When Did Rich People Become Skinny and the Poor Get Fat?

I assume I am talking about my strange country. In much of my travel, I have not observed such a trend. But, there is something counter-intuitive happening in the good old US of A. Here in Marin County California and certainly in many other places which suffer from affluenza, the women especially, tend to be rail thin. Often the kids are also which looks weird to me. Kids should be round and strong and have rosy cheeks and scuffed knees, right?

And as I go about my day, I pass exercise places, then yoga studios, then gyms, then pilates studios, then hair and nail places, then plastic surgeries, then hair removal places, then clothes places selling thinning, tightening pants, then shops selling no fat ice cream! No fat almost anything. And no sweeteners! And it costs more, much more, to have less of everything. Is this not strange?

Think about it. In a poor country many of the folks spend all day getting enough to eat. Most people do a lot of walking. Often work is physically demanding. Fat is not a problem. A lot of places with affluence have traditional foods which are relatively balanced. Fat is not a problem. Skinny often means ill or starved and signals some big problem.

In some countries I can eat a whole meal without anyone commenting on the amount of salt or carbs or protein or trans fat or whatever is in the meal. I can often enjoy a big dinner without having anyone remark that they are 'bad' if they eat butter or dessert. And I can enjoy being with people who enjoy their food.

We have tons of real food issues in this country, like GMOs and pink slime in hamburgers, but I suspect that we might get healthier if our ideal were something other than starved, tucked, hairless, dyed, pinched, over muscled, heroin models. I think it is the moral duty of the very rich to get fatter. I really do. They are setting a bad example which is causing an incredible imbalance in the natural order of things.

How to fix the VA, by genius Julie.

Just a thought that has been swirling around in my imagination:

Apparently there are some huge problems with the VA. This can not be news to anyone. Those poor soldiers have been telling us this since they started coming home from Vietnam. They took about 40 years to admit that Agent Orange cause health problems! They might have checked with some millions of Vietnamese. Or the thousands and thousands of soldiers reporting their problems.

Actually, if you think about it, war causes health problems. Mental health, bodily health, spiritual health..all screwed up. Depleted Uranium in Iraq? Funny, that shit, like Agent Orange can't figure out who are the good guys and who are the bad guys. Look up possible effects of toxic levels of uranium. It is pretty frightening.

Story after story has been dribbling out about returning soldiers who can't get medical help. Maybe the VA is trying very hard. Maybe there are some huge cover ups going on. Maybe the money is being skimmed off by evil people. Maybe this is a big push to privatize the VA so Haliburton can get all the money, whatever is going on, it is a problem. A big problem.

One of the reports I read states that the systems don't work. This is where I got my idea. Instead of having a billion meetings to rehash the problems with the same old people who created the systems and covered it up when they didn't work, why not go to high school or college kids  and have them invent completely new systems? Young people today who are into tech stuff seem to be absolutely amazing at making systems. I am not a fan of trying to adjust and rework stuff that doesn't work. Sometimes it isn't just about the money spent, it is about solving problems. Some solutions can be simple and elegant. That is my thought for the day.

We owe it to the vets. There is a lot about war and its effects that can't be fixed. We must fix what we can. The father of my friend Joan just started to get compensation for a brain injury he got in WW11. Ain't that a pisser...70 years.

Hi there...

Catch up news;

Haven't smoked for something like 50 days but have been using every other kind of nicotine delivery system known to man. I think I just overdosed on Nicarette gum. Is that possible? Got a serious buzz on.

I moved to California. I signed a 7 month lease on a tiny apartment in Corte Madera. Nice view of Mt. Tamalpais. Pretty California suburban. Cars everywhere. It was really weird saying goodbye to Ashland. I have been there and mostly not been there for quite some time, 7 years, maybe? A tremendous lot of coming and going. Have wonderful friends there.

Got my health back. Never did figure out what was making me so sick. Richard Stanley told me the other night at a Nica in Ashland gathering (Tucker, Melissa, Moi, Stanleys, Gretch and Georgene,) that I should get checked for arsenic poisoning. Some problems with the Granada water delivery. I had told my doctor, Flash Gordon (no shit!) that I felt like I had been poisoned but today I am disinclined to get more tests. I will buy some charcoal tablets. I miss Nica and think of Sonia every day. She is quite ill.

My hard-to-get-through book right now is "JFK and the Unspeakable: Why He Died and Why It Matters." Fabulous book. It makes sense of those times and everything since.

I have no more idea about who I am and what I am doing than I ever did. This is my homeostasis.

It Takes Two to Tango.

This statement appears to be true. And it pretty much takes two to argue or to fall in love or to make a seesaw work smoothly. But how much influence do we really have on each other?

Last week I was visiting with some friends who were a bit frustrated with a slowdown in a project they are facilitating. R. asked somewhat rhetorically, "How to you get people to change?"

Bingo, That. Is. The. Question.

I asked myself ,"How to I get myself to change?"

And the answer is that it is really hard. The things that aren't hard, I am not counting in this discussion. And, full disclosure: I am a creature of habit. This is sometimes a good thing and sometimes, not so good. I am somewhat rational, somewhat educated, somewhat energetic, somewhat lazy. In my thinking, most of us are pretty complicated and at the same time, pretty simple.

I guess that change comes partly from running out of options. I have mentioned before this astoundingly fun and brilliant shrink I knew in Puerto Rico many years ago (1968). He said "The imperative to change is death." I get that. I know a bunch of people who quit smoking when a doctor mentioned cancer. Just never smoked again. No program, no fuss, no gum or patches. Over.

But my friend was asking about how to influence people to create a more sustainable energy plan. I remember the gas lines during the Carter years when suddenly we were developing car pool lanes and creating good intentions. When the oil started flowing again, all was forgotten and cars kept getting bigger and hungrier all the time. I had a Jeep Grand Cherokee that got 8 miles to the gallon. Loved that car.

When the Fukushima disaster happened three years ago, Germany decided to shut down all its nukes. The USA is building a new one (tax payers subsidizing and insuring) for the first time in more than 30 years. Interesting reaction. Bringing that down to a dumb personal example, I keep telling myself that I won't buy any more water in plastic bottles and then making endless exceptions for myself. I know the plastics (all plastics) are toxic and yet I bought one today. Here in Nica, they get recycled by the people who pick the garbage, but that doesn't account for the toxins which enter my body and the toxins and oil that are necessary to make the plastic and all that stream of stuff I should not be buying into.

It is possible that being conscious will eventually get me to stop. But why is it hard? If I have trouble with simple little stuff like this, how do we get billions of people to change their habits? I don't know. A lot of Americans have stopped throwing trash on highways. That was a big campaign by Lady Bird Johnson. (cool name) but we have created billions of tons of new crap that is bad for the environment and is now floating around in our oceans.

I'd be interested in thoughts on how we get ourselves and others to make changes. I assume we all need to.

Mark Twain famously said...

something like "The older I get, the more clearly I remember things that never happened." Couldn't agree more. Today I am playing with the idea that everything that ever happened is connected to everything else simultaneously and completely. If this is so, then everything that happened or is happening is fully a part of the experience of all. There's that OM thing again.

I have been reading, Proof of Heaven, a Neurosurgeon's Journey into the Afterlife. The ideas in this book are by no means new to me or probably you. I am somehow annoyed at times by the author's shock at how a brilliant scientist like himself (his own characterization) could discover spiritual realities. I assume that it is because many scientists are a bit thicker than most people, or rather convinced of the idea that their reality is the only reality.

This is a bit strange when you think of how fast the facts of science change and how stable the fundamental principles of most religions have been. There is more to this game than meets the eye, or one does better now and forever if one adheres to guidelines like not killing and stealing and so on.

