Category: From the Soul

It was a “Say what?” moment if there ever was one, you know one of those moments where the words coming through your ears reach a brain that can only go: “Did I hear what I thought I just heard? Are you kidding me?”

I don’t recall what I was doing when the moment arrived but it was the first “Say what?” moment of my life, but being a six-year-old boy, all boy, as they say, and the year being 1944, I was probably chasing bad guys, ala “Geronimoooo…!” or “Hi-Yo, Silver, Away!” But, in the midst of whatever I was doing I heard my mother say: “We’re moving away.”

Oh, I have had moments in my life,
downs where pizzazz
seemed out of my grasp,
where joy and light
disintegrated into
notions I could only
think of as relics of the past –
and I’ve had some highs
wherein and whereas
I felt as mellow
as a funky
blast of jazz.

I woke up Wednesday morning feeling a bit of dread, kind of knowing that a man, who might be innocent, could end the day dead.

I decided to find as much humor in my day as I could. After unfolding my paper the word RELIEF in caps jumped out at me and lead my eyes to a photo featuring a tearful navy petty officer enjoying his newly arrived freedom to simply be who he is.

I chuckled to myself thinking how gays and lesbians can now, like us straight folks, “ask and tell” constantly, regularly, instantly. I mean we heteros can’t wait to be asked “How was she?” And we love to answer all braggy: “Hey, man, I took care of the B-I-Z!” And the woman responds to “How was he?” with: “Well, he pretty much went on without me.” But, finally: equality.

Boy, things you do when you’re seventeen.
Especially when you think you just about the coolest thing
the world has ever seen.
Know what I mean?
Now, I was cool at seventeen,
not to brag or anything,
but being a teenage male Negro
in 1955,
a dude had to be cool
just to stay alive;
That’s positively no jive….

Thoughts Stemming from 9-11

My radio alarm woke me up with someone summarizing a study that found that a significant number of schools have not done much as far as engaging students in learning experiences involving 9-11. Because it’s too “controversial.” Is that not sad?

That reminds me of a man on TV, not too long after that fateful day, who said we should tell our children that nothing like this will ever happen again.

There I am as happy as I can be, at 58, posing in front of a camera at the 40th reunion of Tucson High’s Class of ’56.

It’s a cliche but time does fly, like a peregrine falcon diving steeply for its prey against the background of the sky, as in a few weeks I will be basking in the midst of an increasingly dwindling number of classmates for our 55th. Boy, they’re getting old – and vice-versa.

There’s a proposal floating around the country called a “Contract for the American Dream.”

It’s an ages old dream, simple in its scheme, a dream where everyone has a place of employment (JOBS, NOT CUTS!), roofs over our heads on homes we own and secure futures for ourselves and our children so they can pass the good fortunes on.

The dream eases me into a “What if?” kind of modality. Like what if tomorrow Obama woke up truly realizing that the Good Old USA is in a kind of “do or die” situation. Either he, and Congress, does something or we, in spirit, without a doubt, will surely die.

Oh, did I ever fall in love with this morning. It was so nice and sunny, so soothing to my soul and bones. And I was still all a swoon when this lovely beginning of the day segued into the afternoon.

At some point on such a day I knew I would want to write, something, anything, because writing to me, is a form of play and this was a day in which to play. I, however, had no particular topics to approach in mind so I went to a website of writing prompts and blindly chose one that asked me to go through a dusty photo album which was no problem because my soul mate, a photographer del mundo, bequeathed me enough dusty albums to ignite a Haboob like the ones that smothered Phoenix…

It’s been two, baby
Two years since
You went away…

Yet it feels just like yesterday. And I still miss you like it was yesterday. But I’m getting better everyday. Now, I have to say, I still find myself shedding tears (tears that will be around forever, I’m thinking) but the deep intense bone and soul searing emotional pain that wore on me for so many months has faded away. I’m learning to be at ease with my sweet and precious memories of you, giving way to the poetry in the imagery that comes to me, like a click from your camera, to play on your photography.

Working to counter military recruiting and demilitarize our schools

I was asked to see if I could rekindle (and I can barely keep a campfire going) energy around leafleting our high schools with information to help students understand and deal with the attempts at militarizing them they’ll find in their schools and in their communities and beyond, as anyone can see in commercials, video games, and every form of media.

Well, it should be obvious that there’s a tremendous need for us, especially those of us who dare to refer to ourselves as “community activists.” We look out for our children when Uncle Sam comes after them with his zest for war, even though some of the organizations and activities that counter the militarization of young people are shrinking nationwide.

I’ve found myself lately thinking of a man everybody, including me, called Mack. My dad. Just about the most laid back human being the world has ever had.

The man was always at ease, a man of simple tastes. I can see him in my mind, chomping on his almost ever present cheap cigar which chokes me even in my memory, sipping some whisky, and uttering that obligatory whispery “ahhh” that drinkers who like their liquor neat always sigh and he’s going about any one of his enterprises: playing solitaire, reading True Crime magazine or crossword puzzling – when he wasn’t playing the piano.

I went to see Sir Paul the other night. Talking about Mr. McCartney. As in Fab Four. And all I can say is Wow!

I love the dude and that love was further solidified, intensified, and personalized, in particular, one moment, when I found myself completely into the moment, with my head laid back, swaying as Paul in an aging, yet still eloquently and deeply expressive one of a kind voice, sang:

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise