JE SUIS HAMLET

Hamlet pertains to everything--everything in life that is most essential, if we are willing to look beyond our ordinary existence into the "extraordinary." Hamlet is only one of many tragic heroes in the history of drama, but unique in so many ways, not the least of which is that he speaks anew to each generation. Both the nature of his mind and dilemma are contemporary and universal. 

      In all other tragedies before Hamlet, each tragic hero has a clearly identifiable "flaw" or “hubris,” which Aristotle, first literary critic, in his Poetics notes contributes to a downfall—a feature of all tragedies since the birth of Greek drama. Macbeth’s flaw is ambition; Othello’s is jealousy, King Lear’s is pride, and so it goes—until Hamlet. We might imagine that other tragic heroes before the figure of Hamlet could have changed their fates by reflecting on their situations and themselves, thereby acquiring a bit of self-knowledge, with which they may have been better equipped to make different choices and thus avoid tragedy. The tragic heroes’ hubris is their inability to even imagine they have any flaws, and thus their fate is sealed.   

      Not so with Hamlet!

      Hamlet exhibits a great deal of self-knowledge, as he thoughtfully examines both himself and his situation. He finds he has only two choices, revealed in probably the most well-known of soliloquies in all of drama. His fate evolves, not because of ego, subconscious motivations or hubris. His fate is dictated to him from beyond the grave by the ghost of his father, King Hamlet, who comes to seek revenge for his “murder most foul.” King Hamlet reveals that he was killed by his own brother, Claudius, who lusted for crown and queen. 
      And so Hamlet questions: “To be or not to be." Is he to ignore his father's command to avenge the murder and “suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” or is he to “take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them”? He will, of course, choose the latter, which means he will also die. The murder of his uncle, a sitting king, is treason, and who will believe a ghost told him to do it? 

      Hamlet is presented cruelly and unexpectedly with this “outrageous fortune”: a development not of his own making, not due to a flaw or a wrong action. The task of revenge is thrust upon him, and so he agonizes, “Oh, cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right.”

      Some literary critics, feeling compelled to find Hamlet's flaw (since Aristotle said it must exist) have determined that Hamlet "thinks too much," which prevents him from action. While it is true that Hamlet also believes his thinking is preventing him from action, he has much to think about, doesn't he? He is grieving over his father’s recent death and his mother’s “o’er hasty marriage” to his murderous uncle; in confusion at the appearance of his father's ghost, in dread of fulfilling the command to avenge his father's murder; and in sorrow at the rejection of his lover, Ophelia. He must contemplate, digest all to sort it out. Yet, he thinks logically and determines that, before he kills Claudius, he must have proof “more relative” than a ghost’s appearance, which may be the devil’s trick.  

      All of this thinking takes time, is necessary, and is not, in this writer's humble opinion, a flaw at all. 

      Although we may never be in such clear and present danger as is Hamlet, we too, at some point (and maybe at many points) in our lives, face a seemingly irresolvable dilemma not necessarily of our own making. We too must either bear a crisis in silence, or “take arms against" it. These are typically our choices for life's problems--large or small. At first, however, we may wish we could somehow, in some way, escape our fate, just disappear, as does Hamlet and many other souls who sometimes follow through with a final exit. 

      Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt

      Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew,

      Or that the Everlasting had not fixed

      His canon 'gainst self-slaughter!

      We too must struggle to understand what is at stake, and to make decisions which could have grave and lasting implications for us and others. For Hamlet, it becomes foremost to find the truth--admirable!  He thoughtfully and creatively arranges a visiting troop of actors to put on a play, The Mousetrap which will enact the scenario his father has described to him--the poisoning of a king who has seduced the queen—in the same manner described to Hamlet by the ghost--ingenious!               

      Hamlet observes the king during the performance for evidence of his guilt as the bloody deed is reenacted before him. The play will be “the thing to catch the conscience of the king.”

      Throughout Hamlet, there is a motif of many-layered observation. The guards observe Hamlet when the ghost appears. Rosencrantz and Gildenstern, his university friends, observe Hamlet to discover the source of his “antic disposition.” Polonius and the King observe Hamlet and Ophelia. Polonius spies behind the curtain in the queen’s chamber, and Hamlet observes the king watching the "play within the play." Also, Hamlet begins and ends with keeping the watch. In the first scene, the palace guards stand watch on the battlements. Then, In the last scene of the play, after Hamlet’s death, Prince Fortinbras (the next ruler of Denmark and foil to Hamlet) gives orders to, “Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage,” where he can be viewed and honored.

      The character of Hamlet in Shakespeare's time was unconventional, to say the least, which is only one of the features of the play that accounts for its universality and continuing relevance. It can be argued that Shakespeare speaks more fully of the human condition in this play than in any other.  Hamlet is the existential "everyman" in an absurd situation—LIFE, which often is experienced as both “a rock and a hard place.” Hamlet is representative of humanity, and Denmark is a microcosm of the world in which we daily observe, “carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts…accidental judgments, casual slaughters…deaths put on by cunning and forced causes…and purposes mistook.” Sounds like the evening news! 

