It’s the birthday of the guy
who coined archetypes
from myths and fairytales —

similarities across cultures
and ethnicities, something
experienced by everyone —

one more thing, one im-
portant thing, pointing
out that we are all human.

Videos of angry blacks on blacks proliferate
on the internet. Who puts these out? It says
legitimate news outlets. Really? Can we trust

what it says? Newsworthy? Seriously? To what
benefit? To the benefit of whom? A white man
sits in his privilege and admits to himself that

he is a frightened and angry man. He doesn’t
know many people in this culture, regardless of
privilege, who aren’t. What if he didn’t sit in

his privilege? What if he were black and sat in
the middle of impoverishment boxed in by systemic
and endemic circumstances that wouldn’t allow him

to be privileged. He wonders how angry he would
he be and it scares him to think about it. How
angry would anyone be? How angry is a she-bear

when her cubs are threatened? How angry would
any person be when his or her dignity as a human
being is mocked by angry people of another eth-

nicity? And yet, and yet, videos of blacks on
blacks proliferate on the internet. To what
purpose? Who has the privilege and power to

post these? Maybe we should ask our Federal
Administration for the truth about what is
going on. Seriously?

1. the article

first, there is the experience,
then the idea,
then the thought,
then the research,
then the word,
then the fragment,
then the sentence,
then the paragraph,
then the page,
then the proofread,
then the rewrite,
then the proofread,
then the title,
and the experience
and research
were not very serious.
ha.

2. the book

first, there is the experience,
then the thought,
then the word,
then the fragment,
then the phrase,
then the sentence,
then the paragraph,
then the page,
then the chapter,
then the proofread,
then the rewrite,
then the proofread,
then the book,
and experience
was all it took.
ha.

3. the poem

first, there is the experience,
then the thought,
then the word,
then the fragment,
then the line-break,
then the proofread,
then the rewrite,
then the proofread,
then the final arrangement
and the experience
was all that it meant.
ha.

A man raised in the Upper Middle-West spent seventeen years in the Mid-South before moving back north. During that time, he came to love the lyrical music of the southern drawl.

He practiced the melodious tone religiously though it was never native to his tongue. He dared use it among the professionals — the natives and endured a chuckle or two. His children were toddlers in those first years and easily adopted a variation on the southern theme, a bit of a hybrid drawl given that they heard a terse, clipped speech pattern at home.

Now, years and years later, the man hears lies, falsehoods, obfuscations uttered by many Federal legislators from Southern states in that lyrical tone once such lovely music to his ears but, which now rings shrill, cacophonous and very, very mean. The tone has a bitter edge to what was once music to his ears.

He’s trying hard not to generalize; he’s reaching back to the beauty of that music like someone trying to hear the warm, loving tone of his mother’s voice reassuring him of her love or the appreciative tone of praise of his father’s voice  like when he went three for four in a Little League baseball game and encouraging tone when he went 0 for 4.

And then as he listened to the questioning of the Special Counsel appointed to investigate the extent of Russian influence in the presidential election of 2016 by members of the Judiciary Committee of the House of Representatives, he had to admit that ignorance isn’t restricted to geography.

(What has been is what will be,
and what has been done is what will be done;
there is nothing new under the sun.
— Ecclesiastes 1:9)

We have been here before,
We shall be here again;
we can only hope for
courage from women and men

to stand strong against despots
who divide to conquer,
whose actions are desperate
and who sew dishonor.

Time immemorial testifies
to tyrants’ boots on necks
and we would be wise,
non-violent muscle to flex.

In such violence, we might die
but like Jesus, King and Gandhi
we will rise, lifting hearts high.
Ultimately, like Hitler, despots flee.

We have been here before;
we shall be here again.
Righteousness will soar;
justice will not end.

I’m told by theologians that the goal is unitive
thinking but I’m told by scientists that I am an
inveterately fragmented soul in constant con-

versation with all of my different selves —
working things through, ruminating, exploring,
deciding, imagining. As a child, I had an invisible

friend named Joey. I had wonderful conversations
with Joey. He would come to visit me through the
window of my bedroom and sometimes he stayed

in my closet but came out to play when I called him.
Sometimes I would talk out loud to Joey and my
mother would hear me and ask who I was talking

to and I would simply say Joey. It turns out I was
talking to myself. For years I have had conversations
with my deceased wife, not long ones, short and

usually accompanied by tears. Talking to myself
again. And then there is the whole prayer thing.
Hmmm. When I read about all these internal

conversations, I thought, From talking to myself
to pen on paper poetic outpouring.

Fun was made of Reagan
in caricature as a cowboy.
England’s Boris thinks
Trump is a buffoon.
Even Brexit Boris.
Germany mocks Trump
in caricature as a Nazi.
Let me repeat that to let
it sink in:
Germany mocks Trump
as a Nazi.
Germany.
If anybody knows a Nazi….
Meanwhile, the Republicans
just smile and stutter
in a whisper,
“Oh…he’s…such…a…cowboy.”

Someone asked the progressive,
missionary-theologian, scholar
of world religions, “How can you
maintain credentials in a specific
Protestant denomination when
your understanding of faith is
inclusive and universal?” His
answer, “You have to have some-
where to hang your hat.” And so,
in a similar vein, if someone
asked me where I would come down
in faith, I would say, “You have
to have a metaphor on which to
hang your faith. The name Jesus
is mine.” And as someone furthered
the image — Jesus, the window
through which we see God. Further
— there are many windows to eternity
but you can only open one at a time.
Further — there are many gates to
the garden. Ditto and as the King
of Siam was given to say, “Etcetera,
etcetera, etcetera.”

The person who attended the TV book discussion
Said that it is a failure of our representative
Democracy that the president can get away
With all with which he gets away and the viewer
Thought, no, it actually is a positive of our
Form of government that we can tolerate such an
Aberration without breaking, no matter how
Close we come to the limit. He thought about
The elasticity of Silly Putty but then he thought
That Silly Putty wasn’t a very good metaphor for
The government, but then after a little more
Thought, he thought it was probably particularly
Appropriate.

We can take it all in —
all war, pestilence, climate
destruction, torture, injustice,
prejudice, racism, bigotry,
misogyny, avarice, cruelty,
hunger, sorrow, suffering —
all in our heart.
We can absorb it all;
we don’t have to turn away;
we don’t have to thrust it away;
it won’t be nightmarish;
we won’t perish;
we don’t have to deny;
we won’t die.
God’s all-embracing heart is there
with our heart;
we can care.
We can take it all in —
because Jesus died
and lives in our heart;
we won’t lose heart
because the Spirit gives us cour-age
to take it all in
and then,
together…
we can do something about it.

*idea from a meditation by Henri Nouwen