Le plus ça change...

The entrance to the public toilets
offers "baby changing station."
A doorway through the looking glass
to follow Alice down the rabbit hole?

In this existential quest
what is baby changing into, when and how;
how soon is change apparent?

We can't get no satisfaction;
do our babies pay the price?

Identity: Part I

Diving deep into the soul
to find the selves enshrined within,
a seeker may emerge triumphant
marking progress on that journey,
by embracing name new-chosen;
birthname now devoid of meaning.

Covenant Circle

We open our hearts
and stretch out our souls
to embrace one another,
to create a bond
that we share with no others.

Trust is our foundation:
our hopes, our aspirations,
sorrows, joys or disappointments
viewed through a lens
that unifies the search.

Each monthly gathering
puts focus on dilemmas of the spirit:
We all are seekers on
a path of truth and light.

Goodbye, Suzy

It's been 12 years-plus now

since first I glimpsed sweet Suzy (tri-color Chihuahua)

at the County Animal Control Center.

Recently a mother, her tiny size a contrast

to her large and shaggy cagemate,

my heart was touched.

George had sometimes mused,

"How nice to have a little short-haired dog!"

Methought, "They don't get much littler or much shorter-haired

than this trembling lone Chihuahua."

A phone call, then another visit

and she was ours.

A mere year-and-a-half old,

she nonethless was shy, subdued --

perhaps mistreated in a former home?

We'd never know.

She formed a special bond with George:

close by -- on lap, in bed, on wand'rings 'round the yard.

She so entranced us that we thought,

"Why not another tiny friend of her own kind?"

Soon one appeared, a pup just five months old,

and they became fast friends

Except when he forgot which dog came first.

(She'd quick rebuke him, and he fell in line.)

When George died, Suzy seemed to miss him,

but then seemed to adjust.

But recently her quiet mien

became a loss of zest for life.

Her doggy manners lapsed, her energy declined,

she seemed to limp and save her steps;

her tail lost its wag.

The vet looked sober. suggesting poor prognosis;

the laboratory confirmed the worst:

Sweet Sue was dying.

Each day brings more discomfort.

her independence lessens.

This little dog and I tomorrow

will undertake a journey.

Her life will end just where our hearts first touched:

at County Animal Control.

I know I'll miss her

(and perhaps her longtime dog friend too will mourn),

but maybe she'll be reunited

with her "father," George.

Her tail once more a-wag, her stance once more alert,

and buoyant step restored.

Goodbye, sweet Suzy, first dog of my life:

my introduction to a joy and challenge

unlike another.

Good bye, rest well, sweet Suzy.

(12/18/95, from personal archives)

Blogging could be hazardous to your health

The frantic pace of bloggery

may be a killer if pursued for profit

(as reported in the daily rag).

The worldwide 24 hour appetite

of Internet providers of on-the-minuteness scoops

to dole out to surfers and subscribers

eager for their fix of gossip.

tech updates, politics and crises

(real or imagined -- who cares so long as it sells?)

Boundaries of home- and worklife are blurred,

sometimes nonexistent; the keyboard-cum-treadmill

sets a relentless pace, barely ahead of

whoever nips at your heels.

How many flies alight on your barely sweet

(or savory) nibbles of bait? How long and to what end?

Are you mining the information pits deep enough and

soon enough and finding gold more often than dross?

What does it take of heart, endurance, daring.

skill and imagination to be the first with the best

and often enough to keep above the fray:

recalling words of Rudyard Kipling, 

"If you can keep your head when

all about you are losing theirs..."

Portrait of Mesquite in April

The mighty mesquite that shades my home

from summer's relentless southern sun

has donned its springtime raiment --

a cloak of feath'ry soft bright green.

Soon blossoms (fuzzy, yellow "caterpillars") will appear

to dry, mature and drop to ground --

a crop of beans with dual promise:

food when ground into a flour;

seeds, when planted, transform

to tiny trees that grow into wide spreading

thorn-free glories like the parent

from which they sprang:

creation miracle again revealed.     

Tucson Sidewalk Mystery

A tiny mound of withered purple blossoms

on a dusty sidewalk,

all else nearby swept bare.