      In all dramatic works, as in life itself, there comes a turning point. Hamlet clearly states his pivotal moment (although not often mentioned by critics as such) when he accepts life and death on their own terms: “If it be now, ’tis not to come. If it be not to come, it will be now. If it be not now, yet it will come—the readiness is all.” He does, of course, accomplish his mission impossible, kills the king, and is himself slain, but not before he asks his friend Horatio, the only person who can bear witness, to tell his story aright to the world.

      Here, we may recall James Baldwin’s insight: “…while the tale of how we suffer, and how we are delighted, and how we may triumph is never new, it always must be heard. There isn't any other tale to tell; it’s the only light we've got in all this darkness.”

     The play, and specifically this play, IS the thing that catches our conscience, challenging us to find in the characters and situations in LIFE writ large, magnified through drama’s  ritual and pageantry so that we may observe and recognize our own reflections.

I am Hamlet. You are Hamlet.

FORWARD, NOT BACK

FORWARD NOT BACK

August 2016:  Presidential candidate Donald Trump recently said, "I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody, okay, and I wouldn't lose any voters, okay?" He was telling us who he is, and that he feels he has total and ongoing immunity for his behavior and utterances, and that most of his followers have the twisted mentality to sanction random murder to see him as president. These are the makings of a dictator/tyrant: ignoring such implications in blind devotion is prerequisite for tyrants to rise to and to stay in power. Of course, it is uncertain at present whether he really would have such immunity and the current level of devotion in such a situation or that he would be a dictator. He does, however, say what some people want to hear in a way that has previously been off the table, with no sense of decorum, dignity and/or common sense. This way of reaching his followers not only further confirms his arrogance and disregard for common decency and his perceived entitlemtnt to  immunity, but also exploits and encourages some of his followers worst tendencies. There is something amiss here in the apparent intention to be divisive and in the refusal of his supporters to see the danger of his coming to power. Some will say his most extreme utterances are, "just a joke," not really a big deal. Maybe for now, but, at the very least, it says a great deal about his lack of judgement, his authoritarian tendencies and his constant humiliation and mocking of others. I susupect that is who he will be if elected president, to the detriment of America and its becoming a much "less perfect union."

Donald Trump, an arrogant, immature and egotistical celebrity, has been able to influence and attract many potential voters who must confuse bravado and the privilege of power and wealth with the capacities required for presidential leadership. Pundits note that people are drawn to him for his "honesty," but the "birther lie" the foundation of his campaign is an untruth and unwarranted attack on the current sitting president--honest? I think not. They say he is “genuine," says what he means and means what he says. He doesn't care what anyone thinks, apparently another characteristic able to stir the masses. He is charismatic in an anti-hero kind of way, with an ability to articulate for his followers their deep-seated resentment toward the present administration and all others who seem to be scapegoats for their discontent, which is all understandable, and maybe inevitable, for a certain American imagination--that of the attraction to the cult of personality and a zero sum mentality.

And he has captured that imagination, at least at this early date, with his independence, endless self-reference as opposed to self-reliance. The American Dream was characterized by Ralph Waldo Emerson whose thoughtful essay describes true self-reliance which has more to do with inner strength, self-knowledge and character rather than with appearance (which is bravado). Appearance is what celebrity is all about. There are more than a few reasons to believe that a Trump presidency would perhaps be a point of no return for America

Currently, there are many who believe his approach would be a successful one, (if they have thought that far ahead). Others question: Would he ever be willing or able to work with his own cabinet, let alone the Pentagon, congress, states and other nations with any amount of tact, diplomacy, effectiveness or respect over the long haul? The Donald (a moniker which may be an indication of...something!) doesn't come off as interested, or even able, to build consensus, cooperate or compromise (that being a liberal quality, or flaw, depending on what so-called "side of the aisle" you sit on). It seems he'd rather build walls (and not just ones to keep immigrants out). So far, he has not significantly addressed specific issues, or laid out substantial, workable policies and strategies. Apparently, then, people are not enamored with or seem to care, not only about the content of his character, but also about a platform (if, in fact, he has one, other than tearing down what already exists). There is more interest in his tweets, defending himself at the slightest criticism (thin-skinned is not a recommended trait for a president, or any position of leadership for that matter).

Donald has not only lowered the bar for national civility and decorum, he has done away with it altogether. His "bluster-effect" and permanent facial expressions of disdain, smugness and anger have further revealed America's under-belly, with its juvenile, vindictive opposition, sarcasm, name-calling and mocking--the norm now on many social media posts, not to mention misinformation and debunked conspiracy theories. He has insulted whole groups--Mexicans, as well as individuals--Senator McCain, Rosie O’Donnell, and, recently, Fox News's Megyn Kelly, with his off-the-wall, vulgar critique of her question about his frequent (documented) crude and lewd references to women. Ironically, his comment about Kelly confirms the validity of her question. Irony is always lost on non-thinkers, and there seems to also be a shortage of outrage. Yet, his followers see him as eminently fit to represent America--to be our face to the world? Are we to believe he is a “patriot,” (a neo-con catch word), and will be “phenomenal to women", as he has stated (like he apparently was to his wives and those who "just let him do it". He recently suggested he would support abortion becoming a crime. In everything he says and does realted to, with and about women and about women is patriarchal, controlling and entitled, and is sadly welcomed and even encouraged by many women as well as men.  It seems there are those who stand in awe of his hutzpah, while others cringe at his hubris.

