CREATION LAUGHS AND DANCES

I nearly drowned myself this morning when I found the link on one of my friends on FB. I inhaled rather than drown the keyboard.

Frankly I'd love to see this signboard with either/or Martin Luther or John Calvin's name on it. Too bad they didn't have Prozac or one of its cousins back in the 1500's. It might have saved a few lives. Luther isn't as bad as Calvin though.

In my opinion Calvin's take on predestination is one of the most hateful pieces of crap religious or other wise I've ever had the displeasure of learning about.

Salvation is reduced to a cosmic crap shoot or dart game. Before we were even created God destined a small minority for salvation, through no merit or lack of merit on our part and the vast majority for damnation also through no merit of lack thereof on our part.

That attitude is so far from something Eckhart wrote it's not even in the same galaxy.

"Do you want to know what happens in the core of the Trinity? I will tell you. In the core of the Trinity God laughs and gives birth to the Son. The Son laughs back at the Father and gives birth to the Spirit. The whole Trinity laughs and gives birth to us."

 Laughter. Oh we ache for it. We're starved for it. The Mother and Father of Creation laugh, sing and join hands with their children and lead us all in the great Spiral Dance of becoming. I wish I could paint whats behind my eyes.

And somebody else is writing this, not me. This entry did not end up where I started to go. That happens.

FORGIVE THIS POOR STUMBLING ENTRY

The ideas and words are in the brain, It's the getting them into words that's causing me to stumble around like a drunken sailor, but here goes anyway.

I’m starting to get really weird vibes about the public face of the church in America. For every group like Soujourners there’s a Joel Osteen or a James Hagee. Heck one of the religious channels in our cable system is still showing old Billy Graham crusade footage. For every group like UMCOR (United Methodist Council on relief) and the Mennonites that are early on the scene when there’s a disaster there’s the Prosperity Gospel, Pat Robertson and I just accepted Jesus and I’m saved; end of story.

I realize this is the shortened, abridged version. You can come away with the impression that just about anything goes hyper individualism and capitalism are the eleventh and twelfth commandments.

On the other side there’s the folks who self identify as atheists. As atheists who show a fair amount of contempt for believers. The invisible Sky Daddy is used a lot. That’s what kind of got my attention. Commenters who are supposedly different individuals who post material that is eerily identical.

Apparently absent from the national stage is the rich umbrella of mystical traditions that encloses groups from the Irish monks to the Eastern Orthodox. When those Irish set out to renew the call in Europe their path stretched from Ireland through the north country of England planting the seeds that gave birth to the Quakers. And every one of them was a mystic. Still the only group I know of that is wise enough to sit down, shut up and listen for the spirit to speak. And then stay quiet long enough to be sure we aren’t talking to ourselves.

Then they made their wasy through what became Germany birthplace of Hildegard and Eckhart. Meister Eckhart who said that “every creature is full of God and is a book about God. Every creature is a word of God. If I spent enough time with the tiniest creature – even a caterpillar – I would never have to prepare a sermon.” If you want to know God’s word? Look at your neighbor.

Then it was over the Alps and down to the heel of the Italian boot. Right through Assisi, the birthplace of Saint Francis. The one who sang a hymn to the birds.

Now we come to that inconvenient hero, Martin Luther King. He not only disappears from the national mythology from August 1963 until his death but there is not mention of the deep and evolving religious faith that was the foundation for his actions. I mean what part of Southern Christian Leadership Conference did we not understand?

By 1967 he was literally calling for a revolution and basing that call solidly in scripture from the old prophets to the Sermon and the Mount and Jesus litmus tests for separating the sheep from the goats.

That is was wrong to put poor young men into uniforms and sent them eight thousand miles to kill the poor young men in Vietnam. That you can’t convince people that democracy is the right road to travel by killing them. Bombs do not lead to the ballot box. You can't solve the problems of poor African Americans unless you end poverty for all Americans no matter their race or color. That you can't end poverty and humiliation in this country without ending it for all; not matter where they live. That militarism, racism and extreme materialism are, if not killing us then stripping us of our humanity. And it doesn't matter whether we we're rich or poor or where we live.

