Republicans are Wrong (and they know it); It's the President's Right

Mr. House & Mr. Senate:
The New Generation of Republican Leaders

President's Obama's decision to prevent the deportation of close to fifty percent of illegal immigrants living in the United States is an act of executive authority that has been utilized for fixing immigration problems by Herbert Hoover, Dwight David Eisenhower, Ronald Reason, George H.W. Bush, and Bill Clinton.  The scope or intentions may be different:  that is what you will mostly find when reading a conservative spin on precedents for the use of such authority.  Except the intent is not an issue.  The President's intention does not disqualify the act itself of a President using his authority to solve what he perceives to be a deficiency in immigration statues when Congress has not passed legislation to deal with the perceived problem. If past Republican presidents have exercised executive authority on immigration, then the Republican voices denouncing the President are unfounded for good reason:  these Republicans could care less about history; they are continuing their attempts to destroy our President's reputation.  They will not stop until they have destroyed him.  And they are the ones who are condemning the President for undermining the Presidency.  What are they doing in their personal vendetta against this man but undermining the Presidency.  Of course they do not think so because he is not their President.  They do not need to follow him, respect him, or respect the 2012 election.  Never has a President in recent years been so vilified.  What are the chances that these Republican dogs, having smelled blood in the midterm elections, will stop their predatory ways.  Let's listen to what Antonio says in the Merchant of Venice to the chances that Shylock will act sensibly let alone mercifully:

You may as well go stand upon the beach
And bid the main flood bate his usual height;
You may as well use question with the wolf
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;
You may as well forbid the mountain pines
To wag their high tops and to make no noise,
When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven;
You may as well do anything most hard,
As seek to soften that--than which what's harder? 

(Act IV. Scene 1)

As the Republicans continue this assault in lieu doing real legislative work or finding reasonable political strategies, they will weaken the very Constitution they have sworn to protect.  And let their be no mistake, this too will backfire.  The dog will have his day.  They will reap the bitterness they have sown.  They will not win the Presidential election in 2016, and they will lose the Senate majority they have temporarily gained.  This is not wishful thinking, it is a prognostication based on the final results of all human greed and cruelty.  

To Wait and To Serve

Perhaps I am in the minority (at least among the more liberally minded), but I am astounded at Kaci Hickox’s response to her mandatory quarantine upon returning from Sierra Leone where she worked as an epidemiologist treating Ebola victims.  And don’t for a minute think that I am happy about being on the same side of an issue as Chris Christie.  I hate it.  But it is Ms. Hickox’s fault.  Here is some of what she had to say;


Commenting on New Jersey’s mandatory 21 quarantine, she states that this is a “knee jerk reaction by politicians” which is “preposterous.”  She adds that “this [quarantine policy] is an extreme that is really unacceptable” and she feels that her “basic human rights have been violated.”  “To put me thorough this emotional and physical stress is completely unacceptable,” she complains.  And then goes so far as to state, “To put me in prison is just inhumane.”  In addition to being quarantined, she was not permitted access to her luggage, had to wear paper scrubs, and had no shower, flush toilet, or television.  


Was it an admirable thing she did by serving the sick in Sierra Leone?  Most certainly.  She demonstrated a concern both to save those who were sick and to help keep those who were healthy from becoming infected. 


How then is it that she cannot demonstrate the same level of concern for her own fellow citizens, for this 21 day quarantine may be as significant an action as actively serving in Sierra Leone?  


She has been tested, and the results are negative.  Still, there have been false negatives.  The test themselves cannot claim 100 percent accuracy.  If she were allowed to interact with others and then developed symptoms of the virus within this three week period, she would have potentially infected who knows how many individuals who may then have infected who know how many more.


Now if she were being sent to Guantanamo Bay for an indefinite period of time with inadequate essentials and without any contact with the outside world, I would agree that she is being treating inhumanely and that her basic human rights were being violated.  


She is in a hospital for three weeks.  Is that cruel and unusual?  Certainly not. I think those who are worrying about her so-called torture should remember four things

1. Health care workers treating Ebola patients are the most susceptible to the virus
2. According to the World Health Organization the incubation period (from infection to the onset of symptoms) is between 2 and 21 days.  In other words, an apparently healthy and strong Ms. Hickox may in fact be infected. 
3. The tests for Ebola detection may be 99 percent accurate, but not 100 percent.  In other words, Ms. Hickox may have received false negative test results.
4. Sometimes the needs of others outweigh the needs of one person.  