Observing the "bread and circus" of his candidacy calls to mind the aphorism: "You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can't fool all of the people all of the time," especially those who rely on critical thinking, objectivity and facts to make judgements, which is certainly less than one would have thought. The opposite of critical thinking has raised Donald to popularity--emotionalism and fear of "the other." Logical fallacies, which abound in all political campaigns, but in Trump's they reign supreme, as well as half-truths and outright misinformation and lies.

His opinions may sound like facts. They may feel good to those who have the same ones in private, but have been discouraged from revealing them out loud public (because someone might call them on it, or be offended). Now, however, offending people is entertainment, and serves as a cathartic for many. Donald's delighted followers can say, along with Donald, “If you don't like it, too bad!" Demeaning and randomly diminishing anyone and everyone is what he does to the great approval and even delight many of our fellow Americans. Where this would lead, should he come into office, is terrifying to the other half of Americans.

It has been said, and not only by conservatives, that political correctness is now taken to an extreme, as it seems to pander to "overly-sensitive" minorities, and prevents us from "telling it like it is," not to mention throwing a wet blanket on our sense of humor. But the origins and purpose behind political correctness came about in first place because “telling it like it is” (or like people think it is) is mostly rooted in stereotypical perceptions which do not take individuals' or group experience into consideration. At its core, political correctness is common sense and common decency, with emphasis on the "common" good. And, yes, it has sometimes tended to the extreme and deteriorated to focus on "micro-aggressions" Essentially political correctness can be understood as consideration for others and respect for an individual's or group's situation and experience. It also seems based on a certain decorum in use of polite references, awareness and thoughtfulness of our words and deeds? 

These attributes are the tools for and the means to peaceful interactions across the board, the creation of good will, and can even reflect kindness and compassion, or in another catch word “values" (and even virtues). Some people do think/believe that a particular group (religious, ethnic, racial, etc.) can be defined by a few traits. Is this another reason Donald has endeared himself to many? Ignoring the nuances of another's experience riles up simple minds and encourages scapegoating for...well, everything! Trump, unfortuanately, takes takes every opportunity to mock (the developmentally diabled, imatiating ethnic accents), blames, name calls or whatever comes to mind at the moment about a person or a topic, which is not the same as "telling it like it is." Then he may change his mind the next minute or day. It's all true, or none of it's true--keep 'em guessing. He is describing the world according to Donald--but not the world most of us live in or want to live in.

We have heard his promise of "going back." I would like to suggest that we might at least want to go back to a time when a presidential candidate--say, Thomas Jefferson, would not have called Martha Washington (or any other person) a “fat pig,” or a president--say, Abraham Lincoln, would not have (for the fun of it) diminished the legacy of a captured Union or Confederate soldier. It's a given that there are many problems to be solved, issues to be worked on, legitimate challenges to the current administration's achievements and/or failures, and we may need alternatives and possible reforms explained in a cogent, positive and strategic ways. Yet, he just doesn't seem to speak to any of those ways or in a way that is inspiring or encouraging for our democracy. It seems there is a promise to tear down, rather than build up, to paint a bleak picture of America in general, lambasting about its many social, economic and civil rights issues, yet with no mentions of solution to alliviate the problems, only blame and mocking.

Mostly what we've heard from Donald are shallow, adolescent responses and off-handed remarks which play to his audience, like a side-show carnival act, portraying everything in the world as a "disaster, that only he can fix single handedly. We don't have to worry about the "details." He knows more than Isis, the generals, experienced civil servants, diplomats and certainly much more than you and I do. He will take care of everything--trust him! What other president has ever done all that he has promised, even if he intended or tried to, but no other leader, except for tyrants have claimed to know everything and be able take care of everything if we just trust them. And what person in his right mind would tell others or listen to someone who tell them to not trust their own eyes and ears, and to not only ignore current institutions and established precedents, including the free press, but to see them as dark enemies of the people--again "tyrant talk" in my estimation. Just "trust me" (until we can't any longer).

Heads up, folks!

Presidents do not have and should not have the power to do anything they wish, but can certainly change the conversation and direction of the dialogue nationally and internationally to our benefit or our detriment. In Trump's case, it seems to be going in the direction of an irreversible, uncivil and dangerous divisiveness of the American people and our common values, instead of suggesting unifying America against the greatest threats to our democracy, which is always fragile (read history and psychology about what has happened and tends to happen under certain circumstances). It seems as if Donald admires and trusts strong men, such as Putin and others (some call monsters) which is another red flag folks.

They would like to "go back" to the days when everyone wasn't so "sensitive," a time when they could "call a spade a spade," which, by the way, was also a time when all manner of discrimination and racial, sexist and ethnic slurs were the norm, which inevitably leads, on the part of some (and may again), to acts of violence. Certainly, those who abhor political correctness are not okay when ignoring it targets them. With the tables turned, they are quick to protest that they are being "persecuted," (e.g. angry, white males or "evangelical bigots" and would attribute it political motivations).

