happy tomorrow.
We do not get freaked out when the internet doesn't work for a day. We do not get upset if the electricity goes off. We have time to hang out a lot. Everyone has his/her own set of interests. We often see each other when it happens, more by accident than by plan.
I know that there are countless subcultures that function this way. This is the one I have fallen into. Surprisingly, more and more young people are becoming long term nomads. One Australian couple I met had worked tech jobs in London 70 hours a week for a few years. When they realized they hadn't seen the sun in 2 years and were drinking gallons of coffee by day and too much booze at night, they ht the road. I met them after they had been traveling for 2 years and they were fit and healthy and happy and planned to go home someday and maybe buy a house. They had learned several languages, learned lots of skills, worked for orphans, rescued animals and so on. They owned nothing.
Some folks do remote work while they travel. Some get a pension, the usual spread. Well, as I firm up my plans for this winter (I mean I purchase a few tickets, and make myself aware of what visa limits I have in which country), I have heard from some of my fellow nomads. I am meeting friends from the US in Bangkok on their way home from China. I am meeting a Brit friend in Bangkok also. She is on her way to Vietnam for a spell, and figuring out where to rent in Nicaragua for the rest of the year. I will see some inspiring nomads in Bali. She is from Argentina, he from Scotland. It is kind of coming together this week. Each of us made our plans separately and now find we are on the same path.
I tend to go somewhere, establish a routine, (coffee shop, church or temple, news source, favorite restaurant, SWIMMIMG POOL) and then wander from there. People have been doing this forever and everywhere, and I am pretty new at the game.
Most of the older nomads have a foothold at home, that is to say they have a home and a car and a change of clothes. Many are tired of being maintenance people for their homes and are selling. Others are getting over wandering and looking for something at home that gives them comfort and freedom. I am still not ready to land anywhere partly, to be honest, because I am so sanguine about what I like and partly because if I had a permanent home in the US, I don't see how I could afford to wander.
Happy today and, God willing, happy tomorrow.
Saturday, September 26, 2015
Who are these refugees?
They are God's children, like you and I. That sounds too facile. They are Everyman. Also too facile. One thing I do know is that every refugee inside their country or leaving their country is driven by some unbearable situation. Whether it is war or famine or oppression or disaster, leaving is a terrible and wrenching decision. Our birthplaces smell right, the water tastes right, the land and seasons are familiar. And moreover, leaving family and friends is terrible. No one takes the decision easily. It is a gut wrenching decision.
And things have to be so bad, that staying just is not an option. Period.
And when we see them coming, they are at their worst. They have been traumatized, often starved, have watched their home situation get worse and worse. Then they travel, often with no food or water, often being brutalized in transit, often bringing nothing, often experiencing more losses as they flee. So many refugees look like shit when they find their destination. And they smell bad sometimes. And they are disoriented and often arrive where a different language is spoken.
You all know this. But what we should remember, I think, is three fold. They may have a fabulous education and be wonderful human beings. They might be simple souls. But they will be forever grateful for a bit of love and help. And above all, they want to go home when things get better in their country of origin.
A lot of things confuse this. There may be no home to go back to. They might fall in love and start a family where they land. There might be a death sentence if they go back. Lots of things. But my experience with the young refugees who lived in my home over the years was that they really appreciated being given an education. They really appreciated being welcomed. They really wanted to be free from the strife they were fleeing. They wanted to reach their highest potential. They were like my ancestors when they came here, hungry, tired, and ready to work for the chance at life.
I find them, as a group, inspiring. Recovering from trauma is daunting. Starting over, especially with no language skills is really daunting. Walking into the great unknown is daunting. I look to refugees past and present for inspiration, for strength, for hope.
They are not going to take a big chunk of your piece of the pie. They are going to add more to it. If we and other countries treat refugees honorably, we will be working toward creating peace on earth.
And things have to be so bad, that staying just is not an option. Period.
And when we see them coming, they are at their worst. They have been traumatized, often starved, have watched their home situation get worse and worse. Then they travel, often with no food or water, often being brutalized in transit, often bringing nothing, often experiencing more losses as they flee. So many refugees look like shit when they find their destination. And they smell bad sometimes. And they are disoriented and often arrive where a different language is spoken.
You all know this. But what we should remember, I think, is three fold. They may have a fabulous education and be wonderful human beings. They might be simple souls. But they will be forever grateful for a bit of love and help. And above all, they want to go home when things get better in their country of origin.
A lot of things confuse this. There may be no home to go back to. They might fall in love and start a family where they land. There might be a death sentence if they go back. Lots of things. But my experience with the young refugees who lived in my home over the years was that they really appreciated being given an education. They really appreciated being welcomed. They really wanted to be free from the strife they were fleeing. They wanted to reach their highest potential. They were like my ancestors when they came here, hungry, tired, and ready to work for the chance at life.
I find them, as a group, inspiring. Recovering from trauma is daunting. Starting over, especially with no language skills is really daunting. Walking into the great unknown is daunting. I look to refugees past and present for inspiration, for strength, for hope.
They are not going to take a big chunk of your piece of the pie. They are going to add more to it. If we and other countries treat refugees honorably, we will be working toward creating peace on earth.