From Dr. Alexander's book:

In the 1920s, the physicist Werner Heisenberg (and other founders of quantum mechanics)made a discovery so strange that the world has yet to completely come to terms with it. When observing subatomic phenomena, it is impossible to completely separate the observer (that is, the scientist making the experiment) from what is being observed. In our day-to-day world, it is easy to miss this fact. We see the universe as a place full of separate objects, (tables and chairs, people and planets) that occasionally interact with each other, but nonetheless remain essentially separate. On the subatomic level, however, the universe of separate objects turns out to be a complete illusion. In the realm of the super-super-small, every object in the physical universe is intimately connected with every other object. in fact, there are really no "objects" in the world at all, only vibrations of energy, and relationships.

There is no reality possible without consciousness. OM again. And what I am wondering whether it is all available to all at anytime anywhere. So, maybe remembering things that never happened when we are older is more a symptom of a looser etheric body and an ability to tune into other vibrations with ease than of a crappy memory or a gone wild imagination.

(He wasn't old when he did this, but I used to think Garrison Keeler went into a bit of a trance when he told stories about Lake Woebegone and was just telling what he saw. Cool thought.)

Hit the Wall.

Several things happening. Well, many actually. At the risk of boring you more than I am boring myself, I have parasites again. And I am suffering. And, yes, I have a well trodden path from the house to the lab to the doctors office to the pharmacy. The lab people look happy or sad when they hand me the envelope. Good news one week, bad news the next week. It isn't just Nicaragua, I got them in Thailand also. The reason I am going on about this is it certainly has interrupted my blog..big time. Remember how everything in the body is connected? It isn't just the body. It is the spirit also. And that stuff about thinking, feeling, and willing well, that all gets muddled up when any major organs are compromised.

That being said for the umpteenth time, another repeat issue, only this time with more clarity. I am so excited to have met the character I want to write about. You started to meet her in the last three blogs I posted. In college, I went on about my plan to write autobiographical fiction. I don't think it is a contradiction in terms, just a loosening of the edges of the genre. She finally came to me.

I had this idea that it would be fun to just throw her into my blog and begin a book. It is fun, but I don't think I can make it work for this reason: I can't seem to make each entry into an autonomous blog post. Many of my readers do not and can not read daily, nor do they by any means read sequentially. This produces confusion in both me and my readers.

I am going to continue with Ask Julie and write my autobiography in another sitting. I am afraid that I am already falling for the priest and this is exciting.I have to go get a manicure before we meet up this afternoon for our chat. Do you think he is so shallow that that will make a difference? I hope not, and yet.

Yo y El Padre. Part 3.

I felt shy. I wasn't even shy when the Dalai Lama held my face and kissed me. With Father Francis, my inner experience was moving faster than 'reality'. There was so much to say and at the same time, there was nothing to say. I was present.

"Have you been in jail?" I asked. Where did that come from?

"Si, pues."

I didn't have to ask. I already knew.

"Me, too."

"I know."

I started to laugh. "The first time was because my dog wasn't on a leash in Eugene, Oregon at 8:00 on a Sunday morning. Well, not because of the act itself, but because I thought it was so stupid that I didn't pay the ticket and ignored the summons regarding it. I was in contempt of court. I was in contempt of everything. This was 1970 and we were raging against the Vietnam War. (In SE Asia it is more aptly called The American War.) I ignored every summons they sent me which gave them the excuse to pick me up late at night and take me to jail. I stayed over night because we didn't have the $30 to get out. I was angry, insulting and defiant which was not cool because most of the police hated us because of our antiwar activities."

He laughed.

Maybe the hard stories would come later.

"Why are you in Nicaragua now?" As he asked, we both knew the answer.

"To meet you."

When I get really nervous, I talk too much or show off. I struggled against this. That little rap about jail was nervous twitter. I pictured my Buddhist teacher and started to breathe slowly. I didn't want to blow this off.

"My father was Roma, but he gave it up for farming. He said a fortune teller told him that it would be the survival of his lineage. We were practically the only ones to make it past Hitler. My mother yearned all the time to be on the road. A wise man told me that I would never have a real home but that I would always feel at home wherever I was. His name was Francis also. My middle name is Francis"

Oh shit, I am babbling in spite of myself. I will stop.

What happened next was.....Part 2.

I walked into the room and my head began to spin and at the same time I felt that I was on earth, awake and present. We sat down in the usual uncomfortable wooden Nicaraguan chairs. He offered me cold tea. I took it. He reached out and held my hand and looked at me intently for a bit. Then he asked, "How did we find ourselves here?"

He was part of me. The other part. He was the masculine. He was the establishment. He was sitting in his huge church with his every need taken care of, even his eternity, if the story can be believed. We were one and the same. I was a woman, jobless, homeless, drifting on a hope and a dream, with something inside me shouting, "I am here! I have arrived full circle. I am happy!"

His eyes told me the same story that I was feeling. No, guys. This was not sexual. This was not an hallucination. This was not a mirage. But the question remained: "How did we find ourselves here?"

When I was a child in Romania, everyone celebrated me. It was just a fact. I was the golden kid. My mother was a fiery red head. My father was a great farmer. Everything he planted grew and thrived including me. I was born in the caul which greatly pleased all the old ladies who held tight to their superstitions. I was strong, pretty, smart and I 'knew' things.

I went to hear this Cuban priest. Part 1.

Over the course (curse) of my life, I have fallen for a number of priests. When I was a child, it was mostly visiting Irish priests. They were sometimes so cute, and those accents, and those dancing eyes, and the fact they they were funny. They told jokes. Imagine. There was also a bit of a blur between some of them and some of the handsome young actors who played priests in the movies. All very heady for a young girl.

The same thing happened with the occasional beautiful young nun. What was her story? How did she know her vocation at such a young age. Did she hate her family? Was she a orphan? My childish mind didn't have too many stories to plug in. But I did manage a few massive crushes which kept my faith strong and possibilities open. "If such and such happens, I can always become a nun."

Part of me knew it could never happen because I can't carry a tune. How could I sing those lovely chants if I was off key the whole time.Ii imagined the priest and the Mother Superior giving me the stink eye and the whole effect being ruined.

When Patrick and I got stuck in Reims, France drinking the best champagne ever made for days on end (we couldn't seems to find the way to the road to hitchhike out), we met a derelict priest. We drank some fine champagne with him. And a bit more and figured he had about thirty years of this on us. He finally got all whispery and led us down into the sub sub sub basement of the catacombs. He was muttering about the history of France. He showed us this ornate glass case which held a skull. He talked rapidly. We drank sagaciously. He then handed us the skull. I passed it over to Patrick. It was Clovis, The king of the Franks who had unified the Franks into an empire. (What did we know?) It was a cool, strange, unreal, event. We dug it and then went to find some bread.

Many years later, the month after my mother died and having had a lot of life with little or no Catholic influence, I came to Guatemala for a month. It was a month soon after 9/11 and there were few travelers. I stayed in Antigua, Guatemala and found myself going to La Merced Church for 5:00 mass every afternoon. It was a nice familiar place to have some quiet contemplation and there was the gorgeous visiting Cuban priest with a lovely voice. I felt soothed when he spoke. I had a little crush, no different really from my mad on the Dalai Lama. Previously, I had also suffered some acute crushes on priests who had become revolutinaries in the various struggles for the human rights of the poor.

Ray Bourgeois, where are you? And Father Francis in his weaving monastery up in New Hampshire. But last week I was hanging out in the Cathedral in Granada, Nicaragua when it happened again. I was there because I believe that when I am in a Catholic country, it is often the situation that much of the cultural and social and political life takes place in and around the church. Same scene in Buddhist countries or Muslim countries.

So, I met Father Francis and my whole life is changing again. We went into a conference room and talked for about four hours. Already a thousand pieces of my erratic path are falling in place. Mas manana.

"Hola, Soy Mormon" said my taxi driver the other day.

"Oh wow!", said I.