Donald’s tone, language, demeanor and intent can not be taken for other than mean-spiritedness by those who are his targets. His attacks are approved of and applauded by some who may see themselves as victims, some who undoubtedly get a great deal of their "news" from narrow main-stream media, (all other sources are seen as corrupt). Ranting radio talk show hosts or publications' vitriol creates divisiveness, resentment and conjures up or spews conspiracies, takes extreme positions, ignores facts in favor of fiction and false claims. Unfortunately even some Republicans are and may be willing to stand by him, no matter what--then we are really deep trouble.

“Let's take our country back.” Does that mean back to how wonderful it was when George W. Bush left office? or back to the pre-civil rights era in the early 60’s, when the Confederate flag was first hung at the state house in North Carolina as a protest against those liberal, bleeding-heart “crazies” who dared to support the newly instated law of the land: civil and human rights. Yet there is the pretense that it stands for nobles oblige, the so-called "heritage" of the South that sought to divide America. What "side" that has ever lost a war gets to hang their flag of treason?

Some conservatives speak of a lack of values in America today (and it appears to be true in many respects), but is most often referenced in response to the granting of human/civil rights, as if certain people understand and employ values rightly. Is respect, compassion, understanding and even truth in some cases, among these values? I don't see Donald's followers talking much about those values. The truth is some individuals and factions (not limited to party or religious affiliations) are selective about values--about how they behave toward and speak about others not like themselves. Unfortunately, this behavior and language is also based on stereotyping, judgement and may include angry responses, unfair accusations, sarcasm, insults, threats and sometimes worse. These are apparently some of the "values" embraced by Donald Trump and his followers, which are at least portentous of future challenges as a nation

If we could think of national context as analogous to our smallest common contexts: that of our closest relationships and associations of all kinds--people with whom we live and work--we might have a different perspective. The approach that has been shown to be most effective and successful within these contexts involves: acknowledgement and/or inclusion of all members, effective and civil communication and compromise for problem solving and mutual respect and appreciation, as well as support and help. One person imposing his or her will on everyone and everything else; blaming, shaming and name-calling does not work for a any reslationshop. They on intmidate and isolate through power, control, and fear of retribution. Getting things done requires an awareness of how our words, behavior and decisions may affect the situation and/or be effective toward change and smooth operation. A climate of mutual cooperation; concern and care for all members--kindness and generosity of spirit can go far. As members of a family, or any group, we value and deserve recognition/acknowledgement of our abilities and contributions to support and to strengthen whatever weakness exists and a plan to address difficulties that arise. We also need to look to ourselves when things are not working to see what part we are playing in the difficulty.

Of course, there are instances when firm decisions and actions must be taken by a person in the group for the good of group, which may hurt, offend and/or cause resentment. However, these actions, hard choices and decisions have to be well thought out, dispassionate for the right reasons, and certainly would not involve red-faced scowls, angry shouting, vulgarity, hurled insults, blame and defensiveness ala "The Donald." This approach results in more conflict, escalation and divisiveness--whether within a family, workplace or nation. Critiques and complaints, without suggestions for alternatives to problems are counter productive (and deconstructive). If this approach does not work in our everyday lives and situations, how could it be effective in politics and global situations?

While politics has always polarized people, used mud-slinging rhetoric and negative strategies to win or win over, to divide and conquer, there is something a bit different in Trump's approach. There has, at least until recently, been a certain stature to the office of the presidency and a respect given to the process and to the ideal of democracy, despite party affiliation. In a president, I had we have expected a demeanor of thoughtfulness not impulsivity (with the help of competent advisors; maturity, not adolescent whining and ranting; global awareness, not isolationism; cooperation and compromise, not unilateral actions; consideration for ALL rather than only the base of voters. The best predictor of the future is the past, and under Trump, I fear there will be consideration for only the ONE: himself, as he has already shown us that is him main objective long before and now.

Some hope Donald will "take our country back." What kind of country do they wish to have back--with only certain kinds of Americans, races, religions and liberties? If we could go back to at least civility and respect in public discourse; if we could go back the general aspiration to decorum, speak with some thought and integrity. if we could go back to adults (especially in leadership roles) being role models for our children every administration. If only we could go back to thoughtful, logical debate, and discourse of ideas and ideals; to when we did not see people who disagree (or don't live/think as we do) as enemies and demons, and embrace the founders fathers' vision of continuing to create a more "perfect union" rather than heading toward the brink again of another kind of civil war. How about treating others as we would want to be treated (Golden Rule) then, by all means, LET'S GO BACK!

I would rather hear Donald, and every other presidential candidate say, "Let’s take our country forward.” Let’s look to the future, not the past. Let's go forward with human rights, civility, aspiration, dignity, courage and a little touch of humility. Let’s go forward with those needed attributes we would ideally use within our own families, in our work places and in our places of worship. Let’s go forward toward realizing the potential envisioned by our founding fathers (and believe) that we are all created equal, with the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

ROCKPORT MORNING

Doves call

Summer breeze

Rustling leaves

Distant bell over sleepy town

Lobster boat chugs the harbor round

Beyond grassy meadows

Immense sea glistens early light

Birds take flight

For Suzanne

Friend, Suzanne Miller, passed away suddenly - March 2015
When we first moved to Cape Ann, she and her husband came to visit and she brought gifts, then invited me to an evening beach picnic over labor day.