Friday, September 25, 2015
Veni Vidi Vici/ The Pope's Miraculous Visit to the United Nations
I am so spaced out or maybe the correct words are 'spaced in'. I just watched Pope Francis' speech at the United Nations headquarters in New York City. So many words and moments are rushing through my mind. So much peace in my heart. Mr. Gandhi was often heard to say that for every weapon made, there would be a more powerful one made to top it, but the most powerful weapon that could ever be used is love. I think I saw that in action today.
Speaking truth to power, the Pope quietly, lovingly, crushed any and every argument that could possibly be used for the unspeakable acts and words of violence that are happening today. Truth, compassion and love are not soft, compromising, weak acts. They are the most powerful forces that are available to the human spirit. White Eagle said, "Everything is spirit. That is all we need to know and spirit is triumphant over matter."
Amen.
Inspired people give something of their grace and power to everyone they encounter. Anyone who has ever been in the presence of such individuals has experienced this. They transmit heart to heart. I felt that through the computer recording of Pope Francis today. I have felt that in person (in the company of thousands of others) when I was gifted to be near the Dalai Lama, Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandala, Pir ilayat Inayat Khan, Thich Nhat Hanh, and Chief John Pretty on Top.
The thing that always strikes me the most is that the most powerful people I have encountered are the least self striving and the least egoistical. That or Zen or was it Christian or was it Islam thing of losing yourself to find yourself. And it is risky business. Christ, King, Gandhi, the list can go on and on, lost their lives to speak their truth. But they live on because they fused their hearts with many.
And I like it a lot that Francis could be living the life of luxury that his office affords, but is taking the opportunity his office affords to be a voice for the voiceless. Maybe this will remind all of us that Jesus spoke truths 2,000 years ago that are needed more than ever today.
Speaking truth to power, the Pope quietly, lovingly, crushed any and every argument that could possibly be used for the unspeakable acts and words of violence that are happening today. Truth, compassion and love are not soft, compromising, weak acts. They are the most powerful forces that are available to the human spirit. White Eagle said, "Everything is spirit. That is all we need to know and spirit is triumphant over matter."
Amen.
Inspired people give something of their grace and power to everyone they encounter. Anyone who has ever been in the presence of such individuals has experienced this. They transmit heart to heart. I felt that through the computer recording of Pope Francis today. I have felt that in person (in the company of thousands of others) when I was gifted to be near the Dalai Lama, Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandala, Pir ilayat Inayat Khan, Thich Nhat Hanh, and Chief John Pretty on Top.
The thing that always strikes me the most is that the most powerful people I have encountered are the least self striving and the least egoistical. That or Zen or was it Christian or was it Islam thing of losing yourself to find yourself. And it is risky business. Christ, King, Gandhi, the list can go on and on, lost their lives to speak their truth. But they live on because they fused their hearts with many.
And I like it a lot that Francis could be living the life of luxury that his office affords, but is taking the opportunity his office affords to be a voice for the voiceless. Maybe this will remind all of us that Jesus spoke truths 2,000 years ago that are needed more than ever today.
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
Live Local: Building Community One Paw Paw Tree at a Time.
I had a vague memory of tasting Paw Paw fruit when we lived in Indiana for a bit. I thought it was too uniformly sweet for my taste, and truth be told, I didn't like the texture much. (a lot like banana)
About 10 years ago, my daughter Ariel planted two Paw Paw trees in her backyard in Portland, Oregon, USA. (I need to say USA because a great many people who read my blog are from many other countries)
The trees offer great shade because of the soft wide leaves allow mottled sunlight to come through. Each year, the trees have borne more fruit. This year was a bumper crop. No shit, the fruit is clomping to the ground as I sit in the yard.
So, it is kind of a novelty fruit for us, not being southerners and I can't say my feelings have changed much, but something else has happened. The last few years Ariel gave away some to neighbors who were interested. It turns out that they made a kind of brandy from the fruit. They brought her a bottle. Nice. This year they also brought someone from a local brewery to collect huge baskets of the fruit. They are experimenting with making hard cider from the Paw Paws. Amazing and they promise to show up with some bottles when they are ready. And yesterday an other neighbor who took some, brought us Paw Paw pie.
I just like this whole progression. Although she lives in a city, Ariel has made a neighborhood that reminds me of real rural life. Yes, she has good crops of strawberries, blueberries, raspberries and pears this year. But she has a family that is happy to eat all those fruits. The Paw Paws have brought a different gift.
About 10 years ago, my daughter Ariel planted two Paw Paw trees in her backyard in Portland, Oregon, USA. (I need to say USA because a great many people who read my blog are from many other countries)
The trees offer great shade because of the soft wide leaves allow mottled sunlight to come through. Each year, the trees have borne more fruit. This year was a bumper crop. No shit, the fruit is clomping to the ground as I sit in the yard.
So, it is kind of a novelty fruit for us, not being southerners and I can't say my feelings have changed much, but something else has happened. The last few years Ariel gave away some to neighbors who were interested. It turns out that they made a kind of brandy from the fruit. They brought her a bottle. Nice. This year they also brought someone from a local brewery to collect huge baskets of the fruit. They are experimenting with making hard cider from the Paw Paws. Amazing and they promise to show up with some bottles when they are ready. And yesterday an other neighbor who took some, brought us Paw Paw pie.
I just like this whole progression. Although she lives in a city, Ariel has made a neighborhood that reminds me of real rural life. Yes, she has good crops of strawberries, blueberries, raspberries and pears this year. But she has a family that is happy to eat all those fruits. The Paw Paws have brought a different gift.