Today I read suggestions by a Mormon Bishop about how to cure yourself of masturbation. Two of the suggestions were as follows: Tie your hands to the side of the bed was one helpful hint and picture yourself doing the dirty deed in a bath tub of worms while eating worms was the other. The worm one was backed by psychology. He spoke about aversion therapy.

It sounded as though the only Mormons who had this problem were males. I guess if the girls are married by 13, they wouldn't have many years of temptation. It must be a big problem in them there households if a Bishop would write a program about it.

The taxi guy was so cheerful about his declaration that I held back from telling him that because of his dark skin, he can only be a partial, little guy on the Mormon hierarchy. God and Jesus only really love the pure white guys. That must be obvious to the taxi guy, after all these tall white missionaries come down here and don't even have to work, just walk around and talk about their god.

I said recently that I would stop this talk, but, Dios Mio! it just keeps hitting me in the face.

It does make me think. One thought that keeps coming up is how simple life might be if I had a belief system that gave me all the answers, even to questions I didn't know I had - like how to stop masturbation. But at the same time, I know that wouldn't ever work for me. I have to question everything I have to have my own experience. I am not made of the stuff that can believe in things because someone tells me to. Am not, and never have been.

On the other hand, I like a good story. I like a good fairy tale, fable, allegory, myth, legend. Yes I do, and the more far fetched, the greater the challenge to the imagination, the more the soul has to engage to partake, the more I like it. I like Noah's Ark. I like the Angel Gabriel's annunciation. I like those frightening Tibetan demons in the paintings and sculptures. I like Thor and Ulysses and people of the Maize. I am fascinated by Santeria and Holy Communion and Alice in Wonderland. But I couldn't sell any of it as the only way to salvation.

Be Content With What You Have While Working For What You Want.

I don't know whether I can put my full focus on two things at the same time. I am going to try. I feel that my efforts are genuine. (Possibly Self-Myth #?) I love the life I am leading. It is a gorgeous day, couldn't be more perfect. The fountain is going, the flowers are blooming. The internet works right now! I am meeting a young friend (age 11) in a bit. Then I am going to my pool, then to a memorial service, then some poetry under the stars. There will be interesting people in beautiful settings all day. I have my health back All this I can afford easily. I am warm, healthy, content.

At the same time, I feel a big change coming. I am planning to move to Marin, California to be near my daughter and grand daughter. I want to reconnect in my country although I am wary of that because of the social, political and environmental junk that is prevalent. I am stunned when I hear about the cost of everything in CA. I want a place with room for gracious living, writing and painting. I want beauty and great people and some way to contribute to the well being of others. I see absolutely no way for this to happen.

So, while I am content and grateful with my now, I am filling in the colors of the next step. If this is the right move, then some major miracles have to happen. These I anticipate with excitement. Laissez les bon temps rouler!

How do those therapists do it?

Met some lovely people at the bookstore tonite and they ended up inviting me to dinner. We had an absolutely wonderful time. At the moment when we were saying goodnight, I realized that Carol, the new friend, had conducted a skillful interview and knew my whole life. I don't mean dates and info, I mean the real stuff.

When she handed me her card so we could keep in touch her profession was "Mindfulness Based Psychotherapy". I already knew she practiced Buddhism but, wow, she was good. I remarked that I hadn't even known that we were starting therapy when we sat down and how had it happened that I didn't know anything about her and she knew so much about me. She said, "I'll tell you anything you want to know." I found myself asking her how long they had been married and wondering whether this was really what I wanted to know in the few short minutes we had left.

I think, you see, that it was the right question because they were so utterly comfortable with each other. Almost 17 years. Second marriage for both. A fine fit. That Buddhist thing again. They were remarkably present which in turn made me more so. And if that Buddhist thing makes sense, it was our good karma that we met. I needed the updraft and had just watched a video my daughter sent me about being in the "NOW".

This was most perfect for two clear reasons (and probably myriad less obvious ones). I have been watching a dear friend suffer with cancer and having that frustrating feeling that "I wish I could do something to help relieve her suffering, and watching a friend grieve the sudden passing of her husband. I have been working on putting aside my need for action and just being in the space with these friends. I AM HERE. That is my meditation for today.

Simple, simple, simple....hard. That is my cycle with this mindfulness deal.

Slavery/ Presidents Day

"Empire of Necessity: Slavery, Freedom, and Deception in the New World" is the book I am currently reading. Fantastic book, if you can stand to have your eyes opened more. The most amazing thing to me is the amount of disinformation that I learned so well as a good student at good schools.

I have talked before about how shocked I was when visiting the Old North Church in Boston and seeing for the first time the list of founders and making the connection between the founders' former jobs (governor of Havana) and the fortunes these men made. (slavery). Then I looked up some of the ways the fortunes were made 4x in each voyage. Old John Hancock taking timber or Rockport granite to England, the English fabric to West Africa, then Slaves to the Caribbean then rum and sugar to Boston. One cool fortune. This book takes it much deeper. Boat building fortunes from New England, by the same families that tax the trade, collecting metals from South America mined by the slaves to pay for the slaves, making salt cod the food of slaves- another New England fortune, same families selling the cod who sold the ships, sold the slaves, and sold the products of slavery. Throw in a few diamond mines and, oh my God.

I grew up thinking that the North was filled with righteous people who had high standards because of their stand in the Civil War. (What indeed was civil about it?) Schools and text books? Don't the teachers know better? 1/4 of all US presidents had slaves or slave business. One in eight black men are now in prison. Have we made any progress here?

I do like this book, very much. It took off from some characters in Melville's"Benito Cereno" who, it turns out were actual people. When the slave trade got too crowded, these fine New England families opened banks and insurance companies and investment firms. Life goes on. This is a well written book except for the frequent interruptions when I let out a scream. It is as upsetting as  the Monsanto book I spoke a lot about last year, it is almost as upsetting as reading Jeremy Scahill.

I think that I would feel half dead if I didn't try and keep informed. But I do balance things off with Buddhist writings which give me hope for mankind and murder mysteries which I hope are fiction.

Cooling off.

It is only going to be 90 today. Nice breeze. People in Nica are having a bad feeling about the changes in the weather. It has rained a few times this winter  (never before) and the warm weather seems to be coming a month early (never happens). Think of the disruption! The confusion!

I am being silly. But seeing the confusion this little bit of change brings here, I can't imagine the disruption that the weather extremes are bringing to most of the world. Is it possible that people who have always lived without at the bottom rung of the ladder, might now have a lot to teach the rest of the world? For millions of years, people survived without electricity and without cell phones, without supermarkets, without airplanes. No, I am telling the truth.

The people for whom massive disruptions caused by extreme weather don't leave them helpless could be the life coaches of the future. Maybe instead of working so hard to make more energy saving tools, we should think about how to live without cars and without electricity. It kind of freaks me out that we don't have skills to do so.

My cabin in New Hampshire had electricity and running water and flush toilets and we had a car. But we also had a hand pump and a wood lot and nearby horses and food stored in a root cellar. And even in those days before climate change ran amok, we used all our backup stuff from time to time. But how can this work if you live in London or New York or Bangkok? I don't know, but it must be possible.

I am not talking like a survivalist who has his/her energy supplies, food and water for years in cans in the basement, guns to protect it all against the hungry. I am talking about learning to live comfortably with a lot less. I am also not saying that we should all become peasants. I have nothing against a good life. But what I am suggesting is that we maybe learn what is necessary for a good life and cut back a lot on the thousands of extra stuff we 'have to have'. My grandmother was an excellent cook. She had few utensils in her kitchen, almost none of which were electric. It can be done.

Imagine this! When I was a kid, we dried our hair with a towel! And we didn't look unkempt and we didn't run around with wet hair all the time. If everyone threw away their hairdryer that could make an impact on global warming. In fact, it might save some lives down in the mines or near nuclear power plants. I can whip cream with a whisk in almost exactly the same time it takes with an electric device. Why wouldn't I ?