There you were with gifts

Basket filled 

loaf of bread, candle and wine

a feast for friends

The real treasures?

the sustenance of your smile, your warmth, your joy

I see you on the beach that night

moon rising over the incoming tide

lighting the tin lanterns against the wind

when all the while

it was you who were

light and warmth in the dark and cold

Worry Doll

Finn took the one-inch square, rainbow-striped bag from his shelf, pulled open the drawstring and turned it over. Six painted wooden matchstick figures fell into his small hand. I watched him delicately pick up one at a time to look at. 

 “What are those?” I asked, reaching for the little scroll that fell out with them. 

“They’re worry dolls, Nonna!” Finn said in a tone suggesting that I should have known exactly what they were. I read out loud from the paper scroll. "According to legend, Guatemalan children tell their worries to the dolls, place them under their pillows at night, and all worries are gone by morning."

Give me a few dozen, I thought, but said only, “I didn’t know that. Shall we put some under our pillows tonight?

“Of course we should!”

When it was time for bed, Finn picked out three of the tiny figures for himself and gave me the other three. Grandmother and grandchild each whispered our worries to the dolls and placed them under our pillows. Then I opened the evening story book and read until Finn’s eyes began to close.

I should have been tired enough to sleep too. But, as was my habit before sleep (if sleep comes at all) all the things there were to worry about crowded my mind: my husband’s progressing disease; my dear friend’s terminal illness; my regrets about all the things I might have done, or done differently, or not done at all! I started to think about the random violence, pain and suffering that was happening right then all over the world--in war zones, in cities and towns-- while I lay in a warm, safe and comfortable bed. As if that weren’t enough to keep me awake I began to think about aging and inevitability of my own death.

Why do I do this? What were the three worries I had whispered to the dolls? I didn’t remember, but I wondered if more people than I might imagine were also worrying at that moment, or did I alone have such a negative state of mind by nature?

The senses of the body and sharpness of mind beginning to dull, and with more life behind me than in front, I tried to come to terms with the loss. Where was my youthful motivation for looking ahead and welcoming each challenge with the kind of strength and enthusiasm I once had. With all that, and the progression of my husband’s Parkinson’s quickly diminishing his health and former self, there was the sadness at everything slowing down, except time. I now take more time to do things that had once been done with facility and not a thought. Also, my forgetting a word here, a name there, left me hoping these are not the first symptoms of the dreaded “A” word disease.

I recalled how my father used to go out with his shirt inside out (I did that the other day), and how he once got into his car to drive to the donut shop and found himself sitting instead in the back seat. About that same time I noticed how slowly my mother was walking, with an obvious sense of caution and uncertainty, and her admirable attempts to “keep up.” Now they both are gone, and oh! the many regrets and things left unsaid and undone.

Although I myself continue to do all the things I have always done, it is with increasing effort, not only to accomplish them, but also to appear as though nothing is different. I, for instance, try now, as my mother once did when walking, to keep up with younger people. Is it better if my family notices and asks if I need help with things, or if no one notices?

In a recurring dream I am standing at the top of a long stairway I must descend. It is open on both sides, no rails and each individual stair impossibly steep, like an Alice in Wonderland scene--no way down or back.

When I get to the point where my thoughts twist themselves into self-perpetuating loops, I prompt myself to initiate another evening ritual: counting my blessings. It is a noble effort to displace the worries with all the things to be grateful for, which are very many. After 45 years of marriage, ("shear madness" we sometimes call it), my husband and I remain together, support and love one other. We laugh a lot (about eating and drinking ourselves to death in retirement), and live comfortably within our modest means. Both of our sons have found creative work (without our having had to pay for college educations--their choice). They love their work, and make a living at it. I still have my dear friend whose enthusiasm for life, even as she prepares for death, is a shining inspiration. I am grateful that I write, and still at least interested in planning and projects which keep me from from boredom and despair. 

And there are our joy-filled grandchildren, Finn and Sula, beautiful, bright, happy, healthy--the most cherished blessings.

I look forward to and love being with my family. When I visit, I am welcomed, feel useful and valued for the love and warmth, both given and received. Worries are pushed, at those times, to the periphery. Finn’s joy and interest in everything lifts life above the ordinary into another realm, and he is pleased to have me near him. “I love you, Nonna,” he says, sometimes with his eyes closed, ready to drift off into that angelic state of sleep so visible on a child’s face.

At bedtime the night after we placed our worry dolls under our pillows, Fiinn called to me, “Oh, Nonna, look! The worry dolls--we forgot." He reached under the pillows to gather them. Then, with wide eyes, “Hey, but I still have my worries; they didn’t go away." He told me of his fears--having bad dreams and of his house burning down. I felt that twinge of compassion one feels for children when they begin to realize that there is no magic to escape the possible real dangers we fear. 

Then, remarkably, he observed, “Well, the scroll did say it was a legend, didn’t it Nonna?”

“Yes, yes it did,” I agreed, with the sense that I was more child and he more adult, “so we may not be able to wish a worry away, but we also have to remember that what we worry about may never ever happen." 