The litmus test must be whether from a disinterested and objective point of view, Ms. Hickox is being denied her human rights.
  

Being in isolation (with use of computer and cell phone and regular take-out food) for three weeks until the incubation period is over is a very small price to pay for performing the duty she owes her own country men and women. 


If a mandatory 21 day quarantine dissuades any health care professional from joining Doctors Without Borders to help the people of Sierra Leone and certain countries in Western Africa, that person was never serious about helping to begin with. Any reasonable person who has witnessed this disease first hand would tacitly accept the 21 day precautionary measure.  

I am sure that most of those who serve as heroes in fighting this virus throughout the world are not as petty as Ms. Hickox.  The majority of them are heroes in the profoundest sense of the world:  we will never know their names, for their goal was never notoriety. 

John Milton, one of the ten best poets of all times, understood that doing one’s duty comes in many forms when he wrote a poem about his own blindness.  He concludes: "They also serve who only stand and wait.”

Stand and wait for three short weeks Ms. Hickox, and you will have served us well.  

Platon's Salon

I was watching a web cast of the famous multi-millionaire photographer Platon giving an inspirational speech before the 2013 Wired Business Conference.  He was there not just to showcase his portraits but to talk about the power of the people through technology.  A question immediately rose in my mind:  Does being a great photographer naturally equate with being a great motivational speaker?  When did this happen?  From whence did Platon garner his auctoritas?  What makes Platon substantially different from the best Playboy or Penthouse photographer?  The answer is clear, and Platon enforces this through the portraits that he presents:  he has been in the presence of great men and women.  But at what cost?

Consider the following anecdote. He chuckles when he relates his meeting with Putin when he somehow found himself in an embrace with one of the worst abusers of human rights in the world.  For the record, Amnesty International notes that at least 5100 protesters and activists under Putin's leadership.  Platon might even be interested in checking out their Putin Human Rights Violations timeline (http://www.amnestyusa.org/russia).  The fact that he was so instantaneously chummy enough with Putin to talk about the Beatles helps to underscore how far an unctuous salesman will go to make a sale.  And then to tell his audience with the face of Putin behind him:  this is the "face of the KGB." I am confident that he said no such thing while schmoozing with the autocrat.

He mentions the photographing of former President George W. Bush as being one of the most "traumatic" experiences of his life.  Really?  Because W. did not enter the room with Putinesque affability?  He then continues to click up photographs of a variety of leaders from Clinton to Zuckerberg every now and then reminding us that he is one of us, the people.  Through his art he seeks to reveal the "truth of who's in power" because "we the people want to know."
The truth is that beyond the anecdotes associated with each portrait, there was little substance in this inspirational presentation.  The "truth of who's in power" was a pretty pedestrian series of visuals so that we could put a face to a name.  Beyond that what truth does he provide?  The truth that he is a popular in-demand photographer who, in spite of reputation, still feels the need to fawn over criminals, to coddle their egos.  At best he is mildly funny, but unlike a comedian who allows us to see our traditions and idiosyncrasies through wit and humor, Platon's ultimate goal is to remind us that he was in the presence of greatness and that he was so unafraid that he can even joke about his subjects.

My son's Augustine school is paying "God knows what" to host Platon as part of a Distinguished Speakers Series with the tenuous connection that the school's theme is creation and Platon creates.  Well, so does everyone.  The optimists in the audience will at least be able to say that they were only one person removed from some of the most famous and infamous people in the world.  Individuals whom they will never meet primarily because they as we are the people while Platon is not.
Some of my best professors in college told stories, some from personal experience, most about historical personages.  And we together created the portraits in our imaginations.

Perhaps I would have more respect for this peddler if he were to present a blank screen with the words, "This is the portrait of Putin that I refused to take."

Humble Pie and Sour Grapes

Okay.  This is the third week since being laid off.  It is time to talk about two foods I have been living on since my termination:  sour grapes and humble pie.  