These are simple thoughts and I am sure you have a million more. Maybe we could start small and make a few changes each.

My first 'adult' experience of a snow storm.

This is not about x-rated stuff. Until 1956 or 1957, snowstorms in the hills of Worcester, MA were just plain fun. What else could it be? We sledded, skated, tobogganed, sleigh rode. Our parents joined in, the whole neighborhood joined in. Our family even went skiing up in Vermont.

We froze, we had a house full of radiators with drying steamy wool mittens drying on them. Our gear, by today's standards was total crap. Layers of stuff, mostly not waterproof, bound our actions. We traded and mixed and matched. I remember wearing my fathers huge galoshes stuffed with newspaper when my boots ripped. I had one piece long underwear and had to strip everything off to use the unheated out houses on the ski mountains. My mother embarrassed us all by wearing a foot ball helmet ice skating. She had fallen and gotten a concussion a year previously. It was all good fun. We built bonfires on the pond. We sledded under moving cars until the adults would finally close off the street for sledding.

Then, when I was in sixth grade, my girlfriends and I decided to have a Valentines Day party. We wanted to do it all ourselves. We were in over our heads, but having a blast. It took many of us to produce a heart shaped cake with neon pink frosting. We made little sandwiches and cut off the crust and made them into hearts. We made pink cool aid. We made decorations. We walked to the store again and again...more sprinkles, more crepe paper, more candy.

This was the fifties and we were trying for June Cleaver status. Our parents let us alone. Then, at noon the day before Valentines, we were sent home from school because a blizzard was coming in. By night, the phones were down, the electricity was off and we were each in our own houses with a piece of the party. Our parents wouldn't let us go out to each others homes. You couldn't see two feet ahead.

The storm continued for days. eventually we each, separately, made the decision to eat whatever our piece of the party was. My family had a hundred little sandwiches. I wished we would have had the cake at our house. We experienced a let down that our adults couldn't make better. For years after I would never plan anything important on Valentines Day. My myth became "If there is going to be a blizzard, it will come on February 14."

Beautiful Day!

Last night I made a decision that will be a relief to you and certainly was a relief to me. I decided that I have had enough of trying to figure out, evaluate, make sense of the expat community and the thousands of evangelicals who are coming here. I am done. I am enjoying everything I enjoy and letting go of my self imposed role of political analyst.

I felt a little embarrassed at how consumed I had become. I am satisfied with my thinking process. There is no action I can take to make anything better or easier for anyone. I am done. I felt instantly lighter. Always a good feeling.

Then, This morning who should come to the door but Jehovah Witness guys. I smiled through the iron gate. I said that I was always surprised that people want to convert Christians to Christianity. He said that there was no motivation inside them to convert anyone, they just wanted to spread the good word. I watched them lie. I smiled and said I was a Buddhist. They fled in fear of contamination.

And I still felt all right. I kept my cool. I still might not keep my cool if I see evangelicals taking money from the very poor. But there it is. Change the things I can and let go of the things I can't change.What I can change is my head and my heart.I don't know people's stories. I don't know people's karma. But I do know that once I get going with the critical thoughts, I am inviting the same into my life. Ya Basta! Enough already.

Self Myth #1

"I am very flexible."

On the surface, yes I am. I am easy going. I most often don't sweat the small stuff. I like change. I am interested in the infinite variety of human experience. I like life's ironies. Those remarks are mostly true.

But, if I seek my truth, there are some parts of me that are like steel, not flexible at all. And, as far as I can put it together, I have always been this way. Yesterday. I backed off a scene of injustice and I regretted it all day.

Some mornings and many evenings I take a cup of coffee at a rather expensive place in Granada. I don't remember the name. I call it Lilly's because she was the previous owner. I go there for the breeze and the commanding view of the plaza and the Cathedral. Endless action, endless noise. Yesterday morning a very loud, very red faced American man, a big guy, went off on the waiter. He really blasted the kid. Then the kid got flustered and couldn't do anything right. The guy kept going inside to yell his further complaints and then the complaints got more general. The place sucked. The internet sucked, the coffee sucked. I wanted to step and and tell the guy to cool it, but he really looked like one more thing and he would go postal.

There is a high likelihood that he was from Texas and a high likelihood that he had a gun. I did nothing. The waiter then was defeated. He brought the wrong change. The cashier had included a tip which set the guy off again. I did nothing and I felt badly. This is the place in me that is not usually flexible. I can't stand oppression. I try to be a voice for the voiceless. I should have said something.

I don't want to be flexible when it is a matter of right and wrong, of injustice. There is always a ton of injustice in the world, we know that, but when something is right there, the least I can do is to speak up. Now that I have made this all about me, I have come up with an idea and I will act on it.

This culture has not traditionally been a restaurant culture. After all, it is a peasant culture and one of the poorest countries in the Americas. The wait people are starting to get training at professional courses but many have no clue. I will go and tell this kid a few simple things that will make his work go better, like to bring a spoon when someone orders coffee and sugar. As it is the customer waits for the spoon until the waiter shows up again and then goes back inside to get the spoon and by then the coffee is cool and the mood is sliding into the negative.

What got me going was this idea of our idea of ourselves. I am not that flexible about a lot of things. I realize this now. I have to change the story I tell myself regardless of how others perceive me. 

Religion, politics and economics..the conquest.

One sublimely cool thing about religions through the ages is that they has inspired the greatest art and architecture ever. I do understand that some great stuff has been built outside of religious endeavors. The Great Wall of China, the Hoover Dam are really something. But, think about it. How can these compare with Angkor Wat, Chartres Cathedral, the Egyptian Pyramids, Tikal and on and on? I hope many of you can add so many sites, sculptures, paintings, works of music to this list of inspired creations.

I understand that for a lot of these holy places, their placement has a lot to do with ancient earth wisdom. The choice of locations was not random or based on some whim. There were signs in the heaven and the stars were read, and the ground was prepared through wisdom and prayer. That's how I picture it in an case.

But, then along comes the next best thing and wham, out with the old. Think about the Aztec centers in Mexico that were smashed to bits by the enslaved people who had loved them. Then the new thing, the Catholic Church, built their mighty churches on the same location they had just razed. The Aztec way was damned. It was pagan. They were worshiping  Gods with weird names. They dressed funny. They and their traditions had to die and die they did.  I read in Mexico Profundo that the population of central Mexico went from 18,000,000 to 70,000 in about 10 years. That pagan stuff was bad for your health. Who knows whether or not this is accurate, but I have heard similar numbers from the USA during the European conquest.

But those Catholics! They sure did create some great art, especially in Europe. I am extremely grateful for that. But, here in little Central America and in the USA some bad mojo is at work. These brand new Christian people who are converting Catholics to Christianity (sic!) are against all the art and culture and community and beauty that has developed since the conquest. They drag up Old Testament sayings and twist the New Testament into saying that a picture of a saint is an a sin because anyone looking at it is worshiping a person, not a God. I can't get that. Like, I never worshiped St Francis, but I was inspired to be a better person by stories of his life. Not to mention Buddha.

There are tons of people coming to Nicaragua who wouldn't be caught dead in a Catholic Church. There are thousands of people visiting Central America who have to avoid seeing any Mayan ruins because they are the work of the devil. This crap goes on all over the planet. Why can't we learn to respect others? This new Christian thing is determined to 'save' everybody from themselves. It is the oldest ugly story in the book. If it weren't so disrespectful and damaging it wouldn't be so frightful.

And there is no way, now or ever, that this isn't intimately connected, in fact, motivated by politics and economics.

Whence comes motivation?

In the afternoons at the pool, I am watching a little girl, about three years old, half kill herself learning to swim. She is within days of getting it. She keeps going in too far and too deep and jumping off the side and then struggling to rescue herself again and again. She shrugs off her mother. "I can do it!"