Sunday, September 20, 2015
Are Oregon, USA and Switzerland First Cousins?
Trying to think of places where I have heard the least spontaneous laughter. I think these two locations win the prize. I am not being critical, mind you, just making a very personal observation. And, obviously, there are many, many, places that I have never visited.
I think it is a spiritual issue. In most towns in Massachusetts, for instance, the banter and gab in line at Dunkin Doughnuts is irresistible. Everyone gets swept up in it. Nothing is sacred, nothing is off limits. The immigrant nationalities all have each other's number. In Oregon, man, coffee is serious stuff, as is everything one ingests or purchases and subjects like what brand of socks to buy your toddler can keep people intense all night. Don't even mention sports. Or politics or religion or health or relationships or did I mention socks?
I am not saying that these subjects aren't passionately important to East Coasters, and maybe they are seriously sacred (The Red Sox, for instance.) but there is a lot of self-deprecating humor even about sacred things. And deprecating about non-self also.
I was at a comedy film in Ashland, Oregon once and was "shushed" when I laughed. That's really bad. It was some British comedy and it was really funny and I was painfully out of place when I laughed. Comedy apparently is not supposed to be funny. Not in Oregon.
I have worried that I just don't get the funny here. But I would have caught on by now by taking cues from others. Life is serious business and My Life is very serious, indeed.
Thinking about Switzerland, I did hear noises there that resemble laughter. One farmer saying to another "Your cows look good." "Ya, ya. ha, ha." I don't think the "Ha,ha" counts as laughter. It was more like a continuation of the "Ya, ya". Same when someone complemented a neighbor or her clean stoop. "Ha, ha." doesn't count for me.
So this business of sacred and non-sacred. My personal impulse is that sacred stuff is a bit bigger than our little egos. Therefore, it is fair game. But when the little me is the sacred thing, then almost anything can affront it, so we all must tread carefully. i fear I am clutching at straws here. I am, actually. But then I think of some bridges in Switzerland decorated with many depictions of 'Death". Maybe it was to ward off the Plague, but it is sobering in any case, It makes me wonder.
So, my conclusion is that some new guru must start doing laughter workshops. Laughter is good for us. It is the out breath at its best. Life is serious, but it is fully of humor, especially irony. Mine anyway. Actually, almost anything is funny. Toes, for example. Pretty weird. Politics. Religion. Animals. Human resemblance to certain animals. Don't get me going.
I think it is a spiritual issue. In most towns in Massachusetts, for instance, the banter and gab in line at Dunkin Doughnuts is irresistible. Everyone gets swept up in it. Nothing is sacred, nothing is off limits. The immigrant nationalities all have each other's number. In Oregon, man, coffee is serious stuff, as is everything one ingests or purchases and subjects like what brand of socks to buy your toddler can keep people intense all night. Don't even mention sports. Or politics or religion or health or relationships or did I mention socks?
I am not saying that these subjects aren't passionately important to East Coasters, and maybe they are seriously sacred (The Red Sox, for instance.) but there is a lot of self-deprecating humor even about sacred things. And deprecating about non-self also.
I was at a comedy film in Ashland, Oregon once and was "shushed" when I laughed. That's really bad. It was some British comedy and it was really funny and I was painfully out of place when I laughed. Comedy apparently is not supposed to be funny. Not in Oregon.
I have worried that I just don't get the funny here. But I would have caught on by now by taking cues from others. Life is serious business and My Life is very serious, indeed.
Thinking about Switzerland, I did hear noises there that resemble laughter. One farmer saying to another "Your cows look good." "Ya, ya. ha, ha." I don't think the "Ha,ha" counts as laughter. It was more like a continuation of the "Ya, ya". Same when someone complemented a neighbor or her clean stoop. "Ha, ha." doesn't count for me.
So this business of sacred and non-sacred. My personal impulse is that sacred stuff is a bit bigger than our little egos. Therefore, it is fair game. But when the little me is the sacred thing, then almost anything can affront it, so we all must tread carefully. i fear I am clutching at straws here. I am, actually. But then I think of some bridges in Switzerland decorated with many depictions of 'Death". Maybe it was to ward off the Plague, but it is sobering in any case, It makes me wonder.
So, my conclusion is that some new guru must start doing laughter workshops. Laughter is good for us. It is the out breath at its best. Life is serious, but it is fully of humor, especially irony. Mine anyway. Actually, almost anything is funny. Toes, for example. Pretty weird. Politics. Religion. Animals. Human resemblance to certain animals. Don't get me going.
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Brilliant Idea for Today. Presidential Candidates Must Pass a Few Tests
I am not really a fan of testing. I like Waldorf education where the notion scarcely comes up until the higher grades. But today while taking my walk, I started to remember presidents who had no college degree. Then I started to remember highly ignorant presidents who had college degrees. How about Mitt Rommeny who has very fancy degrees and states that the world is only 6,000 years old. Wow. And Presidents who never had a passport because "we have everything here in the USA. Who needs another country?" George 11.
Then I thought about candidates such as Sarah Palin who did not know that South Africa is a sovereign country, not just southern Africa. Then I started thinking that a person needs a college degree to teach first grade. You need a college degree for almost any job, and if a college degree doesn't mean you have an education, there should be a way.
