In August of 2009, I moved to Morocco for a job teaching English Comp at a university. This university claims to be a based on the “liberal arts” model of the American University system. And although it is indeed a “liberal” university by Moroccan standards, Morocco is still a predominantly Muslim country, so one should take this perceived “liberalness” with a grain of salt (or perhaps sand). Read on…
Sitting atop the ridge at dusk, thinking. In the untamed valley spread out before me are millions, or perhaps billions, of things, living and dead. No two of those things are the same, not down in the fine structure, or mainly even on the surface. Like snowflakes and fingerprints, each of the things that I see is an individual. Few of them are reasoning, not as we see it. Reminded then, in my mind, I look out into the world … Read on…
I’ve worked as a letter-carrier for many years, and had just started a new delivery route at the Post Office. I was going through the usual learning curve. It’s not easy remembering 400-600 new names, not to mention which houses have dogs, which customers will constantly complain, and which ones will want to visit with me all day, telling me about their lives. As I was delivering to one particular house, I noticed a religious tract hanging on the mailbox. … Read on…
“Michigan educators have stifled plans to teach a breathing exercise as part of a health course, bowing to opponents who worried that deep breathing could promote devil worship or mysticism. Other stress management techniques will be substituted, said Don Ben Sweeney of the Michigan Model for Comprehensive Health Education. “People look at it and say it’s ridiculous. Other people will come and testify like mad that it creates out-of-body experiences and undermines Christianity,” he said.” –cited from a newspaper article … Read on…
As I’m sitting on the carpet stretching out my hamstrings, I’m nose-level with the litter box, and I can smell it needs changing. I just finished chasing my cat around the apartment. His pupils were dilated until they almost completely eclipsed his golden irises. Hiding under the bed now, he’s frightened witless. I often wonder if he sees me as a kind of god-like creature, sometimes loving, giving, providing. Sometimes the bearer of great incomprehensible wrath. Of course I would … Read on…
At Mission Delores, San Francisco: Religious Romance & Genocide IV – Reflections & Models Prior to 1769 and the first missions, likely 350,000 to a million native peoples lived in what is now California. Five-hundred independent tribes spoke as many as one hundred languages or dialects-by estimates of linguists and anthropologists. There was great diversity in customs, rituals, story-telling, clothing and adornment, basket-weaving, and trading. In a land of plenty, peace was the norm. By contrast, in1846 the diarist Titian … Read on…
At Mission Delores, San Francisco: Religious Romance & Genocide III – The Cemetery, Graves & Roses At the entrance to the mission cemetery, I hear traffic flow on Dolores Street, which parallels the mission but is blocked from sight by a wall landscaped with trees and shrubs. Tires drone, now a tailpipe or muffler drags on the road and clatters. Rap music builds until I feel its tremor that soon diffuses to echo. An engine’s high-pitched whine goes silent. Immediately, … Read on…
At Mission Delores, San Francisco: Religious Romance & Genocide II – The Museum, Fact & Facsimile An older German couple, standing in front of me, reviews the Register, a record of all the Indians baptized at Mission Dolores. Many of these were likely forced conversions, from natives rounded up by soldiers and put to work, creating bricks, gardening, tending animals, washing laundry, and caring for their own sick; the vast majority died at the mission, and lie buried in unmarked … Read on…
At Mission Delores, San Francisco: Religious Romance & Genocide I – The Chapel, An Odyssey The soured wood of the church doors flavors the air. Stone tile cools my knees. I unzip my forest green backpack and remove a notepad wedged between books and my rolled-up windbreaker. On the dusky burgundy squares, my pack is a lump disrupting the floor’s diamond pattern. Until minutes ago, I was weighed down by that pack, searching for Dolores and Sixteenth streets-the location of … Read on…
The Reverend in his quick, excited tongue, proclaims the end times are near. Every headline becomes an affirmation and a warning. As his excitement grows, he slams his fists on the lectern, stomps across the stage, his pacing accelerates in volume and pitch, until his vaulted voice builds to a battle cry of fire, brimstone, and redemption. The congregation nods their heads, stoically looking to their sleepy Bibles. Few follow the Reverend’s sermon, but all agree with its immanence. A … Read on…