All Good Things . . .(Part 2 of 2)

Continue. . .All Good Things (1 of 2)

I was slow to warm up there and was fixing to leave. Something said, "Stay." Paid $10 bucks for parking and to leave after fifteen minutes would seem to be a waste. No teepees were around and I honestly didn’t get a feel of a Pow Wow. So I walked around again and looked at the wares the vendors were selling. Almost bought a bow and arrow. Wanted to shoot the mini crossbow. Its a bucket list thing.

There was one incident at one of the vendors that struck me. A medium height, brown haired man wearing a Boston Red Sox jacket was holding a buffalo horn he was about to buy. Then he said, “Would you trade for it? This is an Indian store. You people trade things, right?”

Didn’t know why I didn’t say anything. It shocked me I guess that someone would be so blatant—so racist—so ignorant. The vendor, Native American, was obviously taken aback. His response, “Yes, . . .er. . .I will trade it for money.”

It reminded me of a time when I was going to get in a grade school fight. One kid said, “You better not, he might know Karate.” This Boston Red Sox jacket guy was trying to make a funny, but it just got me fuming. This ass reminded me of time when people believed that the Chinese men were good at washing clothes. Domestic labor, i.e., washing clothes was held in the lowest for Chinese men during the building of the railroads. An an old Laundry Soap Television commercial had the tagline “Ancient Chinese secret.” It’s like all athletes and rappers are African American. Forget Pau Gasol, Yao Ming, Manu Ginobli, Matisyahu and Eminem.  

This exchange reminded me to be ever present to the moment. Should have lit this guy up. Moment passed and it made me think of my own ignorance, biases, and prejudices when I first walked in. Decided to stay longer and take it in. Figured that was the Universe telling to shut up and stay. Got an Indian taco and sat. Listened to music and watched more dancing.

Slowly, imperceptibly, I started feeling calmer. Started noticing little things. The singers were three and four in the group. Their songs I never understood. Couldn’t feel it though. Sensed anger. Sensed sadness. Felt Spirit. Yes, it had much Spirit.

When the drummers played, they would sing for ten and fifteen minute stints.  That is tiring. One would lose his voice and the other would pick up. They aided each other to continue. It wasn’t something understood intellectually. The words were foreign. It was touching something basic. Something, Primal. Don’t want to say it was tribal. It would be cliché. There was a Deepness in their songs.

Watching the dancers, their ages ranged. There would be a line of four by two. At first, they were women, young and old. It didn’t seem like they were dancing at all. Just tapping their feet slowly. Up and down.  It was like someone having to go to the bathroom, but with all the stalls occupied.

However, as the drummers increased the speed, the dancers' movements became more dramatic. It was slow measured at first. Then, a couple of ladies with arms straight out and the knees bent as if sitting, would circle left. Then right, and back again.It was like a slow geisha dance.

Overall, the dances reminded me of a junior high dance. At first, the ones on the dance floor can feel every eye on them so there is a much reservation. Then people from outside the arena would join slowly then quick. As the crowds grew, inhibitions would be lost in the crowd. As more people joined, it animated the dancers more. More and more people entered the Arena for all those to visitors to see. A few danced as if they were fighting. The dance would be a battle against one’s fear and personal inhibitions. It was the fighting was against some demons, personal gremlins. Drummers beat would speed and all the inhibitions would fall. The dance remained dignified, passionate.

At times, the Pow Wow leaders would have an “Honorary” Not sure of the meaning and significance, but think reception line at a military ball. Those honored would stand in the Arena. Then people would come up and shake their hand. They had an Honorary for the elders. Another for the singers. Another for a family.

Couple of times, there were calling of gifts. A ceremonial blanket would be placed and people would come up and leave a monetary token. A dollar here and there. Reminds one of collection basket in church.

It was joy that I stayed. After the ceremonial dances were over, there was the Grand Entrance to the Arena. All the people outside the arena, sitting in the canopied tents, came out in their cultural dress and walked/ danced in the Arena. It was something to see. Watching made me really glad I didn’t leave earlier.

Everyone dressed in their colorful outfits was something to see. If you ever been to the New Years parade in Pasadena, you would feel the excitement of the Grand Entry. Well, maybe, not as extravagant as the Parade floats, but it was fun nonetheless.