Finn and I, nevertheless, decided that we would again tell the dolls our worries and try again. “Nonna, I am afraid to go to sleep and have those bad dreams. "Dreams, dreams go away.” Finn said earnestly with his eyes tightly closed.

“Well, we know what to do for that?”

“Go to the other side of day, right Nonna?”

After stories and songs, if Finn still feels uneasy, we sit up on the bed and I start an incantation. Finn and I get into the cross-legged position, our hands, open and turned upward on our knees. “Close your eyes and let your body melt, like a stick of butter in a pan. Now, let’s go to the other side of day. Take three deep breaths--slowly, in and out, in and out, in and out." Then I chant a Latin prayer learned in childhood, “Agnus dei, qui tollis peccata mundi,” * to lend an air of mystery and magic. The words are accompanied by hand gestures that Finn imitates, pushing day away in the seven directions, ending with our hands crossed over our hearts.

“I feel better, Nonna.”

I looked at him, and felt tears welling, “Nonna has to leave tomorrow, and I’m very sad. I won’t see you for a while, and I’ll miss you so terribly.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow, Nonna?”

“Yes, sweetie.”

With his innocent, wide and wise blue eyes, he looked straight into mine, “Well, Nonna, it’s not tomorrow now!

I felt my heart would stop.

Then we lay down holding hands and listened to the quiet. After a few minutes, Finn was asleep. It’s not tomorrow now, indeed. Why did I place my worry and sadness on him, as though he were my own little worry doll? Yet, instead of his taking on my worry, he nullified it with the wisdom, clarity and truth of innocence.

No, it’s not tomorrow now, and it's not yesterday. There is only "the present where time touches eternity," and that is heaven on earth. I fell asleep whispering the rest of the Latin prayer: dona nobis pacem.**

* Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world
** Grant us peace.

JAPA

“If there had been only one Buddhist in the woodpile” 
That cynical idealist, realist poet of the people once pondered.

Substitute Waco, Texas with any and all absurdity of violence
Before then, until now and beyond tomorrow

If Isis, the Egyptian mother goddess protector of all
had been in the woodpile in Iraq

could the children have been saved?

the Christians, Yazidi, Sunni,

the young men killed

by black masked executioners

their faces well hidden

                             

Isis: they have taken your name in vain

perverted your purpose.

Could any power prevent mass murder, carnage, brutality? 

Only consciousness can
Not Bodhisattva or saint-like consciousness

But the tiniest bit of wonder before the infinite universe

A modest intimation of human spirit

One clear glimpse of beauty, goodness, love

In an instant might engender compassion

for the pain, suffering and sorrow of "the other"

That glimmer of consciousness might have asked: 

"With my life, here and now, what will I do? 

What do I wish to bring into being, to experience? 

Men of war have ever said thus:

“I will assert and secure my power over the weak and helpless"

through terror, torture, rape and death

Shedding blood of innocents with the arrogance of zeal

Such is the history of the world

a "nightmare from which we are trying to awaken,"

And what will the warriors rule over

these modern hoards at the gates of civilization?

Chaos and devastation?

Keeping watch, lest the same thing befall them

Born of the pain and malice they engendered in others?

No deus ex machina descends upon us.

While the Buddhists wait and meditate

Clapping one hand

MISSING

Parts of me are missing

I don’t know what they are

 or where to look for them

I only sense sometimes--the gaps

spaces that keep me from wholeness

standing under the stars last night

the tide coming in

wind blowing restless

preferring the familiarity of my small room

where I am not reminded of the what I could not name 

in the dark mystery of the infinite. 

Why?

I fold the laundry

wash out the green glass

sweep the leaves from my doorway

 put everything in its place

except the fragments of myself--out there somewhere

or within, so near but

deeper than I can go

FOR BOO

For Mary "Boo" Budash - Crossed the Threshold  May 2014

You, poised at the bank of the Seine

alone, like a country girl

innocent in blue
Madone de la rivière you seemed
full of grace.

We did not know you then
but sensed in the friend and poet you became
what radiates in that image.

Your inward gaze
the water's serenity
flowing from and to
that moment you left us
all that transpired
all that transformed
along the way 

visible to us now
we will remember.

ON THIS GROUND

Nora was comforted to know Indians had once danced on on the ground where her son had taken his last breath. She did not discover that until today, after wondering all through summer and fall if she had somehow imagined his death. Since that rainy evening she had slept on the sofa in the front room with the shades up, waiting to see him coming up the walkway or to hear him open the door.

When she arrived at the accident scene that night, she saw the chalked outline of his body. Only an hour before, at the hospital, his young face was at peace. She was given a blue plastic bag containing his sweatshirt, keys, cigarette lighter, wallet, phone, some change, and an arrowhead he always carried with him.

She reached for the sweatshirt, held it to her face, inhaled, and pulled it over her head. She walked the few steps to the chalked outline and lay down within it on the wet, leaf-strewn sidewalk.

In his last moments, did he suffer, think of me, call out, pray? Did he know he would die, hope he would live? Was he already unconscious when he was thrown from the car? 

These were questions Nora lived with and sometimes spoke out loud or wrote down over and over again on sleepless nights. She thought of all the times she had held him, comforted him when he was a boy. In the end he was alone.