In the same pool, at the same time there are kids resisting their swimming lesson with all their might. They cling to the edge, have to be helped on any foray from the steps, hardly kick, looked pained.

What is going on in the mind of the motivated kid? She sure looks like the motivation comes from herself. Her mother would much rather have her in the class. No bribe there. Watching people over the years has lessened my understanding rather than expanded it.

My son didn't show any particular interest in reading once he learned how until a book contest was announced in his second grade class. I think he read something like 250 books in the contest time. The library has never been so busy, we raced to the used book store in the next town, and I spent a small fortune on index cards. It couldn't have been the prize that got him going. It was a $10 gift certificate at the book store. I had never seen a competitive streak in him. What was the kicker?

One of my daughters showed a similar trait around fifth grade. She wasn't a great speller, but something about this spelling contest at her school got her going. Because she wasn't a natural, she memorized thousands of spellings and made some high rank in the city or state. I couldn't believe it. I am among the world's worst spellers and not that great a memorizing. Where did this come from?

On a much bigger scale, whole countries can show motivation that is incredible. A friend was just at a University in Havana and saw students up at all hours of the day and night copying books that are so scarce that they can't leave the library. They want to learn so badly that they will make tremendous sacrifices for education. In other islands in the same region,  the kids have little or no motivation to go any further than they have to.

Same in the USA. In some areas the drop out rates are shocking, if you can even get hold of them. What kicks in that "I can do it" feeling in some of us and not others? Is it hope? Is it karma? Is it perfect parenting? Is it an ability to fail again and again until they get it right?  Is it a sense of destiny? Is it the food? As usual, I don't know. I do remember one motivating force in my youth. When I had a great teacher, I wanted to make them happy. Was it love?

For God's Sake, Change Your Story!

I met this young woman at a dinner party. Let's call her Heather. Heather is bright and quick to laugh. She had a complicated story of a series of misfortunes that she has endured of late. I have run into her a few times in the past weeks. Each time, some little thing has gone wrong, she couldn't get a taxi, someone didn't show up for an appointment, her email wasn't working. Each time she has said with sighs of defeat, "That is the story of my life right now. Everything is falling apart and nothing works."

After I saw her today, I wished I had run after her and told her that she is creating the story of her life right now. She is repeating the crap and letting it define her. The pile of little events confirming herr defeat is growing. She is the author. I want to tell her to change her story.

I have done this. Fake it until you make it. I understand pain and suffering. We all do. One of the Noble Truths shared by Buddha is that "Life is suffering." We know this. But we also know that "Like attracts like." When you meet someone and give a big smile and say that you feel 'great', positive energy flows to you and from you. It is simple. If you want that flow, start that flow.

I had a friend, Jim Grant who used to give truthful compliments to random people, telling the woman in the toll booth that she had sparkling eyes or a beautiful smile. The person getting the random compliment would light up like a Christmas tree. And it came flooding back to him. I liked to hang with him just to watch him spread his fairy dust.  I know other people who become their shitty story and it becomes their best friend, their most precious possession. They stay there getting their kicks out of their misery. I have been there also.

I understand the therapeutic value in telling your bad story when it can help others see that you have come through something to a new place, a place of change and you are creating a new narrative, changing your destiny. (As in 12 step meetings) This is a gift to others. That's good karma.

I will seek out this woman. I will tell her what I have experienced. I will stop one of my own stupid defeat narratives. Whenever I enter a contest or there is a door prize, the first words from my mouth are "I never win anything." I will try the opposite and see whether or not I can set the laws of attraction into action. Everyone can be our teacher. That's cool.

Dramatic Changes in Nicaragua

The economy is better. In some more remote spots, this is only visible in very small ways. People are a bit rounder. More kids are getting to school. Few people are begging. But, as in other poor countries in Latin America what Guatemalans call the third great invasion is underway. The first great invasion was the Spanish Conquest. Most of you know about that. The civilized, religious, affluent country of Spain conquered in a very short time most of the Americas. Horses, guns, greed, and disease brought ancient civilizations to their knees. Old story.

Then 450 years later came the USA conquest. Guns,power, murderous repression and greed raised their ugly heads again. The effects were devastating. 250,000 Mayans were killed. Nicaragua was devastated, forget about El Salvador. I saw it. I was here for some of it. Young people from my country missed it but it was well documented Seymour Hirsh in the "New Yorker", the movie "Romero", the poetry of Ernesto Cardinal, "I Rigoberta Menchu" the autobiography of a Mayan woman during the conflict. It is all there.

The third conquest, as it is called, is the invasion of Nicaragua by the evangelicals. So, since the Spanish conquest, Nica has become a Catholic country. When I grew up, Catholics were considered to be Christians, so were Lutherans, Episcopalians, Methodists and so on. Today, by some voodoo all these more or less traditional faiths are considered by the new christians to be pagan statue worshipers, not 'saved', leading people to hell on the fast track. The new christians have to be 'saved', they have to think the poor are lazy and stupid and being punished by God. Everything will be great if the reject their beliefs and get baptized in water and talk the social and political line of the Tea Party.

Anyone who tries to educate or help the poor is probably a socialist, an Antichrist. Here in Granada, the wicked Cathedral has a resurrected Christ on the central altar. The traditional Christ on the cross is off to the side. I love this. When I was a kid, staring at the sad and pained body of Christ was a hard deal. I had to look for statues of the Virgin for mental peace. The new Pope is making noises about God wanting the poor to have a shot at life. Here, Liberation Theology was alive and well during the troubles.

!5 years ago I thought this invasion was trouble. Ignorant but loud preachers from Texas were having the Mayans burn their traditional traje. It was a sign of paganism. They were having screaming protests against the Semana Santa processions in Antigua Guatemala. Jesus hates that Catholic shit. But now the rampant ignorance of the Tea Party is adding insult to injury. These American preachers don't know their own history and they certainly don't know the history of Nica. But the power of the threats and promises they make can penetrate deeply in a poor population looking for hope and afraid of the big guns from the north.


I feel very out of step. Even though this whole momentum feels like it is moving back to the 1500s, with a not so different justification, I think I am the dinosaur here. I have this seemingly dumb belief that people are equal in the eyes of God. I believe that love is stronger than guns. I want to learn from other traditions who lived a very long time before destroying the environment and much of the world.

One Thing About Noam Chomsky

He is so smart. We all know that. The thing is he is a free thinker. By this I men that he is not connected to any 'ism'. As long as I've known of him, ever since I audited his courses at MIT, ever since I  met him and went to his talks, people have been trying to pigeon hole him into being what their passion is. Be a Socialist. Be a Marxist. Be pro Israel. Endorse our cause.

Brilliantly, he has refrained from doing so. My Buddhist teacher says that as soon as you put yourself into any box or label, you are no longer free. It makes perfect sense that a box contains you. My guess is that most thinking people wish to be free and at the same time, many wish to belong to something. I am not saying that one should not be passionate about things or not be an activist, I am trying to take the example from Chomsky and be free.

He also teaches that everyone should evaluate information themselves. He finishes off the notion of pundits giving their slant on what is happening. It turns events into black and white polarities, stopping action and stopping common sense. Before all the access to news that we have today, he was putting down the complaint that we had no access to info. He mentioned in particular that observations abut the placement of an article in a paper such as the New York Times could tell a reader as much as the article itself. If a military take over in Honduras was a little article on page three, well someone big was happening that important people didn't want us to notice.

At one talk of his I heard at Hampshire College, the students were frustrated by the fact that he wouldn't tell them what to think. He was teaching us how to think better, how to go from the particular to the big picture.

