We have not slept. Our entire city is haunted by the images, videos and stories streaming out of Gaza. Life seems heavily veiled in a haze of shared grief, fear, helplessness and even guilt as we try to understand how our tax dollars could be used by those we elected to slaughter our relatives overseas. Abdullah H. HammoudThese words from the Mayor of Dearborn, Michigan, haunt me. My ancestors came to America generations ago, so I cannot imagine what it feels like to be here, to love America,...
Reflections
Life in a Valley Called Death
It was a relief to get past Las Vegas en route to Death Valley. an open space we traversed reminded my friend Tessa and me of Colorado’s mountain-ringed San Luis Valley, where we once lived. But then we dipped southwest from Pahrump, Nevada, crossed a ridge and dropped into an alien world. Vegas was electrified urban surrealism. As we...
Live, Local, Late-Breaking
I am old enough to recall when Americans got our news from a daily newspaper and thirty minutes of televised evening broadcasts. This left more than twenty hours to hear other voices and see three-dimensional, living creatures. My adult life has been bizarre enough to take place mostly in wilderness. There, the voices include loons, coyotes,...
October: Old Friends and Heartbreak
We stayed with our old friend Terry Sullivan Prevey. Some of you...
Three Faiths and Five B’s
The Parliament of the World’s Religions first convened in 1893 in Chicago as part of the World Columbian Exposition. They met in what is now the Art Institute of Chicago. One hundred forty years later, Tessa Bielecki and I attended Chicago’s Parliament of the World’s religions at Chicago’s McCormick Place. I was eager to learn about relations...
Turning Points: Christ and Hiroshima
Tessa Bielecki and I recently visited the Chapel of the Holy Cross in Sedona, Arizona. I visited once when I was attending nearby Prescott College in the early seventies. Back then, a gaunt, blackened sculpture of Christ crucified hung above the altar. It reminded some visitors of the horror of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Many tourists came to...
Lightning Bugs and Backyard Ice Cream
My brother has a friend who teases him about growing up in a Norman Rockwell painting. It isn’t far from the truth. I suspect few people grew up as far from death and loss as I did. My friend Tessa’s experience of June was not so carefree, and she speaks beautifully and poignantly about this in her recent post, "Rare...
A Scimitar and a Nibble
I love the word sierra, and not just because you get to roll the r in Spanish. It means a range of jagged mountains, or a sawblade. The serrated complexion of the desert cuts into me. It makes me cry out, if only silently. If I did cry out loud, it would sound like the Muslim call to prayer, a lament, a curse, or a mayday alert. That’s the...
Breathing Room for the Spirit
As days lengthen and spring arrives in the Sonoran Desert, wildflower season begins. We went for a walk at nearby Sanctuary Cove and found fourteen species. My favorite is the yellow-golden Mexican poppy. We’re also planting petunias and marigolds on our porches. Tessa is a more avid and attentive gardener than I am, so her porch is...
Mother of Candlelight and Sorrow
I grew up in a Protestant family, so I learned about Roman Catholic feast days such as Candlemas when I was in college and began going on retreats at the Spiritual Life Institute’s Nada Hermitage in Sedona, Arizona. I discovered the feasts that followed Christmas and loved the reading from Isaiah that accompanied the Epiphany mass. With its...