This morning in late December, she awakens to the crisp stillness before a snow.  This is the day of winter solstice with lengthening days ahead. With that promise of light, it comes to her so clearly, she must to go to where the chalk outline has long faded, where no trace of shattered glass remains.

Only burning grief remains. Each day upon wakening it assails her, but on this morning she feels moved to give over to time and reason. He is not going to call; He is not going to walk past the window. He is not coming home.

Feeling an urgency, she dresses, pulls the shades down on the front windows and locks the door. It irritates her when the phone rings.

“Hi, Addie, what’s up?”

“Hey, Mom. Nothing much. How are you?”

“Good. I’m good, how about you?”

“I’m fine just checking in. They’re calling for snow today.”

  “Oh?” Nora looks out the window. “I see it’s flurrying already. You’ll be happy to know I’m going for a walk.”

It’s a revelation to Addie. Partly elated that her mother plans to do anything at all, other than wait, and partly concerned at the sudden change. “What, where? I mean that’s great, Mom, but the snow. How about if I come over and we walk together like we used to, or maybe we could just have coffee and walk tomorrow?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. I have to go today. I’m leaving now for Three Island Cove," already sorry she has told Addie where she is headed. "See you tonight though, right?”

“No, I mean yes, you will see me tonight, but…Mom, wait. I’ll be right over. Don’t go without me. You shouldn't go by yourself.”

“Now, don’t worry. You’ve been telling me to get out and do something, and now I am. See you tonight.”

“I…I wanna go with…”

Nora hangs up, hoping Addie won’t show up at the cove. She knows it’s been hard for Addie too, and that maybe she has made it harder on her, but grief is a private matter, to be protected not shared—not even with her own daughter—her “favorite,” as Andrew used to say.

She enters Andrew’s darkened room, which remains as it was on the night he left and never returned: curtains drawn; an unmade bed; video games; on the floor; empty cigarette pack, and batteries on the bedside table. A job application and resume on his desk remind her that, in his slow, deliberate way, Andrew was ready to make changes in his life.

Each morning since his death, she calls into the room, “good morning,” and in the evening a “good night,” but not today. She goes for the blue bag at the foot of the bed, takes out the sweatshirt, holds it close to her once again, lifts it to her lips, then slips it on. She hurries to the hall closet for coat, hat and gloves and steps out into the cold air, emerging into what seems like a new world.

It’s just the old world I hardly recognize, where people have been going places and doing things, living their lives as usual. For her, there has been no usual, no place to go, nothing to do and no life to live—only her world of grief—vast and deep.

It’s so quiet, so white, so pure.

Her senses open on the deserted street, where holiday lights glimmer from houses and trees. Head down against the wind, she sees snowflakes sparkle, then fade on the sidewalk. She hears the sounds of icy branches stirring in the wind and her quickening breath, as it turns to frosty mist in front of her.  The pace of her lengthening stride uphill sets her heart pounding; a burning cold fills her lungs. 

  Disoriented by the opening of the forgotten world outside herself, she also begins to sense something inside —unwanted and unwelcome. Out of her inner landscape, there seem to be thought threads being cast backward in time, attaching to images, people, places and events—connecting her with her son. Her impulse is to turn around and head back to the familiar stasis of home, but her intuition and the intensity of the experience compels her: Keep going.

What is this feeling of contracting and expanding at the same time? These intimations of truths, both light and dark? Were those days and nights of ritual sorrow preparing the ground for all that flows from her now? Maybe, yes. Something is shifting. Why? To where? Threads of questions, regrets, love and loss stream out, weave together; emotion gushes in waves, leaving her  breathless— a deluge to drown in.

The widening circumference of memory touches many truths, exposes illusions, illuminates things forgotten, brings the yet unknown to the surface. Nora had not wanted a second child.

Was that really twenty years ago? I don’t know why, but when Addie was born, I felt normal, whole again. She brought me down to earth. A beautiful gift, taking away the darkness. Life was bearable again, redemption for past transgressions. With Andrew, I had to reach into myself…find strengths I didn’t know I have. Matt said I saw everything too dark or too light… deluded myself. I knew he was right, but couldn’t let him know that he knew me that well.

    She remembers that, as a baby Andrew had been content but less responsive to affection than was Addie. He didn't like to be held and was often ill. A dreamy, independent, willful and irritable child, he tried her patience. More than that, as he grew, she felt he was asking her to change in order to see who he was, to discover what he needed, which was hard—maybe impossible.

Matt said Andrew was my “project.” He wanted no part in it, wasn’t interested in my one-woman show. I shut him out—and everybody and everything else too.

Early on there had been signs that, while Andrew may not have been as “awake” as Addie, he had extraordinary insight about the essence and purpose of things. Nora felt he was a puzzle, a paradox and, in many ways, knew more about life than she did. His intuition and sensitive nature engendered a deep love in her, but an uneasy one. Something was asked in exchange. She tried to figure out what it was, but never had. She became convinced Andrew's inherent wisdom was meant to guide his parents to discover parts of themselves that were missing, to the self-knowledge they lacked. His father did not agree, insisting that nothing had to be done—except to live their lives.