Here is a leap of the sort my mind loves to make: In many of the historic religions (not the fundamentalist factions) people are seeking out something that might be called "The Direct Approach". We don't want the priest or the minister or the rabbi to tell us what to think. As Waldo Emerson described in the 1800s in The Divinity School Address, we want our own experience. We want to be free to know and relate to our own spirituality.

Letting others tell us how to fell or what to think is highly dangerous and really limiting. I drew a lot of wrath when I voted for Obama in his first election but voiced big hesitations. He was clear in his campaign that he liked the war in Afghanistan. I did not. Then various liberal friends didn't like the fact that I was not all in for everything he did. I was not. It became obvious right away that he was under the sway of big banks, big pharma, big agriculture, big military. I was signaled out as a malcontent and it was true. I am anti war. After Obama became the drone president, I was fully disenchanted. I voted for Jill Stein in the second election.

Trying to be a free thinker has its own traps. But this is where good old fashioned intuition helps a lot. It is the best tool in our toolbox. Think about it. Does something feel right? Are your personal alarm bells going off? If so, it is time to be more awake and pay attention. When I listen to Chomsky talk, I think of his brilliance but I also think of him as having an intuition which leads him to the truth. Why else would we have that capacity?

Go to Chomsky's website and watch a random video and see what you think.

Newcomers vs Locals

Still thinking about how newcomers change a local environment, I was reminded of my small town in New Hampshire. Temple, NH was a picture post card town. There was pretty much nothing there that didn't fit into a classic description of quaint, scenic, peaceful. The town had about 650 people. That was about the same number that was recorded on the sign on the Women and Children Cemetery during the Revolutionary war.

Even so, one of the great discussions at the annual town meeting was how to deal with the population growth. But, they clearly didn't mean population growth, they meant newcomers. I was one. Even after I held elected offices in Temple I was a newcomer. Even after I made the town famous with my story in Readers Digest, I was one.

I got a tax bill after I bought a house and I was shocked by it. The house was a little cabin on a little quarry in the middle of 32 acres of woods. The house was mostly a log cabin, but the not log cabin part was sided with bark. It was built around two pine trees, one of which was still alive. The house, in fact, was alive. Quite a lot of chewing going on in the wood by night.

So, I got this tax bill which kind of shocked me. It took me about two weeks to find the town clerk. She really didn't like to be bothered. I showed her the bill and kind of filled my face with a big question mark. She looked me over a while and then ripped it up. I asked her what the deal was and she allowed as how she would change the bill. I had been billed at the rate of rich summer folks and now that I lived there, it wouldn't be a problem any more.

As long as I lived there, however, it was called Frances Day's house. (the rich summer folk). But the new comer problem showed up in different ways. Some crusty old farmer who owned a property with a fine hill had rigged up a rope tow so the local kids could ski after school, right there, right in town. Some newcomers got all alarmed about safety and demanded that he improve different things. Then they thought he should carry some big liability insurance. Then he dismantled the thing and a fifty year old tradition ended.

We had cows out to pasture on the town commons. This had probably been going on since the 1,600s. This one feisty cow got loose every once in a while. The old timers just shooed her back. No big deal. The newcomers (myself most certainly excluded) called up the farmer all freaked out. A cow for God's sake! One Christmas morning when we lived in the old parsonage in the middle of town, we were relaxing by the fire before packing up to drive to Connecticut and we hear a gun shot right near the house. This is not a common thing in that town. The kids bundled up and went out in the two feet of snow to find the cow shot dead in the commons.

The poor thing had escaped once more and tried to eat some greenery on some newcomers yard and, well, we couldn't have that.

Mostly we got along very well. Our town paid for plowing every one's driveway. At least the first five hours of every town meeting were occupied by a discussion of this. You see, in the old days the roads went right in front of the houses and the barns were right next to the houses. This was because it was fucking freezing in the winter and because the purpose of a road was to get farm stuff to market. So, the meeting always started with someone saying that all the newcomers built their houses as far from each other as they could and why should the tax payers pay for such idiocy. I hid my face. My driveway was a mile and a half long, full of curves and hills and too narrow. A big pain for the tax burden. After about five hours and this being the first thing on the agenda, someone would get up and say,"We have always done this plowing and we are still going to do it so why don't we all shut up." And that, miraculously was the end of that.

I am experiencing a heavier push pull between the locals and the demands of the expats here. It should still be cheap and it should still have flavor, but it should also have all the conveniences of home. My friend Karen wrote her observations of the current scene here:

"I spent the last three weeks with my friend in Granada, a low key Spanish colonial style town, forty five minutes from the capital of Nicaragua, Managua. It lies a stone’s throw away from the mighty Lake Cocibolca, or Lake Nicaragua as it is called in English. It’s favored by Managuans and tourists alike for its cooling breezes. On weekends folks from the capital arrive in great numbers to sit by the lake and enjoy the local restaurants, many offering diverse cuisine that caters to visitors. These restaurants are mostly run by foreigners. 

Granada has increasingly become a haunt for expats from northern climates, notably Canada, for its warm and at times very hot, tropical weather and the still inexpensive cost of living. Many of these transplants have arrived via Costa Rica, which they feel has become too expensive, overrun by Americans and therefore not as Central American in character as they would like. Some get involved in bettering the lives of local children through after school tutoring, teaching circus and hammock making skills or providing free medical care in outlying villages and underserved areas of towns and cities. They learn Spanish and have Nicaraguan friends. Others stay rather separate and have a fundamentally untrusting attitude to the Nicaraguans, though they are quick to employ them for maid and garden services. Yet others I met come short term from southern U.S. states to “tell the people about Jesus” as one little Texan girl explained to me when I met her in one of the hotels that caters to large groups from abroad. Other Texan men –some ex CIA – sit around for morning coffee and complain about all the damage Obama has done to the homeland.

The local people I met, many of whom were known to my friend from her long term visits to Granada in the past, were warm and friendly and appreciated that I spoke Spanish. My friend has experienced much kindness from them in the past when she was at times in need of help. All advised us to watch our purses, take taxis at night and to lock up our houses well.  This we certainly did, but no more than in other countries I’ve visited in central and South America. When all is said and done, we do have so much more materially than do the local people, so how can we complain that some want to rob us?

The vegetation in the many beautiful interior courtyards of Granada and outside of town is very reminiscent of the plants I’m familiar with from Hawaii: banana trees, coconut and travelers palms, heliconias, wild ginger, bougainvillias and bromeliads; many of them magnified outdoor versions of familiar green houseplants. The architecture of grand establishments near the center of town is not revealed until you step inside the imposing tall wooden doors that face the street. Inside you enter extremely high ceilinged, tile floored, cloister-like walkways, open to a central courtyard that is filled with exuberant tropical greenery planted around a fountain or pool. The roofs are covered with red Mediterranean tiles; the ceilings are made of varnished cane stalks and supported by slender wooden columns. The kitchens and many of the living spaces are not closed off from the open patio, so the warm breezes waft in and out, assisted by many ceiling fans that keep the air circulating. The front door is usually covered by a wrought iron grill which allows the doors to be opened for still more air currents to enter. In our traditional building, only the bedrooms were walled off, their doors and windows opening into the interior.

A memorable sound in Granada is the clip clop of horses trotting along the straight and narrow streets. Near the central park, which lies in the shadow of a large mustard yellow cathedral and surrounded by arcaded hotels, lean and hardy little animals pull gaily decorated carriages which carry tourists around town. In addition, simple, two-wheeled horse-drawn carts transport everything from feed to furniture. Gas is much more expensive than in the U.S. so carts, bicycles, mopeds, public buses and collective taxis are the preferred means of transportation. Friends who rented a small car were thrilled by how empty the roads are, except of course when a herd of sleek and dreamy Brahmin cattle are being led on their way to or from pasture. They can certainly slow you down but what’s the rush!