I think it is time to give rigorous tests to anyone who wishes to be a candidate. I think a world geography test is in order. I think a US History test is in order as well as ...say, the history of the Middle East. I think a fundamental human anatomy and how the body works is important. (For those "you can't get pregnant in a rape" kind of men. I think a test on the fundamental principles of world religions might be in order. I would like to see an understanding of the constitution test. You get my drift.
Then, if the candidates can pass the test, I would like to see a buzzer that shuts off their participation in the debates the minute they give out false information. Like, every time they say "We are the richest nation in the world." Just not true. I know this could get fuzzy when they say stupid stuff like "We would have won the Vietnam War if we had stayed the course." That is just a pandering opinion. But full out lies presented as facts, time to put an end to that.
Maybe one or two foreign languages should be in the test. We are probably the only country on the planet that has presidents who only speak their native tongue.
I would be happy to provide my input to any tests. I do think it might possibly clear the field of candidates who are too ignorant to be president or who are using ignorance to gain approval. Another brilliant idea from Julie!
Then I thought about candidates such as Sarah Palin who did not know that South Africa is a sovereign country, not just southern Africa. Then I started thinking that a person needs a college degree to teach first grade. You need a college degree for almost any job, and if a college degree doesn't mean you have an education, there should be a way.
I think it is time to give rigorous tests to anyone who wishes to be a candidate. I think a world geography test is in order. I think a US History test is in order as well as ...say, the history of the Middle East. I think a fundamental human anatomy and how the body works is important. (For those "you can't get pregnant in a rape" kind of men. I think a test on the fundamental principles of world religions might be in order. I would like to see an understanding of the constitution test. You get my drift.
Then, if the candidates can pass the test, I would like to see a buzzer that shuts off their participation in the debates the minute they give out false information. Like, every time they say "We are the richest nation in the world." Just not true. I know this could get fuzzy when they say stupid stuff like "We would have won the Vietnam War if we had stayed the course." That is just a pandering opinion. But full out lies presented as facts, time to put an end to that.
Maybe one or two foreign languages should be in the test. We are probably the only country on the planet that has presidents who only speak their native tongue.
I would be happy to provide my input to any tests. I do think it might possibly clear the field of candidates who are too ignorant to be president or who are using ignorance to gain approval. Another brilliant idea from Julie!
Take a Shit Job Once in a While. Develop Compassion for the 99%.
The dunce
His former Harvard Business School professor recalls George W. Bush not just as a terrible student but as spoiled, loutish and a pathological liar.
"For 25 years, Yoshi Tsurumi, one of George W. Bush’s professors at Harvard Business School, was content with his green-card status as a permanent legal resident of the United States. But Bush’s ascension to the presidency in 2001 prompted the Japanese native to secure his American citizenship. The reason: to be able to speak out with the full authority of citizenship about why he believes Bush lacks the character and intellect to lead the world’s oldest and most powerful democracy.
“I don’t remember all the students in detail unless I’m prompted by something,” Tsurumi said in a telephone interview Wednesday. “But I always remember two types of students. One is the very excellent student, the type as a professor you feel honored to be working with. Someone with strong social values, compassion and intellect — the very rare person you never forget. And then you remember students like George Bush, those who are totally the opposite.”
The future president was one of 85 first-year MBA students in Tsurumi’s macroeconomic policies and international business class in the fall of 1973 and spring of 1974. Tsurumi was a visiting associate professor at Harvard Business School from January 1972 to August 1976; today, he is a professor of international business at Baruch College in New York.
Trading as usual on his father’s connections, Bush entered Harvard in 1973 for a two-year program. He’d just come off what George H.W. Bush had once called his eldest son’s “nomadic years” — partying, drifting from job to job, working on political campaigns in Florida and Alabama and, most famously, apparently not showing up for duty in the Alabama National Guard.
Harvard Business School’s rigorous teaching methods, in which the professor interacts aggressively with students, and students are encouraged to challenge each other sharply, offered important insights into Bush, Tsurumi said. In observing students’ in-class performances, “you develop pretty good ideas about what are their weaknesses and strengths in terms of thinking, analysis, their prejudices, their backgrounds and other things that students reveal,” he said.
Bush, by contrast, “was totally the opposite of Chris Cox,” Tsurumi said. “He showed pathological lying habits and was in denial when challenged on his prejudices and biases. He would even deny saying something he just said 30 seconds ago. He was famous for that. Students jumped on him; I challenged him.” When asked to explain a particular comment, said Tsurumi, Bush would respond, “Oh, I never said that.” A White House spokeswoman did not return a phone call seeking comment.
In 1973, as the oil and energy crisis raged, Tsurumi led a discussion on whether government should assist retirees and other people on fixed incomes with heating costs. Bush, he recalled, “made this ridiculous statement and when I asked him to explain, he said, ‘The government doesn’t have to help poor people — because they are lazy.’ I said, ‘Well, could you explain that assumption?’ Not only could he not explain it, he started backtracking on it, saying, ‘No, I didn’t say that.'”
Thursday, September 17, 2015
The Birth that Changed the World
So, I do tend to hyperbole. That being said, during the late sixties, there was an exciting thing happening. If something was happening to one of us, it was simultaneously happening to many. There are so many examples of this, I will give a typical one.
