Parallels

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Two Voices

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First Voice: There isn't any proof. None. You take the Bible's story on faith. Whether the entire sixty-six books, or just the Old Testament, or only the first five books. All the versions of the Bible's content require believing without tangible evidence for any of it.   Whether it is the ageless wisdom of the Torah, or the joyous Good News of the Gospels, the scripture in this and every holy book similarly compell readers to accept details as full narratives, or as confirmed, structured thought well beyond challenge or alternate understanding. The Torah claims a Messiah's arrival is yet pending. The New Testament says God, i.e., Yahway, Jehovah, Christ, Holy Spirit - sent his Jewish Son to die on a cross for the sins of man, thereby redeeming humanity for all of eternity. Neither story persuades me at all. Both belief systems stretch reality beyond rational possibility or anything plausible, desirable, or with arguably noble motives. I could never believe an allegedly...
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Rituals

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At the risk of looking like the dropped burger patty on the grass, a few thoughts about how we Americans may celebrate this momentous day of independence.  Yes, it's about family, freedom, pride, picnics, and the fireworks. Yet, how many ponder or even recall how these rituals and joyous symbols still represent the chaos, uncertainty, and suffering of war? How the fireworks characterize "the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air." All the precious lives lost. My amazing mom, Rachel, never liked the shows we saw together as a family at the L.A. Coliseum, but I didn't know why until I asked. As a survivor of the Auschwitz death camp seventy-five years ago, the exploding fireworks and smoky drama only remind her of the fearful horror she experienced. Our gratitude for receiving the gift of life in America has been huge. Emigrating to liberty after tyranny and World War is a blessed voyage full of love, hope, and opportunity. Every year, so not forgotten, let...
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All The Same

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This morning I briefly walked around an ancient cemetery, my thoughts swirling and unsettled. Ending another blessed week with my amazing mom here in Mojave, we've had a grand time together.  Nearby is the Hardyville Cemetery, all that is left of a town that once thrived with steamboats and cargo along the Colorado River, all gone. There was a somber air this early morning, walking in the desert. It seemed so far away from the news, the shouting headlines, all the world's hubris faded into dust.  I've read this tiny, sixteen plot burial acre, with various sized piles of rocks separated by neat rows, has a dubious past. A tragic history of massacre, untold cruelties to the local river tribes living in the valley for nearly a millenium, they were crushed by many settlers, all vanished now. I thought of this past election, all the vitriol, hating, sore divisions. The silence of the small cemetary seemed to mock the shrill urgency of recent days - how it's all the same to t...
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