Not sure I will ever understand the plight of the 500 Nations have faced, but there is certain strength in spirituality that can be felt. Attending these celebrations, these festivals, these Pow Wows, one gains an understanding a respect. One realizes one’s own ignorance and prejudices. This year has been eye opening. Attended Chinese New Year, rode in CicLAvia, Whale watched at the Dana Point, Bet on horses at Santa Anita’s closing day. Drank beer at Oktoberfest. Visited a number of missions. There is so much richness out there.

We pass by all too often thinking what we get from the boob tube is enough. A glance in the newspaper, or click on the internet, can have opening new possibilities. The stuff one read in books and magazines is nice, but this only person interpretation. It is valid, but it can never replace experiencing life one self.

At times, the places we visit does not seem to hold much promise at first. We can get up and leave, but  real treasures can be missed. We need to listen to that voice in all of us and let events unfold. Don’t withdraw too quickly. Something wonderful maybe erupting and you would have missed something life changing.

Life changes happen in every minute, in every second. Slowly, the subtle beats of life quicken and we start realizing we are dancing unabashedly in the Arena. If we can only remember to live life this way, we won’t feel like we missed a thing. In the end, I believe we all would like to feel this way.

All Good Things. . .

All these nations beating as one. Their movements were slow. Reserved, at first. A light tap of the foot here and there. It was as if on the lowest setting on a stair stepper. The beat of the rhythm sped. Grew louder. Upped, the dancers’ movement became more demonstrative, more animated.

 


One man, an older white haired man, had a metal rattle. His arm movements were short, slow, measured. However, as the beat grew stronger his body became more involved. It was violent, there was anger in his movements. 

 

Heard a musician say, “After a concert, he would be exhausted.” After watching this older man, this tribal elder, dance I can see why. There was passion in his dance. Must have been in his 70’s, but his energy would match any twenty year old at a rave. You can pick him out of the crowd. He wasn’t wearing the ceremonial garb as the others. His was the more traditional “White Man” dress. He wore black slacks, leather belt, and a sweater. However, from his movements his Indian heritage was strong. White haired, with a face that would rival any Marine drill sergeant. One could not not watch him dance.

Walking in to the Pow Wow, I wasn’t really impressed. They had the obligatory vendors selling their wares like many—too many—festivals. Fox skins, buffalo horns, and hollowed tortoise shells. There were bead bracelets, bone necklaces, and wooden bows and arrows. Music CDs of Native American were on display. DVDs and books also filled up the racks.

Didn’t think much at first of the whole festival. Wasn’t really large.  It was much like one poor Renaissance Fair I attended. No teepees. Nothing of the traditional Native Indian American decoration I had expected. My mind was expecting something from the Autry Museum. Tents that people used were canopies one buys at Costco, Sam’s Club, and Big Five.

Many attendees wore jeans and heavy metal t-shirts. Young teenage kids dressed in Chollo garb. If I didn’t know otherwise, I would have thought many were from Hispanic descent. Even saw one vendor dressed up in South American Indian attire. I was ignorant and had stereotypes in mind. 

Walked a couple of times around the circle. Sat at different open places trying to get a different feel of the place.  Some wore outfits with Eagle feathers and Native American dress. A few ladies wore proudly Turquoise rings and necklaces.

Tents were arranged in a circle. They called it .  . .the  Arena. Didn’t understand at first, but the circle has great significance. It is held in esteem. It is a sacred place. In time, I learned why it was called the Arena.

Continued. . .All Good Things (2 of 2)

Pesach

Blood on the door said it all. Screams rang through the city as another one dies. Cries of a mother. Cries of a father. Cries of another son is taken in the dark, hard night. The city howls as the King curses the G-d above.  He wails in anger. He wails in regret. The King wails as his first born lies lifeless in his arms. What god would take his only son. His is not the first this night. Nor is it the last. Every first born son is taken from every household in the land. That is unless they had blood. Yes, blood on the door was a good thing. Blood on the door served as a guide in the night skies. It served as a marker to Pesach.  It told the messenger to leap. To pass. To Passover. It said this family’s child is not to be taken. It said the family has not forgotten God’s mercy. 