I was listening to the radio in my tiny house in Drain fucking Oregon. Richard Nixon was giving his lying speech saying we were not bombing in Cambodia or Laos. I had no other media outlet than my sometimes radio. The more I listened, the angrier I got. By the end of his talk, I had packed up my kid, gotten into my sort of car and was driving 30 or so miles to Eugene, Oregon where there was a large university. U. of O. As I drove into Eugene, thousands of people were gathering, coming from all directions. By the end of that week, colleges all across the country were shut down because of student protests. Shut down, not disrupted. All over the country and in fact also in many other countries.
This was not planned and communicated and organized. It was a monumental change that arose individually and collectively at the same moment.
This same thing was happening regarding childbirth at the same time. I was giving birth as the changes were happening. I was lucky. I was Julie Pierce, but I was also millions of other women.
I went to one prenatal sometime in Long Island. I don't remember much except that I had no insurance and the very fancy doctor told me some pretty strange things with a tone of absolute authority. He was the best, which meant that he was giving me the bull shit of the day.
He told me that I should not gain more than 15 pounds. I was skinny, that seemed strange. He said to drink alcohol because if I was relaxed, it would be good for the baby. Likewise, go ahead and smoke. When questioned about his, he said that the "Placental barrier would strain out any toxins so they wouldn't reach the baby. " He was the authority.
His nurse described the birthing process to me. I would go to the hospital, be given an enema, shaved, put in stirrups, and given some good drugs. Patrick could be in the waiting room and so on.
I didn't know much, but I had heard of Dr. Lamaz in Paris and heard enough nightmare birth stories that I decided that I wasn't coming back to him. I now know that I was being offered the worst treatment because I was in this expensive location. Doctors were minor gods there.
The home birth movement was starting to make news. All I got was that the drugs they gave were not good for the baby, that what was the norm in the USA was horrifying people in other countries, that anyone telling me to only gain 15 pounds was somehow ignorant and that what I had heard of natural childbirth sounded saner.
This was the summer of the moon landing and also of Woodstock. So science and technology were huge and the counter force was also huge. I was stuck in the middle. We borrowed a TV to watch the moon landing. We had dug clams and made gin and tonics as we went in and out of the waves. we thought it was really a funny show and speculated that we could have produced the movie for under $50. Woodstock we had to miss because Patrick was finishing his Masters degree that August.
When P. finished his degree, he wanted to move to Oregon because his parents were there and his father was ill. We flew out (9 months pregnant, but skinny as a rail) and P. had decided to teach school. I think school was starting the same day we arrived out West. P. went to the Department of Education with his weeks old Masters in Fine Arts with a focus on education and they had two openings for which he qualified. They were both in extremely undesirable locations according to the person he spoke with. One location was at the end of a long country road, the other had a road which drove through it. That was the one P. chose. Drain, Oregon.
The next day we were moving there. There was so shocking to me that I still remember my feelings. Drain was a barely surviving logging town. There was not an adult male without something missing. Like an arm or a hand or a leg or a foot. Logging was bad business. There was not a tree as far as the eye could see which wasn't far because it was in a hollow, like a - drain. There was a filthy, polluting wigwam burner in the center of the lumber yard. The 'store' was the size of a kitchen. There were bars everywhere. Cowboy bars.
One day, some cowboys (loggers with gun racks on their rigs) stepped out of one of those bars and shot over our heads, I had never seem a gun before!, and told us filthy hippies to get out of town. Funny, we were kind of dressed in LLBean and were pretty preppy because of P."s job. I began writing letters to friends to send us books, fast. One kind friend sent two big boxes with the complete works of Charles Dickens. Saved my life, she did.
So, 10 days later, I had the baby. I missed the baby shower that the teachers and parents of Patrick's class had put together. They were so grateful to have a teacher! Really. They gave us a house to live in. There was no such thing as a rental there. When I came home after the birth, I had further culture shock to find that some of the baby shower presents were fresh caught elk and deer meant. So much for frilly dresses and blankets. When I learned about the rugged economic conditions of the Drainians, I learned to respect their ability to hold their lives together, but I was deep into culture shock when my labor began in earnest.
We went to the hospital in Cottage Grove. I may or may not have had a prenatal there. I can't remember. When I got to the hospital, a tiny country hospital in a very depressed area, the nurses were so excited by me. The reason was that I was excited and wanted this baby. Apparently, most of the time, at that time, the women they delivered were sad or depressed to be having another kid.
They did not let Patrick in the room with me. I did have an epidural. They didn't have me do any of the other routine. When I went to my room afterward, I had a 16 year old roomie named Mare-Lee who was the first illiterate person I had ever met. Her mother brought in an electric fryer and made us fried shrimp that afternoon. Loved it all.
So, this is not at all a bad birth story, but it was the moment when I knew that I would never participate again in the routine that the professionals created. I learned about home births and I trained in midwifery and attended many home births. The thing is, that all over the country, women were, at the very same moment, making the same determination to effect monumental changes in the practice of medicine as it relates to women's health and childbirth. So many of us came to the same place at the same moment in time. And the medical text books changed fast.
There were good and bad aspects to the hippie days, but I still am filled with awe and wonder when I think of the telepathy that many of us had at the time. No matter how isolated we were and how pathetic our means of communication were, we often moved as one. El pueblo unido hamas sera vincido.
I was listening to the radio in my tiny house in Drain fucking Oregon. Richard Nixon was giving his lying speech saying we were not bombing in Cambodia or Laos. I had no other media outlet than my sometimes radio. The more I listened, the angrier I got. By the end of his talk, I had packed up my kid, gotten into my sort of car and was driving 30 or so miles to Eugene, Oregon where there was a large university. U. of O. As I drove into Eugene, thousands of people were gathering, coming from all directions. By the end of that week, colleges all across the country were shut down because of student protests. Shut down, not disrupted. All over the country and in fact also in many other countries.