Humble pie comes first.  In fact, you get one or two big spoonfuls of this simultaneously with your pink slip.  More of that later.  The only thing I will say here is that humble pie is way more filing than cheese cake.  When you leave the office you can barely make it to your car.  You feel as though you’ve gain an instant ten pounds.  

I ate so many sour grapes within the first week of my unemployment that I spent the entire next day with stomach pains.  The day after that, however, I was back to snacking, popping them into my mouth like popcorn.  This even when the grapes were so sour that my eyes were watering and my tongue was paralyzed.  

I must digress for a moment because there is at least one person out there― rather intelligent and very self-satisfied― who will say, “Why don’t you just make lemonade?”  If you can go right from lemon to lemonade, then you are in the company of people like Mother Theresa and Pope John Paul.  You are already polishing up that saint head-gear that you will be wearing after you die.  Me?  I can’t even find the lemons these  people talk about.  I did spend an entire day searching.  They are small yellow things right?

     Let’s face it, blaming every person in all three times zones (paste, present, and future) is not healthy.  There is, however, an immediate surge in adrenaline.  I think this may even be necessary to get some of us through the first day or two of a terrible situation.  I also think that among the countless sour grapes I have eaten, some of them represent valid points.  Sour grapes are not sour because they are necessarily untruths.  The are sour because of the ramifications for one’s psyche.  Let us say that the boss is an asshole.  I mean that if you connected him to the assholometer, that indicator would be up near the 100 percent level.  And then you go analyzing him and find 20 specific examples of his assholism.  These may well be true.  But they are still sour grapes and may be just as debilitating as blaming God or President Obama for your job loss.  I know it is not easy― I can take three truths and turn them into 50 sour grapes.  I can also find sour grapes in the least likely places― a teacher I had in middle school, the Koch Brothers, Apple Computers, etc. 

The problem with using measurements is that you can never be satisfied.  You readily exchange the Assholometer for the “Not Worth Being Alive” or, my favorite, the Hellometer (I like the Dante’s version, the Inferno Scale).  Now the Asshole becomes so bad that I would stick him down with Brutus and Judas in the lowest level of hell.  

     Sour grapes is a defense mechanism.  But defense mechanisms rather quickly become offensive, in both senses of the word.  One does not want to remain passive when one is fired, because being fired is a life-altering assault against which you have little if any power.  Sour grapes put us on the attack.  I like to season my sour grapes with a dozen or so curse words I can then use in limitless combinations― a good curse word can wreck the most sacred or the most neutral noun to which it is attached.  It gets ugly quickly.  

     It was only in the third week that I went for the pie.  Humble pie is a lot like limburger cheese― an acquired taste.  There is nothing tempting about it.   When you have been living on sour grapes for two weeks, however,and there is nothing else to eat, it is better than nothing (barely). The problem with humble pie is getting it down in the first place.  Sour grapes have the same appeal that sour patch candies do― there is a market for them.  The minute humble pie hits the tongue, the body responds with the gag reflex.  I am actually surprised Andrew Zimmern from Bizarre Foods has not featured humble pie among some of his other favorites: squirrel brains, cow urine, spleen sandwiches, raw fish eyeballs, and maggot-filled cheese.  But it is so hard to eat much humble pie because we are not wired that way― we are conditioned for advancement.  

     A little bit of humble pie, however, may be just what the doctor ordered.  You

quickly discover such realities as:  the business did not fall apart without you; you are replaceable; you are capable of really fucking up big time; the life you thought you were leading was really controlled by someone who can take your livelihood away; you are now one of those whom you may have always stereotyped as having intrinsic flaws; the qualities that you liked most about yourself were the very one’s your employer transformed into faults and then fired you for them.  Humble pie definitely takes you down a peg or two.  It’s like you are playing parcheesi, and you are one roll away from getting into the home safety zone, when a competitor lands on you so that you have to start all lever again.  The feeling of loss is what fills you up.  Standing up is hard enough, let alone brushing yourself off.  

So what can you as a Christian do? 