Blood on the door was that of a lamb, a male lamb. A young male lamb. A sacrificial lamb with no blemish, no broken bones. Examined for four days and then slain in public. This was to be the sacrifice exacted to save the first born.  This is how the story goes.

So it begins again in a few hours. The Haggadah is read and so Passover begins. The family and communal retelling of the Exodus. The asking of the four question, the story when G-d delivers the Isrealites from slavery of Egypt. Out of respect, no leavened bread is eaten for seven days out to commemorate a significant time Jewish history. In a few hours, it marks the beginning of one of the holiest days In Judaic calendar.

Around the world begins Holy Week. For those following the Christian, Catholic practice, Lent has already begun sometime back on Ash Wednesday.  Ashes of burnt palm leaves are marked on one’s forehead to remind one that dust is where we began and dust we shall return.  Mardi Gras, Palm Sunday, Holy Thursday, Stations of the Cross, Fasting, Washing of the feet and many more rituals will be practiced around the world to commemorate their love for the Big Smile. Saturday and Sunday around the world, there will be re-telling the story for the Passion the Christ.

My first time I remember attending a re-enactment of the Passion of the Christ was last year at Vasquez Rocks. It was something I would never forget. Easter for me was a time for egg hunts and picnics. It was the delicious Cadbury eggs. It was boiling dozens of eggs. It was dyeing them in a myriad of rainbow colors. It was hiding in hard to find places and it was searching for them in a hunter’s frenzy.

Not sure how the death and resurrection of Jesus transformed to the symbol of the Easter Bunny and the tradition of eggs hunting. But here it is.  We find ourselves far from where we started off. A little off in direction, in practice, in intention and we find ourselves far off the mark. Life now is certainly different from the Biblical times. Technology has changed. Civilizations have evolved (Some would say de-volved) I hope it doesn’t get so bad that we need to mark our homes with blood of a sacrificial lamb to remember the gifts given to us by the Big Smile.

Lessons got lost. Something was lost in tradition and meaning. We got lost in following the exactness of practices. We forget the meaning—the importance—of certain events in history. We stopped examining the meaning and significance of certain religious practices. It’s much like not visiting the relatives at the cemetery. At first, we were regular visitors when the passing initially happened, but time passes. Life happens and we slowly, but inevitably we visit less frequently. It’s like a birthday party. We have big hooplas with balloons, fireworks, and presents. As we get older, birthday party and presents become less celebrated. Think of the Fourth of July? What does it mean besides Fireworks? It is supposed to commemorate the birth of nation.  Do you know the significance of Dec 7? How about 9/11? How about April 15? If you are from the US, these dates may have some significance. When one thinks of Christmas, how many us automatically think of Christmas gifts and long lines at department stores of Black Friday? Thanksgiving? NFL Football game in Detroit.

We think of Easter and forget what happened. We concern ourselves of going on family picnics which is what we do. I would say it is fine, but I am not so sure this okay. Something gets lost in translation. Sometime it gets lost meaning.  The farther we get away from significance we tend to disassociate and lose connection. I think some people spend more time and energy on the Super Bowl Sunday than any other religious holiday. 

 

Too often, we forget. We forget who came before us and how they impacted our lives. Perhaps forgetting is the wrong word? Maybe it is more trying not to remember? It hurts too much to remember what we no longer have. We forget parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts.  We forget family and friends. We forget who they are and become what they were. Maybe this good? Maybe its bad? I am not your judge.

It is said that Big Smile sent his messengers to remind us to keep our connection. He sent his only Son to take away our sins and start a new covenant. Identified by John the Baptist, “Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world” Peter said, Jesus Christ was a lamb without blemish or defect. Paul said, Christ, our Passover Lamb, was sacrificed for us.”  His Crucifixion was the blood on the door for the Pesach. The son of the Big Smile was that of a lamb, a male lamb, a young male lamb. A sacrificial lamb with no blemish, no broken bones. Examined for four days and then slain in public. This was to be the sacrifice exacted to save the first born, to save all of humanity. This how a Bible study guides explains it. Whether one accepts this interpretation or not, one has to be judge and decide for oneself.