This was not planned and communicated and organized. It was a monumental change that arose individually and collectively at the same moment.
This same thing was happening regarding childbirth at the same time. I was giving birth as the changes were happening. I was lucky. I was Julie Pierce, but I was also millions of other women.
I went to one prenatal sometime in Long Island. I don't remember much except that I had no insurance and the very fancy doctor told me some pretty strange things with a tone of absolute authority. He was the best, which meant that he was giving me the bull shit of the day.
He told me that I should not gain more than 15 pounds. I was skinny, that seemed strange. He said to drink alcohol because if I was relaxed, it would be good for the baby. Likewise, go ahead and smoke. When questioned about his, he said that the "Placental barrier would strain out any toxins so they wouldn't reach the baby. " He was the authority.
His nurse described the birthing process to me. I would go to the hospital, be given an enema, shaved, put in stirrups, and given some good drugs. Patrick could be in the waiting room and so on.
I didn't know much, but I had heard of Dr. Lamaz in Paris and heard enough nightmare birth stories that I decided that I wasn't coming back to him. I now know that I was being offered the worst treatment because I was in this expensive location. Doctors were minor gods there.
The home birth movement was starting to make news. All I got was that the drugs they gave were not good for the baby, that what was the norm in the USA was horrifying people in other countries, that anyone telling me to only gain 15 pounds was somehow ignorant and that what I had heard of natural childbirth sounded saner.
This was the summer of the moon landing and also of Woodstock. So science and technology were huge and the counter force was also huge. I was stuck in the middle. We borrowed a TV to watch the moon landing. We had dug clams and made gin and tonics as we went in and out of the waves. we thought it was really a funny show and speculated that we could have produced the movie for under $50. Woodstock we had to miss because Patrick was finishing his Masters degree that August.
When P. finished his degree, he wanted to move to Oregon because his parents were there and his father was ill. We flew out (9 months pregnant, but skinny as a rail) and P. had decided to teach school. I think school was starting the same day we arrived out West. P. went to the Department of Education with his weeks old Masters in Fine Arts with a focus on education and they had two openings for which he qualified. They were both in extremely undesirable locations according to the person he spoke with. One location was at the end of a long country road, the other had a road which drove through it. That was the one P. chose. Drain, Oregon.
The next day we were moving there. There was so shocking to me that I still remember my feelings. Drain was a barely surviving logging town. There was not an adult male without something missing. Like an arm or a hand or a leg or a foot. Logging was bad business. There was not a tree as far as the eye could see which wasn't far because it was in a hollow, like a - drain. There was a filthy, polluting wigwam burner in the center of the lumber yard. The 'store' was the size of a kitchen. There were bars everywhere. Cowboy bars.
One day, some cowboys (loggers with gun racks on their rigs) stepped out of one of those bars and shot over our heads, I had never seem a gun before!, and told us filthy hippies to get out of town. Funny, we were kind of dressed in LLBean and were pretty preppy because of P."s job. I began writing letters to friends to send us books, fast. One kind friend sent two big boxes with the complete works of Charles Dickens. Saved my life, she did.
So, 10 days later, I had the baby. I missed the baby shower that the teachers and parents of Patrick's class had put together. They were so grateful to have a teacher! Really. They gave us a house to live in. There was no such thing as a rental there. When I came home after the birth, I had further culture shock to find that some of the baby shower presents were fresh caught elk and deer meant. So much for frilly dresses and blankets. When I learned about the rugged economic conditions of the Drainians, I learned to respect their ability to hold their lives together, but I was deep into culture shock when my labor began in earnest.
We went to the hospital in Cottage Grove. I may or may not have had a prenatal there. I can't remember. When I got to the hospital, a tiny country hospital in a very depressed area, the nurses were so excited by me. The reason was that I was excited and wanted this baby. Apparently, most of the time, at that time, the women they delivered were sad or depressed to be having another kid.
They did not let Patrick in the room with me. I did have an epidural. They didn't have me do any of the other routine. When I went to my room afterward, I had a 16 year old roomie named Mare-Lee who was the first illiterate person I had ever met. Her mother brought in an electric fryer and made us fried shrimp that afternoon. Loved it all.
So, this is not at all a bad birth story, but it was the moment when I knew that I would never participate again in the routine that the professionals created. I learned about home births and I trained in midwifery and attended many home births. The thing is, that all over the country, women were, at the very same moment, making the same determination to effect monumental changes in the practice of medicine as it relates to women's health and childbirth. So many of us came to the same place at the same moment in time. And the medical text books changed fast.
There were good and bad aspects to the hippie days, but I still am filled with awe and wonder when I think of the telepathy that many of us had at the time. No matter how isolated we were and how pathetic our means of communication were, we often moved as one. El pueblo unido hamas sera vincido.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
How to Know... NOW: The simple, direct, immediate guide to meditation and spiritual guidance. Kindle Edition by Julie Pierce
How to Know... NOW: The simple, direct, immediate guide to meditation and spiritual guidance. Kindle Edition
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
Kudos to the Tea Party and the Occupy Movement.