1.  Know who you are!!!  

Remind yourself of your role model:  Jesus Christ.  On Palm Sunday he was hailed as the Messiah, King of Israel, worthy of David’s throne.  Five days later he was arrested.  On the sixth day he was met with shouts of “Crucify him!!”  Now if this happened to the Son of God in six days, are you surprised that it happened to you after one year or twenty years of work.  Even if you were the greatest employee in the history of your company, you are not Jesus Christ.  So remember what Jesus asserted when he was at his weakest, when others were telling him who he was or how much power they had over him.  Before the kangaroo court when asked if he were the Son of God, he responded:  “I am:  and ye shall see the Son of Man sitting on the right hand of the Power, and coming in the clouds" (Mark 14:62).  And later when Pilate threatened Jesus with his own power, Jesus answered, “Thou couldest have no power at all against me, except it were given thee from above” (John 19:11a).  Jesus KNEW who he was.  You need to know who you are, and you are NOT what your boss says about you.  You are not what the subsequent gossip mill claims you to be.  

You are blessed.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who hath blessed us with all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ: 4 According as he hath chosen us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and without blame before him in love: 5 Having predestinated us unto the adoption of children by Jesus Christ to himself, according to the good pleasure of his will, 6 To the praise of the glory of his grace, wherein he hath made us accepted in the beloved . 7 In whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace; 

(Ephesians 1:3-7)

And you are loved:

For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:38-39)

2.  Know that God is in direct control of your individual life!

He is the only power that can produce greater good from evil.  Some of you know that you may not actually be doing what you ant to be doing.  Maybe this is a way, albeit not an easy one, to get you out of a rut and into something you enjoy.  I am not saying that God created the bad situation.  I am saying that God has the power to convert this bad situation into something good for you.  

The financial problems may be enormous.  Do not think big.  Consider what you and your family need to survive.  Work at surviving.  DO this while you are studying for another career, or searching for a better job.  And do not take something just for the money.  That is a recipe for making a bad situation worse.  At this point you need to be sitting on a mountain in Galilee listening to Jesus’ words of comfort:  

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin:  And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.  Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith? Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.

But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. 
(Matthew 6:28-33)

3.  Know that God Listens to and Answers Prayers!

Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you (

Saint Augustine characterizes this kind of constant prayer (always, asking, always seeking, and always knocking) not so much as a way to get what you want, but as the best way to establish a real parent-child relationship with God, when he writes:  

Diu desiderata, dulcius obtinentur: cito autem data, vilescunt. Pete, quaere, insta. Petendo et quaerendo crescis, ut capias. Servat tibi Deus, quod non vult cito dare; ut et tu discas magna magne desiderare. Inde oportet semper orare, et non deficere 10.    Augustine Sermo 61

Those things long desired will be sweeter when you receive them; things given quickly will grow cheap.  Seek, ask, and don;t give up.  By seeking and by asking you will grow so that you may receive.  God is protecting you―he does not wish to give you things quickly so that you may greatly desire great things.  That is why is it good to prayer and not to cease praying.  

Private Poems on Someone Else's Laptop

John 3:16

Uncle Don is dead and gone 

does anyone remember

When he wore a hat 

and tall loose pants

Held up with two elastic blue 

Or polka dot suspenders?

He socked his boys and locked

them up in the pantry for hours

Aunt Fran would hide

And make mincemeat pie

Rolling dough and lying low

Dusted with gold metal flour

One Sunday at the Pentecostal 

church he found the Lord

He nearly swooned

In the spirit filled room

But he stayed awake long enough to take

His heavenly reward

He began to wear a wooden cross

And a PTL lapel pin

And he whacked his kids 

Like he always did 

for the lord above says out of love

That's the best way to repel sin

I began to think and dwell for hours

On how sins can be erased

How the first shall be last

And  the slow shall be fast

And what is the same by another name

Is God's amazing grace

Elegies From the Dead

Shovel o’er me all that soil, dump in 
Rotting petals stripped of pleasant odors 
Corrupting the rest of what’s corrupt 
This is not a tulip bulb, not a cup of
wildflower seeds nor a pumpkin patch
Do you think I’ll naturally just hatch
with the first warm wind of March
Do you really fear the early frost?
Do I even hear those lazy lilacs start
to dare one another to wriggle out
Do I hear those whispers. Most
Garrulous incidental crop of quips
Dare me to speak?  My lips
the ones that lovers, she or Paula, kissed, 
are fraying like the covers of
olden pew Bibles. From kitchens drift
aromas— bacon fat or roast beef stew
or noodles oozing cheese.  You miss
how moldy velvet lining tastes
collapsing into this elapsing face
Are you thinking some hasty thought?
Did anyone remember how deeply I
pondered, how the weight of an issue
stuck like moist snow on the feeble 
branches in my brain.  How can such
plebeian notions be worth so much
more than those?  Have I gallantly tramped
an overall inch from the damp to the dry? 
How far does a reckless boy think he
has moved.  Mountains and oceans and free-
ways with calico cats and canvas campers
Where do they go, the group that dumped 
me?  Those who crumpled tissues, stone-
choked in their throats.  So they won’t return?  
Have I become so erased, so adjourned
Even you can’t cheer me up, won’t even try?