If you want to kill the dream of one man, of the men and women who believed and believe in that dream then do your best to belittle, ignore, “kill” the face of the faith that inspired him and us. Let the Limbaughs and the Becks and the Bachmanns tell us that Jesus didn’t teach us to care for, protect and love our neighbors. That from salvation to the pocketbook it really is all about ME.

Martin's answer would have been a resounding no. The the question was not "what will happen to me if I act" but "what will happen to whoever needs my help if I don't."

Well, there is is. Such as it is. Looks like I got some work to do. 

BACK WHEN

I only had two nephews with a little whozis/whatzis on the way and the other two were just a gleam in sis's eyes everybody was down for whatever holiday it was. Chris was four and Jon was about two. And Jon was following Chris EVERYWHERE. I don't know if it was because he adored Chris or if he was just the only person in the house who close to his size. Chris kept getting the litany. You're the oldest. You have to act like a big boy now. You're going to be a big brother. Etc. Etc. Etc. until he had a meltdown and ended up in the back bedroom.

We had a good talk. Well I talked and he nodded a lot. It was mostly along the lines of "I'll bet you're getting tired of being told you have to be all grown up now." Well, there wasn't much I could do about it except sympathize. I was the oldest too. But, I wasn't the mommy or the daddy. I was the auntie.

Anyway, when I saw this picture, it just so reminded me of that day.

Ok. Chris isn't a cat, but he is rather cat like. And he didn't actually apologize but he did quite heading in the other direction every time Jon wanted to give him a hug.

And now that they're all grown up, they are very good friends. Just give it time buddy.

I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN

Chew gum and walk in a straight line at the same time. Or in this case follow the notes on the page, count, get my fingers in the right place, remember to breath, oh and remember which notes are which. Following notes on the staff does not guarantee you'll remember which is E and which is C. Oh and sharps and flats. I keep telling myself I'm doing this to keep my sanity. LOL oh, so LOL.

Mom is very patient and the cats go someplace else.

I could probably just tootle on the darn melodica and be perfectly happy. But, no. I have to haul out my old flute book and start from the beginning. Surprisingly the book works pretty well. Except for the five keys below middle C the range of the two instruments is the same. Even if I got the darn flute reconditioned I'm not sure I could hit F6 these days anyway. That's two octaves above the F next to middle C and as I recall that's one heck of a pucker. Not that the music we played in band ever really needed that range anyway.

This version of the instrument that have comes with something sis's didn't. But then I think hers only played two octaves. Along with the mouthpiece I remember, there's this cute, flexible tube. Using that you can "play" the instrument like a tiny piano. Play is the operative word right now. But, hey my shower singing has improved and oddly enough; so has my typing. Weird, hunh.,

DEALING WITH TROUBLESOME PROPHETS

I’m not a fan of conspiracy theories but. And it’s kind of a big but. We just finished watching my old DVD of King. Sort of the Cliff Notes version of MLK’s public career. The man was a son of a preacher. He was a preacher. He was surrounded by men of the cloth. And in the last five years of his life he started sounding a lot like a liberation theologian from Latin America minus the “dialectical materialism” of Hegel and the so called Marxists.

King was working from a Gospel perspective. Hell, in his last speech he came out and basically said if you’re going to say anything at my funeral say that I tried to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the prisoners, care for the sick. That I tried to hold to non violence. Straight out of the Gospel according the Matthew.

Fast forward to 2013 and who do we see in the public eye? Hucksters for the prosperity gospel? So called churchmen whose interests seem confined to who marries who and what a woman does with her own body? Preachers whose only knowledge or interest in the prophets seems confined to prophecies about the messiah while ignoring the sometimes strident warning about what happens when we don’t care for the least among us. Shouting claims of persecution when the rest of us point out that if you’re worried about your kids praying maybe they should do it at home. With you leading the way. Or that there is nothing secular about the first four of the Ten Commandments.

Sometimes I think the story of Jesus goes straight from Christmas to Easter without taking stock of WHY so many in the local and imperial power structure thought it was a good idea to get an inconvenient prophet out of the way. As quickly, painfully and publicly as possible.