I do understand that a great number of things can change in an election cycle, but the popularity of Trump and Sanders at this point in time is kind of a seismic shift. Kudos to the Tea Party and to the Occupy movement, I think.
Many people in both parties seem to be resonating with the gritty integrity of these two candidates. They don't appear to be beholding to 'the parties'. The Republicans seem to be excited that racism and greed can finally be out in the open. Sanders Democrats are excited that a candidate is not hedging on traditional biases, and probably hitting every point of the Occupy demands. People in both ( Why this stupid two party system? I will never understand. We deserve 10 parties at least.) parties want the gloves off.
I felt resentment that Hillary was the anointed candidate. I know republicans who felt the same about the Jeb campaign. I registered as a Democrat so I could vote in the primaries. (How stupid is that necessity?), but the opening salvos of the Hillary launch felt like, "OK folks, you may have your own thoughts about war and Monsanto and WalMart, but we have calculated things and have chosen the only candidate who can win. I didn't sign up for that. Sanders is at least interesting.
It looks the same in the Trump campaign. There may be other candidates who will court the Latino votes, who know how to change their message depending on their audience but this guy has the white man bully factor that resonated over the prepackaged image consultants voices.
I do understand that anything can change. We could get attacked and then Sanders could look wrong. Trump could have some fine Sarah Palin moments that would freak out the most ardent supporters. Anything is possible and probable. But it is fun to see candidates being themselves and to see the scrambling going on on both sides with the consultants having some real challenges.
I do have feelings that the primary side show can't eradicate. The sad thing to me is that our country is so divided. President Lincoln had some strong thoughts on this subject and the resulting Civil War was tragic. I hope it doesn't come to that in my lifetime. We seem to have no uniting idea of what it means to be a citizen of the USA.
Many people in both parties seem to be resonating with the gritty integrity of these two candidates. They don't appear to be beholding to 'the parties'. The Republicans seem to be excited that racism and greed can finally be out in the open. Sanders Democrats are excited that a candidate is not hedging on traditional biases, and probably hitting every point of the Occupy demands. People in both ( Why this stupid two party system? I will never understand. We deserve 10 parties at least.) parties want the gloves off.
I felt resentment that Hillary was the anointed candidate. I know republicans who felt the same about the Jeb campaign. I registered as a Democrat so I could vote in the primaries. (How stupid is that necessity?), but the opening salvos of the Hillary launch felt like, "OK folks, you may have your own thoughts about war and Monsanto and WalMart, but we have calculated things and have chosen the only candidate who can win. I didn't sign up for that. Sanders is at least interesting.
It looks the same in the Trump campaign. There may be other candidates who will court the Latino votes, who know how to change their message depending on their audience but this guy has the white man bully factor that resonated over the prepackaged image consultants voices.
I do understand that anything can change. We could get attacked and then Sanders could look wrong. Trump could have some fine Sarah Palin moments that would freak out the most ardent supporters. Anything is possible and probable. But it is fun to see candidates being themselves and to see the scrambling going on on both sides with the consultants having some real challenges.
I do have feelings that the primary side show can't eradicate. The sad thing to me is that our country is so divided. President Lincoln had some strong thoughts on this subject and the resulting Civil War was tragic. I hope it doesn't come to that in my lifetime. We seem to have no uniting idea of what it means to be a citizen of the USA.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Letter to My Niece as She Starts College.
Thinking about you and wanting to share some thoughts:
Yea! You did it. You got into a super fine school and have arrived there.You have gone from a nice middle class school in Manchester-by-the-Sea (yes, it really is hyphenated) with a homogeneous white student body to a truly international urban school. Big transition, I am sure. You must be so excited to meet peers from everywhere on the planet, some astonishingly rich and some without a cent, some speaking a bunch of languages, some struggling with English. It was my hunger to meet people from all over that motivated me to go away to school. Nothing wrong with the hood but I wanted more.
The real task now is to get and education. This sounds like any convocation speech, but here it is. 'Educate' means to draw forth. I take that to mean to bring up who you are. To do this, I think you need to get a little more of that "fuck you" attitude I spoke with you about this past summer. You will get a lot more out of college if you take courses that challenge you, try things that are outside you safe zone, take classes in which you do not agree with the teacher, stop thinking about grades. (You are not going to fail, in fact, take it from me, it is a challenge to fail a college course. The schools don't want bad statistics. Go to class and turn in the work on time and you already have a 'C'.)
What the current getting into college prepares you for is following and conforming. That really has little to do with education. Some of the most productive classes I ever took were those in which I strongly disagreed with the ideas I was being fed. I read twice as much in order to be able to defend myself. I often learned (ugh) that sometimes a professor actually knew more than I and I had something to learn.
I sort of liken that to the blessings of growing up Catholic (or any strong religion). I had something to rebel against when I started thinking for myself, which propelled me to studies of many religions and history and social trends and politics. You get my drift.
So, lighten up, jump in and have fun. If you are taking creative writing - be creative. Push away your programming about what the teacher will like. That's not being creative, that being a robot. This is your education.
If you are going to drop a class or flunk a class, do it for a good reason like it meets too early on Monday morning, not because it challenges you. I had a math class once where I flunked every test and quiz but I kept going because I needed the credit. Right before the final, a friend was explaining it to me and the lights went on. I got a 'A' on the final. The prof called me into his office to ascertain whether I had someone else take the test for me and when he realized that I did, he gave me an "A' for the whole course. All he wanted was for me to learn.