His Senses Sense Creation

Matted left leaf color of masan's egg
Three streaks of butter blonde
Glued by the dew to St. Teri's toe
Lizards in the mortar maze
Like the steel orb knobbed
Round the holes in a game
You saw our King?
Wide-set eyes creamy nape
Open collar, slim-fit  pants
And that convergent bend
Wedged under the cheeks
The switchblade gnawk of the tongue
From the roof when the words
Exude and the unsealed lips
The third swallow after the
Foods ooze over the gullet
The barren nose that sniffs
And springs and clamps
A stinky clue or two left lying in a laptop
The swallow twits and the bat creaks
The Gourmand plucks the last
Off with a satisfied huff
The cypress tree is one or two leaves away
From the panes from the august
Chamber of King Widget

Apologia cum Concilio

Francis Fairfax is not a scam
Would a scam do this?
Serve time on school boards
Give bones to unwanted dogs
He forecloses or purchases low income homes
An attorney serving this neighborhood for years
Frank Fairfax knows a scam and wants to protect you
From unscrupulous makers of fake clubs
Spoiling your Sunday morning swing
Taking its toll on your handicap
Frank Fairfax won't stand for that
Know your dealer and the feel of real clubs
Be forearmed and ready in advance
And keep yourself in the swing

Non Haberes

Sealed envelope
Waiting
Vagabonds sip and talk
Sinatra and local produce
There is a handoff
Nothing else but
This will tell you all you need to know
A red haired woman wrapped in polka dots
Chirps venti latte soy one shot of espresso
Two comes a mouth tied up in a mustache
The sharp ice edges are barely worn in the coffee
He's gone
Could this finally be the end
Slurps of tepid cocoa
And a hissing from a barista in the
Direction of headphones and laptop
Grande skinny caramel frapp
Near the shadows of the restroom
Come pudgy quips about the sweetener
My cup, my cup


Invocation

Stained saints and earnest cracks
Simple formats and holy water
Songs from the frayed Hymnbook stacks
Preaching in the cedar larder
The Study Room swoons with inky markers
Archway books and musty magazines
a broken carousel and several barkers
plywood blocks bright blues and greens
On Sunday, Wendy was confused
"Gloria patri is a parish member!"
and Little Ed made paper cubes
from the leftover papers in the pews
folded shaped and pressed and blown
Around the middle of December

Says Who?

Interesting and disturbing conversation overheard between two seasoned educators.  The gist was something like, "You know not everyone is college material.  Some kids just shouldn't be going to college."  Is that shocking?  Obviously I didn't think it warranted me to  interrupt with an objection.  I didn't want to cause a stir.  Or maybe I didn't want to get on the "bad list" which I am convinced exists in every private school.  Or maybe I am simply a coward.  Well, now and then, even a coward's conscience gets pricked.  And I feel it necessary to apologize to every single high school graduate who will not be entering college this summer.  All it would have taken was a polite, "There's another way of looking at this.  Personally, I think every student should have the means to attend college, and teachers should at least have that desire for all their graduates."  Instead nothing.  I also know that when roused, I find it very difficult to respond reasonably.  Reason always seems to arrive too late.  So instead of risking one or two curse words or unattractive
combinations of the same, I chose to reflect later.

So who is it that weeds out the "not college material" from among us?  I am glad that it wasn't my own counselor who after a feint in the direction of my transcript and no doubt taking greater account of my rather playful demeanor (I am being kind to myself) during my high school years declared me not only to be unworthy of any one of the seemingly endless list  of scholarships that was being printed out as I sat there (and continued to do so after our three minute meeting) but to be an unlikely candidate for higher education at all.  He may have mentioned something about trade schools, but I had already checked out if I had ever checked in.  With the exception of good friends and one or two teachers, I had not invested much in learning during my high school years.   I really don't think many of us could have been unanimously declared "college material".  I think the blame for that must be spread around, but that does not really concern me here.
 