Looming above the lake and south of Granada is Mombacho volcano, its head mostly in the clouds. One day we drove up its steep flanks in a noisy but efficient truck filled with rows of hard benches. Halfway up we stopped at a coffee plantation where we were treated to quite tasty shade grown coffee, grown mostly for export. Near the edge of the crater we walked in a thick mist on slippery wet paths around the vegetation filled crater. Just below the cloud cap we put our hands into steamy, warm fumaroles and enjoyed a great view north that took in Lake Managua and a cluster of islands just below us to the East. These Isletas supposedly were formed by an old eruption of Mombacho – a now greenery covered reminder of what the mountain is capable of when awakened. To the west of Granada, a crater lake called Laguna de Apoyo, was also visible. The following day we visited American friends who are renting a charming house low on the shady slope of that lagoon, close to the shore. After a lunch overlooking the crater, we spent enjoyable time swimming in the warm and mineral rich waters.

Early in my stay we took a boat ride out to the small Isletas near Granada. Many of them are owned by gringos and wealthy Nicaraguans with names associated with rum, sugar plantations and Nica politics.  There’s usually space for no more than one residence, a boathouse and servants quarters, though we did see one island that housed a restaurant. Some were for sale, so if you’re looking to buy an island . . . . .  All visitors are shown the famous Mono Island where a congress of monkeys swings among the trees and one or two cautiously approached our small boat for a banana or two. There are no fruit trees on the tiny island so the animals are fed by the local community. I learned they were rescued from somewhere and brought to what has now become their sanctuary. Luckily they looked well fed and healthy. Close to the monkey island, our pilot pointed out a large kingfisher on a rock who when given a small piece of bread used it as bait to attract the many small fish that immediately rushed to the surface. We also saw fish hawks, herons, egrets and cormorants drying their feathers, wings extended. Altogether, a very peaceful and pleasant outing.

My longest trip beyond Granada took me overnight to a much larger island called Ometepe, nahuatl for “two mountains”, and situated a 45 minute drive south of Granada. Two large volcanoes, one active, the other dormant, formed the dumbbell shaped island centuries ago.  Archaeological finds there date as far back as 3000 B.C.  From the mainland port of San Jorge we had to take a colorful and rather alarmingly full ferry to reach Moyogalpa on the western side of the island. It was the fully loaded 18 wheeler on the car deck that made us wonder before deciding to proceed. The ferry agents assured us that the waves that were crashing onshore when we arrived were nothing compared to days on which ferry crossings are suspended, so we proceeded with our travel, setting aside any doubts we might have harbored. Although the choppy water lengthened the usually hour and a quarter crossing to two hours, we all travelled without incident or motion sickness to the other side. There we stayed in a tranquil inland eco retreat for $11 a night with splendid views of cloud shrouded Concepcion volcano and of the still animated lake a short distance away.
 Before retiring for the night we visited the much mentioned Ojo de Agua, a large pool constructed of lava rocks through which flowed pale blue water from within the Madera volcano. (That’s the dormant one.) When we paid our admission fee we were assured with a smile that bathing in these mineral rich waters would take 10 years off our age and sooth any aches and pains we had brought with us. Indeed, we did feel both refreshed and healed by the soft, clean water.
 Livestock and plantains seemed to be the main products of the island. The islanders live simply in dwellings constructed of thatch and wooden slats, a hammock swinging from the roof and a pig tethered by a rope out front.  Others were of an upgraded but less picturesque type made of concrete, which at night were lit by one central light bulb. Apparently electricity for the first light bulb is provided by the power company for free. Nicaragua is the poorest country in Central America and this is quite visible in the countryside. No doubt also in the outskirts of Managua and Granada, though we did not visit those areas, since they are not safe unless you are there at the invitation of one of the many organizations involved in those communities. There are many of these from overseas, from Scandinavia to Saudi Arabia, working to improve conditions for the population.
Daniel Ortega, the former Sandinista leader, is still in power. Locals refer to him as simply Daniel. Many I spoke to feel he hasn’t done enough to improve the lot of most Nicaraguans and are skeptical about how he is serving the country. This includes how they feel about his plans for a trans Nicaragua canal which would potentially provide much employment as well as an additional means for ships to cross the continent now that the Panama canal does not suffice. It is to be financed by a Chinese investor who has a reputation for never finishing projects that he starts.
Considering the very difficult history that the Nicaraguans have lived through in recent years and the slow recovery from this, people in Granada at least seemed cheerful enough on the surface and want to move on beyond the bad memories of war. It seems some Granada citizens have benefited from the growing influx of tourists. I hope that influx will continue to be of help rather than only of benefit to some foreigners in the end. If I lived there longer, I’d certainly want to be involved in an activity that would in some way compensate for the warm hospitality extended by the friendly Nicaraguans. I’d also like to get to know them and their country better sometime in the future."

How other countries must envy our enlightened country.

I want to mention once again a brilliant talk I attended given by a rabbi. I can't remember his name. His discourse was on one of the traditional questions in Judaism. "Which is the most important commandment?" His argument was that it was "Thou shall not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain." is the most powerful.

His point was that to do evil and call it God's work or Christ's will is the greatest sin of all. We can all think of historical examples of this. We can also see many current examples. Is this the inevitable result of fundamentalism? Is fundamentalism a result of fear of losing control?

The following from The Daily Kos

 here's a fascinating -- and by fascinating, I mean appalling -- case that the ACLU is filing on behalf of a local family, against a Louisiana school district and several officials/teachers. The family suffered a tremendous litany of unconstitutional behaviors directed against them, but they are perhaps best represented by the words of plaintiff Scott Lane, husband of plaintiff Sharon Lane, father of plaintiffs S.L and M.L, and stepfather of plaintiff C.C. He gives examples of some of the issues his Buddhist stepson encountered, and the disregard for constitutional separation of church and state is simply staggering:

   On a science test, their teacher had included a fill-in-the-blank question: "ISN'T IT AMAZING WHAT THE _____ HAS MADE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" When my stepson didn't know the answer ("Lord"), she belittled him in front of the entire class. When he wrote in "Lord Buddha" on another exam, she marked it wrong. As she was returning that exam to students, one student proclaimed aloud that "people are stupid if they think God is not real." In response, my stepson's teacher agreed, telling the class, "Yes! That is right! I had a student miss that on his test." The entire class broke out in laughter at my stepson.
    The same teacher also told our children that the Bible is "100 percent true," that the Earth was created by God 6,000 years ago, and that evolution is "impossible" and a "stupid theory made up by stupid people who don't want to believe in God." She's also told the class that Buddhism is "stupid." (emphasis added)

While this particular teacher, Rita Roark, was especially problematic, Lane gives a number of other examples of the general atmosphere of the school, including that of defendant and school superintendent Sara Ebarb:

       When we went to the school to meet with the principal, we saw a large picture of Jesus over the school's main doors, a Bible verse on the school's electronic marquee, and numerous religious posters and pictures on the walls. Religious images and messages are displayed throughout the school, in fact.
        We learned from our children that official prayers, typically led by the principal or teachers, are routinely incorporated into class and school events like assemblies, and sporting events. The school even requires students to attend "See You at the Pole" each year, where they must take part in prayer and worship.
        We discovered that school officials were distributing religious literature to students. For example, one of our other son's teachers passed out copies of a book from the "Truth For Youth" program, a revivalist ministry. The book included the entire New Testament of the Bible as well as cartoons that denounce evolution and trumpet the evils of birth control, premarital sex, rock music, alcohol, pornography, homosexuality, sorcery, and witchcraft. (emphasis added)

Supporting evidence is provided. But the embrace of religiosity and disregard for constitutional protections goes much higher than teachers and event coordinators. When the Lanes took their complaints to the school superintendent, she told them

   that “[t]his is the Bible Belt” and that they would simply have to accept that teachers would proselytize students. She also asked whether C.C. had to be raised as a Buddhist and whether he could “change” his faith, and she suggested that C.C. transfer to another district school – more than 25 miles away where, in her words, “there are more Asians.” The day after meeting with the Lanes, the Superintendent sent a letter to Negreet Principal Gene Wright stating that she approved of Negreet’s official religious practices. Wright read the letter to the entire Negreet student body over the school’s public address system. (emphasis added)

The superintendent's complete lack of comprehension of religious freedom is made more clear in the complaint, which details how she told the Lanes

   that “[t]eachers have religious freedom.” She further stated that “if they were in a different country,” Plaintiffs would see “that country’s religion everywhere,” and that, therefore, they “shouldn’t be offended” to “see God here.” Purporting to illustrate her point further, she noted that, because she did not find it offensive that “the lady who cuts [her] toenails has a statue of Buddha,” Plaintiffs should not be bothered by Roark’s in-class proselytization.