One time, I was taking a course that included "The Illiad". It was not that interesting to me at the time, and I had dragged my feet. The final came and the question for the three hour final was "What is the theme of the Illiad?" People started writing like crazy, filling page after page. I sat there a few minutes and remembered starting to read the book ten times. The first line in the book was "The theme of the Illiad is the wrath of Achilles". I wrote that and handed in my blue book. I got an "A+". The thing is that I went back and read the book and understood it and will never forget it. I got a bit of education.
So, you probably know all of this already because you are a sensitive, smart girl. Just saying I am thinking of you and thinking about what it is all about. Education.
p.s. I regret not studying Physics because I love it now and was afraid of it in school and it is a difficult self- education subject.
Yea! You did it. You got into a super fine school and have arrived there.You have gone from a nice middle class school in Manchester-by-the-Sea (yes, it really is hyphenated) with a homogeneous white student body to a truly international urban school. Big transition, I am sure. You must be so excited to meet peers from everywhere on the planet, some astonishingly rich and some without a cent, some speaking a bunch of languages, some struggling with English. It was my hunger to meet people from all over that motivated me to go away to school. Nothing wrong with the hood but I wanted more.
The real task now is to get and education. This sounds like any convocation speech, but here it is. 'Educate' means to draw forth. I take that to mean to bring up who you are. To do this, I think you need to get a little more of that "fuck you" attitude I spoke with you about this past summer. You will get a lot more out of college if you take courses that challenge you, try things that are outside you safe zone, take classes in which you do not agree with the teacher, stop thinking about grades. (You are not going to fail, in fact, take it from me, it is a challenge to fail a college course. The schools don't want bad statistics. Go to class and turn in the work on time and you already have a 'C'.)
What the current getting into college prepares you for is following and conforming. That really has little to do with education. Some of the most productive classes I ever took were those in which I strongly disagreed with the ideas I was being fed. I read twice as much in order to be able to defend myself. I often learned (ugh) that sometimes a professor actually knew more than I and I had something to learn.
I sort of liken that to the blessings of growing up Catholic (or any strong religion). I had something to rebel against when I started thinking for myself, which propelled me to studies of many religions and history and social trends and politics. You get my drift.
So, lighten up, jump in and have fun. If you are taking creative writing - be creative. Push away your programming about what the teacher will like. That's not being creative, that being a robot. This is your education.
If you are going to drop a class or flunk a class, do it for a good reason like it meets too early on Monday morning, not because it challenges you. I had a math class once where I flunked every test and quiz but I kept going because I needed the credit. Right before the final, a friend was explaining it to me and the lights went on. I got a 'A' on the final. The prof called me into his office to ascertain whether I had someone else take the test for me and when he realized that I did, he gave me an "A' for the whole course. All he wanted was for me to learn.
One time, I was taking a course that included "The Illiad". It was not that interesting to me at the time, and I had dragged my feet. The final came and the question for the three hour final was "What is the theme of the Illiad?" People started writing like crazy, filling page after page. I sat there a few minutes and remembered starting to read the book ten times. The first line in the book was "The theme of the Illiad is the wrath of Achilles". I wrote that and handed in my blue book. I got an "A+". The thing is that I went back and read the book and understood it and will never forget it. I got a bit of education.
So, you probably know all of this already because you are a sensitive, smart girl. Just saying I am thinking of you and thinking about what it is all about. Education.
p.s. I regret not studying Physics because I love it now and was afraid of it in school and it is a difficult self- education subject.
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Go Iceland!
The incredibly generous response from tiny Iceland to the refugee crisis in Europe blew me away. Come. We will feed you and educate you and share our homes with you. I am writing from the USA where we punish and treat refugees to horrors we make in their countries and then endless nightmares when they come to us.
I think that even hedonistic, greedy people like Donald Trump still suffer from left over Puritanism. If you are rich, it is because you are better, more righteous, really, you deserve more. Puritanism has seeped deeply into our sins. It can be seen as the root cause of racism and the holocausts, the prison culture, the scourge of poverty. We rule because God wants it this way because the rest of you are sinners.
Man, that is a tough one. Then comes a little, cold, country like Iceland and develops a civilized country with ubiquitous wealth and what the fuck! they want to share it. How does that happen? Is it possible that we could learn a lesson from Iceland or even Cuba or even Christ that the people who need the best food and the best education and the best services are the ones with nothing. Could we change the nasty Puritan heritage into an idea that prosperity and well being for everyone is better for everyone?
It would be hard, but it could be wonderful. I, for one, would be happier.
I think that even hedonistic, greedy people like Donald Trump still suffer from left over Puritanism. If you are rich, it is because you are better, more righteous, really, you deserve more. Puritanism has seeped deeply into our sins. It can be seen as the root cause of racism and the holocausts, the prison culture, the scourge of poverty. We rule because God wants it this way because the rest of you are sinners.
Man, that is a tough one. Then comes a little, cold, country like Iceland and develops a civilized country with ubiquitous wealth and what the fuck! they want to share it. How does that happen? Is it possible that we could learn a lesson from Iceland or even Cuba or even Christ that the people who need the best food and the best education and the best services are the ones with nothing. Could we change the nasty Puritan heritage into an idea that prosperity and well being for everyone is better for everyone?
It would be hard, but it could be wonderful. I, for one, would be happier.
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