I was fortunate to be accepted at the one college to which I applied, Duquesne University.  I don't think I realized how fortunate I was.  Looking back, there really was no good reason for me to be accepted.  My transcript including SAT scores was far from stellar.  What happened to me at that school, however, was so significant that it is very easy for me to succumb to adjectives such as inexplicable, astounding, miraculous, maybe even magical.   Those adjectives would suffice were it not that every single class I took, all I learned in them and remembered, all I learned in them and have since forgotten, and every good grade I earned was ultimately derived from individual professors.  I am not sure how many of these professors loved students (I think most did).  I do know that the majority at best loved what they were teaching and at worst knew what they were teaching.  Every single class was a lecture, and every single class was another slice of something for which I became gluttonous.  It was there I learned that I was designed to be a learner, that this was really a part of becoming human.  I knew I wasn't special.  I knew that from high school.  But damn it if I didn't feel special.

There are voices today in education that charge a hefty sum to come and speak to an audience of students and their parents and to give them anecdotes and aphorisms which, like a Big Mac, are very tasty, and earn instantaneous applause.  For example, that if our public education system in America were a business, it would have been in bankruptcy long ago.  But Big Macs for all their taste and calories offer little nutrition.  How should education be likened to a business.  Are students the products?  Is profit based on the number of students who go on to college?  Who make a certain amount of money?  If a product is defective should it be destroyed?  It seems to me that when we serve humanity, we must accept results that reflect the differences among human beings.  Of course anyone who has even skimmed through Plato knows how analogies can be used to explain anything.  So I may be silly, but I am worried about the thinking behind this one.  I am afraid that it will be easier to encourage whole populations of students into a non-college itinerary than to worry about the calisthenics counselors might have to do to help them matriculate somewhere.

Another aphorism is that no student believes that he or she will graduate from college with a ticket to a good paying job.   For this one, I am going to refuse to argue that we should think about changing the economic structure of our country rather than to endeavor to withhold advanced education from certain unworthy students.  Suffice it to say that the U.S. economy was strongest when the labor force was a college-educated one.  I am going to take a different direction, primarily because as much as education makes better workers, education means so much more.  Education, particularly a classical education in the liberal arts, has a humanizing effect on human beings.  Feeling that privilege of being human actually means more to feeling a purpose and joy in living than almost anything else expect for faith, religion, or spirituality.  If a teenager from a less than adequate public school system will not gain a high paying job after earning a B.A. or B.S., that does not give anyone the right to deny that teenager from the greater and possibly less measurable rewards of learning.  Who do we think we are?

Maybe someone in that zenith called the really rich fears educational fairness more than economic equality.  After all, who knows what will happen when an economically distressed population has the confidence to think and to learn and to speak out.  What if, God forbid, a college graduate working at a McDonald's considers it nonsense that a CEO is getting 10 million dollars a year more than her because the CEO is just that much smarter.  No one who benefits from an inequitable system wants people to start thinking.

So I will continue to maintain that all students should have higher education as a dream, and that every educator should have as his or her goal to help a student fulfill that dream.  And what may be a very bad business practice, may, as a finale, recreate this country into something more like the democracy it can be.

Catherine Tatum Yao (April 18, 1995- February 21, 2012)

Dear Catherine,

I am reminded of the shock and sadness of a year ago.  

But as I was feeling that sorrow once again--thinking of how much your absence means to us, you seemed to speak to me...

Weep not for me but for yourself.  

Stop and look deep within yourself.

I know you have been thinking that if you had been around, things might have been different.  

Do you reckon yourself a savior?  

Do I need to remind you of that incident when

you would not even give them a ride and then what happened to A.T.  You have no secrets up here.  

And before you excuse yourself because you were young,

I tell you that was the start of a lifetime of neglect.  If you do these things in a green tree, what will you do in the dry?  