I don’t believing in guilt-ing someone to do the right thing. I don’t think carrot approach is necessarily best course of action, either. Whether one is of the Abrahamic religions, whether one follows Buddha, whether one is a Wiccan, whether one chooses to be atheist—Our life experiences will guide us to wherever our story leads us. We can choose to follow or not to follow certain religious practices and tradition. We can choose to ignore certain things and hope that Pesach will occur. Some of us will cry. Some of us won’t. We can remember and have our heart open. Or we can have our hearts broken and then remade again.  

My interpretation of all religion lessons out there may be simplistic and naive. I admit my ignorance, but I don’t think the message is complicated. It is simply to remember and to love. How you choose to remember and how you choose to love is what really matters. In the end, I think what matters is that you did choose to remember and you did choose to love.

Malachi

An unfinished life is. . .

There are so many ways finish this sentence. It’s a . . .tragedy. It’s . . .unimaginative. It’s . . .the truth. All are correct. All are false. The truth is you define your life. You decide how to view events. Good, bad, and somewhere in the middle. You impart the meaning to what happens and what doesn’t. People can tell you this is good. Then they can try tell you what is bad. Who are these deciders of fashion? Who are the moral police to tell me or you what is of quality and what is not? Morality is vogue. 

Society has an impact. Religion has an impact. Parents, brothers, sisters, and the rest of the kin has there two cents to say. Still, you are ultimate decider for your personal truth. Your personal story. Sure some would say we the Big Smile would reveal the meaning behind all this. I don’t refute this at all. However, we were given free will, many Bible readers would say. Others would say submit to those that follow the Islamic teachings. Others of Abrahamic brethren would be more rule following. However, to acquiesce or own judgment to others is a tragedy . It is unimaginative. It is the truth how many of us lives. False or correct these good intentioned people may be, but we all too often do not to listen to that most important voice inside of us all.

Bombarded by noise of tv and radio. Noise of talking heads. Noise of the everyday going-ons in life. We feel we can’t hear our own heart, our own thoughts. We are suffocated by so much static we can't breathe. Did you know that Son of God was said to have traveled to the mountains, gone for 40 days in the desert in some mini exodus. When the people seeking healing and salvation were great,it must have been suffocating, he took some time to be oneself. To take a moment of pause and examine the trials ahead of him.  The Prophet Mohammad was said to go to  the mountains and the Angel Gabriel gave him the message. He needed time, too. Joseph Smith was said to have found some tablets. Moses went up the mountains and and got some stone tablets.

From what I get of these stories, is that we need to get away and re-examine, re-define, re-imagine a new way. We need to get the message clear. We need to be one with the Big Smile. Alone. We need to really listen. We need to listen and read the message of Angels, our Malachi, and do good work. Whatever work that may. An unfinished life is what we decide.

Did you know the word angel means messenger from God according to the Christian and Hebrew Bible. It is to be the "bearer of news"  In the Qur'an, they referred to as Malaikah. Actually the word Malachi, means my messenger. The Book of Malachi refers to the "hand of God."None had wings, too. Seraphims and Cherubims are often depicted with wings.Many messengers--human messengers--were prophets or priests.

We ridicule peopl. We ostracize them. We put them in institutions. Those to have announce to have gotten messages from God we give pause to their credibility. Schizophrenic? Maybe they did get a message, maybe they are full of debris. Truth is some of the garbage I've seen and been witness to, there had to be some divine message being sent. Maybe it was to tell us how to act, how not to act, to be and not to be. Truth. I can't answer this for you or anyone else. Go to a counselor or holy man (or woman) I can only hear my own guardian messenger.

A message for me, the word Ezra,has meant something for me. First heard the band, Better than Ezra. Then took a Bible as Literature class and there was discussion of the Judges cycle and the prophet of Ezra. Then I read the Book of Ezra. Didn't think much of the book. It just seemed a story of listing people that re-built a temple to God. Then I read the study guide version of the Bible and it seemed to make sense and had relevancy to my own personal story and message. It was a discussion on how we, even with a broken heart, we can rebuild and make our heart--our Love--whole and strong again. Not an easy task, but one worth the undertaking. 