In her mind, "freedom" is not a freedom to hold a belief, but a freedom to force others to hold that belief. The illogicality of such a position is made apparent when one considers what happens when you have people who hold different beliefs exercising this "freedom". Furthermore, Erbarb's response to the family -- that C.C. should go elsewhere, because he was in the Bible belt -- illustrates that her view of religious freedom is entirely one sided. It is not freedom, and it extends only to Christians. It is worth noting that, while C.C. did transfer, he is still subject to much of the same religious harassment. Even if that were not the case, it should go without saying that no child, and no family, should have to go half an hour out of their way each morning simply to avoid being harassed and intimidated -- much less by authority figures -- for praying to Lord Buddha (or not praying at all) rather than Lord Jesus.
And while C.C.'s troubles are not over, neither are those of his siblings (one of whom is a Christian):

   Plaintiffs S.L. and M.L. are minor children and brothers to C.C. They are both enrolled at Negreet High School, where they are subject to the customs, policies, and practices of Defendants Sabine Parish School Board, Superintendent Ebarb, and Principal Wright. Although M.L. attends church, he believes that faith is a personal matter. He believes that he should be able to decide, with the guidance of his parents and religious leaders, which beliefs he will follow and when, as well as how to express those beliefs, without pressure from his teachers and school officials. S.L. is a non-believer who does not subscribe to the religious beliefs promoted by schools officials.

It's simply mind boggling that adults would think that doing this to children was in any way appropriate, much less legal. Originally posted at Rachel's Hobbit Hole

Originally posted to Rachels Hobbit Hole (on Daily Kos) on Sun Jan 26, 2014 at 10:40 AM PST.

Question! What does it mean to be an anthroposophist?

I have taught in a Waldorf school. I have studied Rudolf Steiner a bit at Emerson College, Sussex, England and some at the Waldorf Institute. But, I was asking myself what it would mean to call myself an anthroposophist. I call myself a Buddhist. For me that means I make my attempts to live with as much loving kindness as I can muster and I am so happy to hear words attributed to the Buddha. It is a path.

I was born a Catholic and have had some cool mystical experiences stimulated, I think, by my childhood teachings. I once called myself a Democrat but am no longer wishing to be that. I can not in good conscience be part of any war party.

The only card I have ever carried was as a member of Veterans for Peace. I am not a Vet, but they let me join. I really like what they stand for.

But would being an anthroposophist mean being a follower of Rudolf Steiner or a student of his words or would it mean being a spiritual scientist? Would that translate as "inspired by the example of RS?" or does one simple believe what he wrote? Is it a path or a religion or a club?

This is a real question. I am interested in your thoughts.

Found it!

Wow! I am certain that this story has happened so very many times throughout history, but it is still a bit of a shock to be watching it unfold. So, finally Nicaragua is a known tourist and expat destination. This is no wonder because at the moment it is one of the relatively safe places with relatively great weather and is relatively inexpensive. And Granada and San Juan del Sur are the hot spots. And they are developing very fast. New hotels and restaurants are opening all the time. This is a very good year for tourism here.

The big conversation around town is about how expensive it is getting. This is most certainly relative. But what does anyone expect? People bring in the tourist dollars, expect everything they can get in a developed country and create a dual economy and then think they are getting ripped off when they have to pay for it.

It seems to be accepted wisdom that tourism is good for a poor country, but I wonder. Do most of the tourist dollars end up going back to the countries of origin? Higher prices for gringos translate into higher prices for locals when Nicaraguans can’t afford to buy houses in Granada anymore. This must be how these gringolandias happen. San Miguel de Allende, Antigua, Guatemala, locals are priced out. Of course this happens everywhere. Think Nantucket, MA. Think of pretty much any beach town anywhere.

Here it is so just happening right at this very moment, one can’t help but remark on it. Soon the Nica folks will be a cute show for the tourists instead of a living culture. Oh, I am not really afraid of this happening but I probably should be. When you hear gringos remark “Oh, it was so nice at the concert, a lot of Nicas were there.” it sets my teeth on edge. Ten years ago at the same concert, it was only Nicaraguans.

I am not complaining about the expense because I know I can go to any other town in the country and get everything for ¼ of the price. I also know that this place is beautiful and fun and I like it here. I like to have internet, I like to have good drinking water, I like the people of Nicaragua. I’m only complaining about the complaining. I think I need a consultation with the good Lamas in Thailand again. I never did get the email addresses of any Thai Lamas.

Speaking of Thai Lamas, I was talking to an expat who is a developer here. I told her I had been in Thailand. She said, and I quote, “I am so over Thailand, the tourists have ruined it” She said this with no sense of irony. Life is great. And I am rid of my amoebas.

Frustration

I wrote what I thought was a fine blog tonite. I wrote it on Word because I can't get internet in my room at the lovely Hotel Limon in Granada, Nica. I don't know how to copy the document to the blog page. I feel so stupid. But the real thing is there is this woman in the living area where the internet works who has been on Skype for the last 14 hours and every day in the past days. I can not write while she is complaining to her friends in South Africa about the "natives" of Nicaragua.

I am certain that somehow this is a gift from God. But I can't see that yet.

I will either figure this out or move to a new house. I miss my blog and I miss you.

Morning/Mourning

I love the morning sounds here in Nica. Footsteps start along the road. The vegetable lady starts hawking her stuff, the birds, the rooster, the wind in the palm trees and a few cars racing past all signal the start of the new day. The fountain is still dripping and the sky, soundless except for the wind, screams blue. Another gorgeous day.

The Buddhist teachers tell us to start the day with the death meditation. Sounds morbid, but it is so not. "It is a new day. I am alive. I am grateful to be alive. I could die at any moment. This could be my last day of life. How do I want to live my last day? I want to be kind and loving to all sentient beings. I want to bring happiness to someone. I want to clear up anything that I don't want to carry over into my next life. I want to see beauty"

The death meditation fully understands that everything could disappear in an instant. Everyone we love could go away. We can't waste a precious moment on ugliness or creating pain for ourselves and others. This is show time. Now. Today.

My brother John is a Lutheran, but he seems to be a perfect Buddhist. He has Down's Syndrome. He remembers a lot, but he doesn't seem to put an emotional depth charge on memories. He begins each day with a smile. He seems very happy with whatever the day brings. When he misses our father, You can see the missing pass fleetingly over his face and then the smile when he says "Father is in Heaven." All is well.

Living in the present is always a huge challenge for everyone I know. We carry around great loads of old crap, more than any donkey could carry all day. While we must certainly grieve and mourn our losses, we also have the choice to be good Buddhists, or good Brother Johns and start each morning crowing like the rooster with our greeting to the new day and all the potential it carries.

Once again, I will share the image that Lama Marut gives of us running around holding hot coals in our hands yelling "ouch, ouch" to anyone who will listen. "How about", he asks, "dropping the coals and letting go of the pain?" Loss is painful. Loss of a loved one is hard. Loss of a friend for any reason is hard, but the night gives way to the morning and we can carpe diem all over again.