I didn’t have to push Matt away like that….I shouldn't have. I miss him terribly. There, I’ve said it. He was right. I created my own Greek tragedy, got in my own way, and in Andrew's too. It wasn’t a good place to be, above all things like that. I felt Addie had lifted a burden, but I guess I just placed it on Andrew instead. He had to tolerate my mothering and smothering; suffer for Matt's leaving us; for my trying to be father and mother; for our move away from the only home he had ever known and loved. Did he carry that resentment to his death? And I never got the chance to….I failed him in every way.

“Oh, Andrew, can you forgive me?” she asks out loud.

By the time she reaches the place she had dreaded, but at which she longed to be, a perfect, almost visible imagination had formed. Perfect in that it is whole, woven in reverse from moments in time, expanding outward, encompassing the lives of a mother, a son, and a family—then, now and forever.

Looking up, she notices a sign post rising from the pavement—one of those placards noting some bit of history.

Why haven’t I seen this before? Was it always here?

SAMUEL DE CHAMPLAIN. Due east from here on

July 16, 1605, the Sieur de Monts sent Samuel de

Champlain ashore to parley with some Indians.

They danced for him and traced an outline map of

Massachusetts Bay.

Nora remains for some time gazing at the sign   with the new-found realization that long ago something extraordinary took place here. An exchange, a sharing, a trust, an encounter between the strangers who had arrived on a foreign shore and the Native Americans who danced to welcome them, and shared their knowledge of the land—a living knowledge inside of them.

She reaches down to touch the ground.

And it was here, too, where another soul had departed—Andrew, whom she had both striven to know and to become more like.

Has he united with the others from another time?

In an instant, she became the bare trees, the grey sky and the falling snow, a small but integral part within creation, which holds all that was, is and will be.

“Time,” Nora smiles, “another illusion. We are all here—then and now and tomorrow.”

       How long she remained in this reverie of her own creation, in the light of the knowledge the placard had shed, who can say?

A few snowflakes float down like feathers. Feeling the cold more than before, even though the wind has subsided, she turns, glances back, then begins walking quickly downhill.

There is Addie coming toward her, smiling and waving as she makes her way amid the lights twinkling from trees and houses along the still, quiet street.

*“SAMUEL DE CHAMPLAIN. Due east from here…” from the inscription on the historic marker at Whale Cove on South Street in Rockport, Massachusetts.

The Measure of the Universe

In Genesis, God spoke the world into being. In the New Testament, we have, “In the beginning was the Word.” We are given these imaginative truths that speech or sound has formative power,  bringing form/substance into being and that, “The Word,” or “Logos” has always been. We also find in Shelley's epic play, Prometheus Unbound, that Prometheus, a demigod who stole fire from the gods, a “gave man speech, and speech created thought, which is the measure of the universe” (II.iv.72-73). What these two sources suggest is that language is a mediator between humanity and divinity.

Language is what separates humans from other sentient beings in our ability to communicate not just informtion or feelings through sound, but also intentions, plans, logic in precisce, as well as subtle, nuanced layers of thought and meaning. Language creates meaning and, thus, thought. In this way, language builds and expands consciousness and conscience.

Although I am not a member of an organized religion, I was brought up in Catholicism. I am grateful for those early experiences, not the dogma, indoctriation, judgment I and others may have experienced, but all  which helped create a foundation for my inner life—experiences of seeing, hearing and feeling beauty. The interior of the church inspired awe and reverence: the reverence for the sacred experienced in the services, the gleaming red votives; the artwork and statues, and frangrance of flowers and incense; the images on and color and light streaming through the stained-glass windows.

I loved Saturday confessions, not for the act of confession itself, but before and after it, sitting quietly in an empty church. Each sound echoed through the space. In the presence of the figure on the cross, the somber saints on the side alters and silent angels in paintings on walls and ceiling, there was mystery. I felt at home in wonder, which the Greeks tell us is the beginning of wisdom.

I listened on Sundays, Holy Days and at funerals to the liturgies, prayers and hymns, first in Latin, which was beautiful and the meaning obscured also imparted ony the beauty and mystery of its sound. I recall my first apprehension of the spiritual—being lifted above the ordinary, although I couldn't have put that feeling into words back then. It came through words in one of the Latin prayers that was about the power of the word. Once heard, it reverberated through and in me (and still does): Dómine, non sum dignus, ut inters sub tectum meum, sed tantum dic verbo et sanábitur anima mea. We also recited it in English:

Oh, Lord I am not worthy that thou should come under my roof. Only say the word and my soul will be healed. 

“Only say the word and my soul will be healed" was a revelation to me as a child, as it is now: that words can and do heal, that they both express and shape wisdom-filled thoughts and have a life which I cann breathe in! Such word-thoughts offer a sense of hope and renewal, are felt as light, and can be called upon again and again as a source of comfort, strength, and even of actions I might not otherwise take, had I not been inspired by them.

As an adult, I found a life inseparable from layers of language as an English teacher and writer, grounded in the “trinity” of language: power, beauty and meaning, which long ago planted a seed within me. 

I imagine that, if such a thing could be observed, the palest shade of green would have been seen through the thin shell of my young soul—ever so pale, but green, green and growing.