You don’t want me to remind you of all the times you walked by, failed to act, laughed when you should have cried, leaving this one and that one-- you wouldn’t even know some of the names, or if you remembered, you would too easily rationalize your way out.  Did you even think to ask that question “What will happen to them if I do not help?” No.  You are too busy asking, “What will happen to me if I help? How much time will it take?  Why is it any of my business?”  You just pass numbly by.  And often in a hurry.  Is this a race?  Are people hurdles or poles to be avoided.

Do not honor me with words but deeds.

If someone needs to speak, be the ears

If someone needs to hear a kind word, be the mouthpiece.

If someone is sitting alone, pull up a chair and sit down.  What makes you think you are too good, so much better?

If someone needs to be discovered, be the perceptive mind, the sensitive soul (that same perceptiveness that makes you so good at finding flaws and faults)

Does someone need to be honored?  Be the award.

Is someone wounded?  Be the bandage.

Does someone find the world so cold?  Be the hearth.  

Is someone thirsty for attention?  Be the spring.

Is someone exhausted?  Be the mattress.

Is someone lost?  Be the map.

Is someone in a storm.  Be the canopy.

And when someone needs a touch of heaven, say a prayer (and don’t just promise to pray).  Get down on your knees, shut out the lights, and pray like you’ve never prayed before, not a quick mumble but as long as it takes-- till your heart breaks.

If someone needs more than you can give, find a professional as soon as you can.  Don’t delay.  Don’t think too much. Don’t worry about how you might look.  Don’t rationalize-- saying that maybe she doesn’t want you to interfere.  Interfere.  And interfere again.  

I am in a perfect place.  Don’t worry about me.

Imagine the way it feels when you drive through those first fat December snowflakes, that feeling that Christmas is near.

Or that delicious anxiety before your first kiss, the satisfaction afterwards, that sleepless night spent in replaying it again and again in your memory.

The relief after an extremely hard test is over.

That afternoon in April when the rain has rinsed the last of winter from the air, when you can smell the greens, the pinks, the yellows of spring even though you cannot yet see them.

All good things you feel, the sensations, and the memories of them-- multiplied to infinity and eternity-- that is heaven.

Without bodies our senses are entwined to become something more complex and more receptive to pleasure than is able to be described.

There are countless others, and the congregation only increases our own awareness, our perceptions, our joy.  

I have met those I knew before, but I know others, those who were never part of before, as intimately as I could have ever know anyone down there.

Sometimes I feel that we are grander than galaxies, and sometimes I know that we could all fit comfortably on the head of a pin.

Sometimes I feel so overwhelmingly far away from before, and sometimes I feel that there is only the flimsiest of translucent curtains between us-- like those windows that reflect your image when you look into them from the outside while those inside are able to see you-- I feel I could reach through and touch my friend, my brother, my mother.

All reasoning, all understanding, all remembering, all wisdom comes from The Divine Love.  How can I describe indescribable love except to say in the crudest terms-- when you plug a lamp into an outlet, there is light, and the lamp has fulfilled its purpose.  So it is that I am permeated by The Divine Love so that it radiates through me, through all of us.  

In the end, it is all about love.  And to the extent that you are connected with The Divine Love where you are, is the extent to which you can generate a measure of it.  And generate it you should-- that is your purpose.  It is part of whatever destiny The Divine Love has for you.

But don't let anyone tell you that you can love too much, that you can get too involved--

love has no terminus post quem except as to meet and exceed the needs of the Beloved. 

And your Beloved is your neighbor, even your enemy, your Beloved is the someone who needs to be loved.  

This is the only command that matters, that makes the difference between evil and good-- love one another, for love is the fulfilling of all morality and all virtues.  It is the only real proof of the death and resurrection and eternal life and power of The Divine Love.  

Do you want to be a savior?  Good.  You covet that recreative, restorative power to love that way.  But know that to save and to lead means to be the last, to be the least.

Not the spires, the arches, the columns, the friezes, the metopes, the sculptures that become the foci of every pair of awestruck appreciative eyes that come into this holy sanctuary, but the foundation laid down in the dirt and the clay and the rubble.  That’s where the love is, from where that beauty grows.  Be that love, though no one sees you, though no one has reason to remember your name.   

And you know how much I loved Starbucks.  Pick out the drink and the flavor you think I might enjoy, and share it with someone.  Do this in remembrance of me.  And in the twinkling of an eye, we shall all be together again.