Maybe its crap. Maybe its gospel. I would say, "I do not know." But this would not be true at all. I do know.

My heart has been broken. Physically. Spiritually. Emotionally. We all have had this happen to us in our lives. Maybe not the extent as my CHF, but broken nonetheless. CHF my message, my Malachi. Guess, the reason I've been writing is to send a message. No, I am not spreading gospel or evangelizing. Its just not me. I have a story to tell to someone, to someone special.

Thing is. . .we are all angels. We are all messengers. We tell a story. We all have stories. For some stories, it is good. For some, not so happy. I would go on, but my message, my life is still unfinished. There is more to tell. So with everyday, with every moment, I add to this my message, my story. 

For now, it is is time to take in, to learn, to document, to examine, and re-distribute. For now, go with. . .the Big Smile.

Opening Day

Opening Day—There is nothing like it. Fans from all around the country beat as one. Hopes of fans pulsating together. A new year, the season when this year their team is going to go all the way. It’s the start of all the major league drama. After the October classic is over. When all past disappointments are forgotten. Fans are renewed with hope and vigor again. The anticipation of something wonderful this way comes, brings an unbridled joy. Watching beach balls bounce across the stadium and onto the field.  The return of the Wave circling the stadium. The cat calls and the general buzz fills the stands.

Its when the NBA season winds down. And the second season, the real one begins. March Madness is reaching the Final Four and long days of summer comes to head. Poppies in the fields start blooming and beach goers finally answer the calls of the Pacific. Late night grunion runs. Last quarter before proms and graduations. It’s the time before spring breaks and raucous parties. It’s a time for weddings and thoughts of summer loves. There is no other time like Spring. A time of renewal, of re-birth, of new beginnings. Waking from the winter slumber. Where it is not too hot for nice walk out. Not to cold to be bundled up. It’s the moment where everything feels just right.

If we can just bottle this feeling of opening day. Having this feeling of. . .this excitement. . .this hopeful anticipation, there would be nothing we could not do. Face any challenge, vanquish any for, touch every star. If only everyday, we could think and feel this way. If only. . .

We can. We should. But why don’t we?

It’s a mystery to me why we don’t. Every day, the sunset. Every day the sun rises. Sure time loses balance. There are long dark nights and short bright days. In the end, it balances out.  I think of my Rina, Rinnes. We were high school friends. She had a challenging life, one which I won’t go through. Let’s just say, she seems happier now and there may be a few people that are jealous of her joy.  Yes, there Is envy. I suspect there is some Dharma. No, not Karma, but Dharma. Moral law of the world. This concept from Buddhist teachings speaks of Dharma, Karma, and vedic law. Don’t know? Wikipedia it.

I won’t go into the times that Dharma has laid the smack down on me. Let’s just day, I am convert of Good Intentions and Happy Thoughts.  If you haven’t seen or heard of Emoto’s Water, Google this, too. emoto water molecule story link If we can just make it the daily habit, that everyday has a profound sense of awe.

Sadly, we don’t have this habit. For this I am grateful for Opening Day. A general coming together or like-minded individuals, hoping and anticipating something wonderful. Haven’t been to a Doyers Opening Day yet, but I can tell without being there that there is something magical going on. I’ve done a couple of races. Participated in a few 5Ks and marathon runs. All these people have all this pent up excitement that one can taste it. It fills and expands all those around. A boundless joy ready to burst. So sweeping that it comes out the pores of everyone there.

I am reminded of the AV Poppy Fields. They are not blooming yet, but its getting there. The fields of Orange bursting all around. Can’t quite describe the magnificence. Its just an orange brilliance. In the the desert of the AV, with windmills and mountain backdrop, it is quite a sight to see. Atop of Kitanemuk Vista  Point looking over the orange fields, I can’t tell you about its beauty. Its something one has to just see and experience. Kids run boundless in the orange ocean. Old ladies and gentlemen, walk with cameras in one hand and with grasping their loves with the other.

Ah, Opening Day. AV Poppy Fields. There is nothing like it. Anticipation, Hope, Inspiration—Gotta Have It. eschscholtzia-californica-glad-i-jumped link