A closer look reveals

a busy antswarm,

one by one transporting blossoms

into their home within.

The flower source?

No shrub, no tree, no plant

in easy sight

bears blooms in form or hue like these.

The flower crown a fairy ring

gathered in since dawn?

I have no ready answer.

(from personal archive, 9/19/94) 

If You Could Only Speak...

If you could only speak to me, little dog...

How do you feel when I leave you alone

many hours day after day?

How do you feel now that your human "father" is gone,

your canine "sister" gone

and you know not where or why

or whether or not either ever will return?

Do you fear that some day I, too, will disappear

never to return

leaving you with no familiar face or voice,

no one with whom to share a bed at night?

If you could only speak.

Could you tell me how it feels to limit your horizons:

The jump that not too long ago

propelled you to a height

from which you could observe a world beyond your daily limit?

If you could only speak to me to say

if you hurt and where,

and why you shun the loving help I offer?

If you could only speak to let me know

your hopes and fears.

How does love feel?

Why you are ever faithful, no matter if I disappoint and let you down,

or cause you pain (even if for greater good)/

What age-old wisdom pure from your creator might you share

if only you could speak?

(from personal archive, 8/5/96)

A Different Perspective

As I was casually glancing at an article in an online publication, I thought I'd glimpsed a link to "blogwash." Intrigued, and in great anticipation, I looked more closely. To my disappointment, the link specified was actually to "blogwatch." Oh, well...

My Faith Journey

My Faith Journey

Written June, 1992, from my personal archive

I probably always was a Unitarian Universalist and just didn’t know it. I can remember that as a child I was sent to Sunday School (Reform Jewish -- yes, Reform Jews had Sunday School!) as soon as I was old enough to use public transportation (in Philadelphia where I lived for my first 47 years). When the time came for confirmation (at age 16), I wasn’t sure I wanted to be confirmed. The faith itself was fine (with principles in many ways similar to those of UUs), but I couldn’t see that it affected the way most of the members conducted their daily lives.
Being too timid to rebel or to question my parents’ assumptions -- our family had been Reform Jews “forever” -- I accepted what seemed to be the inevitable, but without much enthusiasm. When I tried to participate in youth activities, I never felt comfortable with the values others in the group seemed to practice and to take for granted, but I didn’t know what to do about it. (I was acutely conscious of being much less affluent than my Sunday School classmates and not being part of their social circles.)
A couple of years later, when I attended the University of Pennsylvania, I met the man who would become my first husband. He was what I would describe as an “indifferent” Protestant and mostly non-practicing. He had positive impressions of the work of the American Friends Service Committee (the headquarters of which were in Philadelphia), and suggested we visit a Friends (Quaker) Meeting.
Here I finally encountered folks whose principles and approach to life largely agreed with my own, and most of them seemed to act in accordance with their beliefs. We later married “under the care of” our Quaker Meeting and raised our children as Friends. (Incidentally, one of the series of books used in the Sunday School was Beacon Press” “Martin and Judy” stories by Sophia Lyon Fahs, a noted Unitarian Universalist religious educator.)
I was fairly happy as a Quaker, even teaching in a Friends school, working for the American Friends Service Committee, and eventually becoming managing editor of Friends Journal, a national Quaker magazine. I never felt quite able, however, to understand or practice the mysticism that is central to Friends worship and governance. I also at times felt uncomfortable with what I call “the Christian assumption” in some Quaker writings and in messages given during meetings for worship, (“Messages” could be defined as spontaneous sermons given by participants at the religious service, which, in our branch of Friends, was not conducted by a minister.) However, Friends, like Unitarian Universalists, are a non-creedal church.
Eventually, after George (my second husband, now deceased) and I came to Tucson and found the Quakers here less open-minded than we had anticipated, George suggested that we try the UU church. Here I found the kind of community and feeling of acceptance for which I had been searching, along with theological openness and principles totally in harmony with my own.
I had “come home” -- in more ways than one. How I might feel at another time in another community, I cannot predict. But at this time in this place I believe I have found the right church for me.