On to the conspiracy theory. If you don’t want the faith community messing with our still racist, extremely materialistic  and shoot first and ask questions later society what options do you have. You can’t attack the churches directly. Not when you’re also pushing the mantra that the U.S. was established as a Christian nation.

You can haul out the Becks and the Limbaughs to tell us that there was never any such thing as a “social gospel.” You can reduce the message of the gospels to “Jesus died for MY sins.” And a very narrow list of sins it usually is. You can encourage ridicule by encouraging so called ministers to run who seem to think that support of hyper capitalism and individualism are the eleventh and twelfth commandments. Or that if you don't accept his definition who is accepted as a member of the body and who isn't. 

And if you do find an inconvenient prophet on your hands you just might consult the playbook the CIA developed for Vietnam and transplanted to Latin America. If discrediting him (or her) doesn’t work? There’s always a rifle, a bullet and a convenient patsy. 

IT'LL BE TOOLATE WHEN WE NEED THEM

Just a reminder that when the climate finally hits the overshoot this planet doesn't come with a rewind button or lifeboats. There's nowhere else to go. Time to treat her like the spaceship she is.

WHY I WRITE

Because it's that or go nuts. It's a place to think things through by writing about them. I don't do a chatty blog. Partly because how often can you tell people what you had for lunch. I do the occasional kitty update. to be honest I'm on the north side of sixty and a seeker. Maybe this blog should come with a "beware soul searching in public." Well, semi public I'm usually happy if I get a dozen hits on an entry. I do wish folks would take the time to comment. I'd appreciate the feedback. Am I on the right track or am I an idiot? As long as there's no cussing I don't mind being told  that you don't agree with me.

Which brings me to an entry I did about a month ago. I still hope that the folks who put out Trumpet of Conscience don't mind that I pretty much copied MLK's speech on nonviolence and how to bring about change in our country. I'd really like to know how blogger gets the numbers that go in that number of views box because that entry is at over two thousand hits and counting. Looks like I might have struck a nerve. Or the topic struck a nerve. I'm not going to claim there's anything special about what I did except choose the topic was sure to put his initials first in the title.

I suspect that a lot of us are looking beyond the "safe" icon of prophet of nonviolence that gets hauled out when we show footage from the 1963 I have a dream speech. Then he disappears from popular history until that murderous night in Memphis. This nation's popular mythology has no room for the King who came out against the war in Vietnam. No room for the King who realized that being allowed on the bus, being able to sit down at a restaurant or register to vote is meaningless if you don't have a job, if you are poor, sick and ill fed. And that those problems have nothing to do with the color of your skin.

We're still trying to part the waters, follow that pillar of smoke by day and fire by night in hopes of reaching the promised land where everyone has the chance to live a fully human life.

THE PROMISED LAND IS STILL WAITING

ABRAHAM MARTIN AND JOHN

Has anybody here seen my old friend Abraham?
Can you tell me where he's gone?
He freed a lot of people,
But it seems the good they die young.
You know, I just looked around and he's gone.

Anybody here seen my old friend John?
Can you tell me where he's gone?
He freed a lot of people,
But it seems the good they die young.
I just looked around and he's gone.

Anybody here seen my old friend Martin?
Can you tell me where he's gone?
He freed a lot of people,
But it seems the good they die young.
I just looked 'round and he's gone.

Didn't you love the things that they stood for?
Didn't they try to find some good for you and me?
And we'll be free
Some day soon, and it's a-gonna be one day ...

Anybody here seen my old friend Bobby?
Can you tell me where he's gone?
I thought I saw him walkin' up over the hill,
With Abraham, Martin and John.

Lyrics by Dion  Music for Richard Holler

I am tired. I am so damn tired. Every generation we have to fight the same battles over and over. As long as they keep coming we have to pick ourselves up and walking to the mountain top. 

SMOKY

Late March before last we had a snow storm. In the middle of the snow a kitty showed up on the porch to share what we'd been putting out for Amber. He had a collar with broken thread where the tag had been. He was bright and friendly and "will you be my mommy/" He was pretty big then and he's bigger now. It's nearly year and a half later and obviously the orphan is doing very well. He's and innie/outie. He's an "it"  one way or another. He gets along with the other kitties. Midge likes to tackle him just like the others. And he puts up with it. He loves to sit in mom's lap. And when there's no lap well there's the floor. He sticks pretty close to the yard. The porch is fixed up pretty good. He can come in whenever he wants and maybe just maybe this winter we can convince him to come in for good. For the moment he's really, really relaxed.

FUNDAMENTALIST BS

I've gotten so tired of fundies who treat prayer and the Bible like they're some kind of magic potion.

There's nothing stopping kids from bringing a Bible to school and reading it on their own. Just can't have a tax supported Bible Club.

If it's so important read the Bible with your kids before or after they go to school. And if you're going to do that be sure you practice what you preach. And I don't mean just the verses about gays etc. Do justice and love mercy. Practice the beatitudes. If you practice what you preach your kids probably won't run into any problems.

CAT TAILS

A break in the political/religious BS that's coming down this week. 

Midge about this time last year, give or take a week. just about three weeks old and about half a pound

Getting a shot of the perpetual motion furball is kind of hard. And she does look a little weird with one eye reflecting the flash and other not. But to get a pose so close to the first one is close to miraculous. What a difference a year makes. A year old and about seven pounds. Looking very prim and proper in her shirt front and tuxedo.

LOVE THE SINNER AND ALL THAT JAZZ

Boy do I need that little keyboard. Even if I do sound like a herd of elephants sometimes. I do know how to read music. At least I thought I did. LOL Notes, fingers, keys, brain, check.

This isn't exactly a rant, but I've just about reached my personal limit of toleration for "believers" who insist that I share their view of the universe and that they should be allowed to dictate that the rest of us share that view.

“Biblical Christians love gay people as we love all people but we do not have to accept the act of homosexuality, which is a abomination and a sin. Again it's called loving the sinner but hating the sin. “

I wonder if the person who wrote this comment has any idea how freaking condescending they sound. Or that love the sinner, hate the sin can include more than gay rights. I’m Quaker and Celtic pagan. Both were heresies not so long ago. And it hasn't been so long ago that the “good Biblical Christians” would have done everything they could to “save” my soul even if it killed me.

I’ve run into so many of the passive aggressive types. They don’t exactly threaten me with hellfire if I don’t join the choir, but they strongly suggest it. Then they say they’re going to pray for me. I’m not asked if I want their prayers. Or if I believe in them. “I’ll pray for you.” Somehow I don’t think my offer of prayers in return would go over very well. I may try the offer sometime though. Just to see if I get an answer back. Care to place bets?

It must come hard to folks who have been used to calling the tune to discover that not only do more and more people not know their song, they insist on singing their own. And don’t care if you join in or not.

I’ll be honest with these folks, thanks, but no thanks. I do not require your acceptance, your tolerance, your validation, your condescension or anything else from you except to be left alone to work out my relationship with the unknown. And I’ll give you the same courtesy.

ABOUT THAT DOG

Her  name was Candy. She was an little poodle/peke cross. We got her before we moved to Kelly. It was almost funny to watch that tiny puppy go outside with my six foot two hundred pound dad. She never was more than about ten pounds. She loved to run, and front yard was just perfect. She'd run in a circle and bark every time she made a circuit. And she loved to sit on my music while I practiced. And sing, Actually she did pretty good, for a little bit of a dog.

FOR ABOUT A HALF AN HOUR

Me and my new semi best bud get together and I make something that sounds like music. For that half hour I'm not thinking about politics. Or about how crappy the world seems sometimes.

I haven't made it upstairs to locate my table top music stand from long ago. (which might not hold half of what I've got any way) I mean I played my guitar sitting on the side of the bed with a heavy book or a small dog to hold down the pages. More about the dog later.

Anyway I've got this handy, dandy wooden TV tray that will hold an old flute book, the melodica and a cat. Midge is terminally curious and insisted on sitting in the middle of the pages yesterday. I'm trying to remember which is E and which is D in the octave above middle C, to say nothing of F and high C. Trying to come up with consistent fingerings. Thanks mom who took piano lessons a very long time ago.

I can read music. I can. Most of the time. And I'm having a ball.