Maelstrom: situation in which there is great confusion, violence, and destruction

 

When I step into a stream to look for icicles, I come prepared with my insulated Salmon Sisters boots and a walking stick. My favorite stream tumbles down a narrow canyon across from my cabin. I tie my dog Chester to a tree and step into the near freezing water. Although I’ve come for the icicles, the maelstrom of bubbles at the foot of each small fall inevitably distracts me.

The bubbles rise and fall with a fury at the foot of each small rock shelf and sometimes construct creatures whose existence will be fleeting. I won’t see that exact same formation again. 

The water follows the rules of physics. It flows downward, accumulating more water from the sloping Blue Mountain hillsides until it empties into Mill Creek, the Columbia River, and then flows onward to the Pacific Ocean. Flotillas of bubbles appear below each drop-off in the stream. In the heat of late summer, the flow will be reduced to a trickle and the pools of chaos dissipate. I visit in the winter when over a few days the temperature has dropped below freezing and icicles will form along the stream’s edges. Some icicles appear very ordinary and others fantastical.

This winter the apparition of a screaming soul briefly appeared in the water’s movement and I caught it with my cellphone camera. 

It’s visage reminded me of how humans across the world are engulfed in maelstroms—whirling pools of hate and destruction, causing welters of pain, grief, and displacement. One might wish or even actively put a foot into these whirls like a boot in the stream and try to turn the tide into something more worthy of humanity. When I step into the stream with my Salmon Sister boots, I am looking for beauty in the ice and in the bubbles, but I know my presence is fleeting to the stream. I can’t change its molecules or its destiny. Likewise, even with the best of my intentions and heart, it is unlikely that I can deter almost any of the destruction fomented in the world today, but my Faith asks of me to do something different, something hopeful, something indubitably wise. 

The Bahá’í Faith is the world’s newest world religion. It is a young one-hundred and eighty-years-old prophecy. It is also the world’s second most widespread religion, accomplished without paid clergy. I mention this fact because each individual Bahá’í is responsible for their own spiritual development. We are guided by the writings of the twin prophets, the Bab and Bahá'u'lláh, and an administrative order that includes The Universal House of Justice, but we each are responsible to endeavor to see that the laws of spiritual destiny follow their course.  

Today’s world havoc was predicted—is predictable.  As the old-world order crumbles, as old-world perceptions no longer function, chaos ensues. Consider one shift. Through science, we now know that all the people of the world are one people, related to each other in varying degrees of distance. We know that skin color has to do with a human’s adaption to the sun, to levels of melatonin in the skin, and has nothing to do with their intelligence, capacity, or spirit. If you were stuck in the old-world paradigm, you might be unable to see a person of color as your equal, as your brother, as your soulmate and therefore treat them accordingly.

Like ice facing ice and not recognizing its similarities.

The Bahai Faith, asks of me to observe the laws of the spiritual destiny of mankind. In my understanding (and this is only my interpretation of the Faith’s writings) it will only be in the transformation of man can there be an end to this world condition of dismay and discord. As a Bahá’í, I am asked to look for the beauty in every soul who crosses my path. To offend no one. Were each of us—worldwide—of every nation, race, occupation, political persuasion, wealth, social standing, or religion to find it within each of our fellow humans our common worth, the world would aright itself and begin abiding by the spiritual law of unity. It’s the joy, the delight, the intentional human connections that will eventually bring wide and lasting settled pools of peace.

Drop by drop, soul by soul it must happen.

Link to more information about the Bahá'í Faith: Bahá'í US

Uncluttering Peace; The Simplicity of Oneness

 

On New Year’s Eve I didn’t stay awake until midnight, but on my way home late evening I exited the year of 2024 by taking a surreal parting snapshot of an old grain shed on Mill Creek Road. The fog-shrouded farm light struggled to illuminate the night, while odd reflections in my car’s side window inserted confusion into the scene. The blur of blue and white rectangles aiming for the barn’s peak looked like an extra-terrestrial neon-inspired attempt at communication. A slashed image of a white barn fence and a road in the upper right-hand corner appeared to be about to fall upon the old shed. The year-end photograph seemed to echo the past year’s shroud of world discontent with its puzzle of chaos and confusion. 

War and war again. Numerous individuals and nations advocated for peace and illuminated the world with insightful, heartfelt, and thoughtful endeavors, but their efforts often seemed muffled as if fog-bound. Thwarted by things out of sight, beyond comprehension. One would think our capacity to communicate—like that illusion of a neon-lit message from outer space—would simply end wars. A phone call, a text, a posting: “Please, end war.”  

                                

Above is the same grain shed as the one pictured in the photo before. In a photographer’s lingo this photo is “uncluttered” with nothing in the image that distracts the eye from the subject. There is a dignity about this old shed now. A strength and a comfort in its stance. Our world aches for such clarity and assurance.

When I catch myself trying to make sense of the ongoing wars, trying to discern degrees of harm or what measures might end them, guidance from my Bahá’í Faith helps me “unclutter” the issues. Consider this: the simplicity of Oneness. My Faith speaks of this era being the age of humanity’s maturity, when mankind has evolved to the point of having the capacity to consider the entire world as one country, as guided by one God (through many prophets with progressive revelations), of men and women of one and the same degree of equality, and of one race—the human race. There would no longer be anything but a rare reason to defend one’s land, one’s faith, one’s equality, or one’s racial dignity. A world uncluttered from old prejudices would be at peace.

You may think this is naïve thinking. But this is the age of maturity. In my thinking, old ones of any age, who never gained the insights they needed, may find themselves in spiritual conundrums of their own making. A Buddhist friend of mine noted that in her faith, this is considered to be a dark time, but one of “quickened karma.” Acts that illicit bad karma will have quicker repercussions and those acts that gather good karma will be rewarded faster. Like adolescents who created chaos before they matured, there’s hope for everyone. 

Peace, goodwill, and one blessing to all, and to all a good year.  

Leafism—The Absurdity of Racism

“Ye are the fruits of one tree, and the leaves of one branch.” — Bahá’u’lláh 

Rarely do I pass a gutter full of multi-colored fall leaves without some hesitation and renewed attention to the ground around me. Add a slick of rain, a sheen of ice, or a pooling of water and I’ll stop and take a photo. 

The glory of leaves is irresistible. Even though I sometimes try and find the most photographic leaf, what will strike me is that it isn’t always the perfectly-formed leaf or the leaf in its prime that captures my attention. As with humans, each leaf is unique and each one contributes to the complexity of life forms.

If you look up the word “leafism” in a dictionary you won’t find it. But “racism” you will. For centuries now, humans have used their visual and mental capacities to define others by the color of their skin and then discriminate against them in an attempt to define who is superior and who is inferior. And yet, as in the quote above from the Bahá’i writings, we are like “leaves from one branch,” there is only one tree. We humans are many shades of color, but one unique category of living things.

“Leafism” — Belief in, adherence to, or advocacy of) the theory that all members, of each leaf (type) possess characteristics, abilities, qualities, etc. specific to that leaf, esp. distinguishing it as inferior or superior to another leaf or leaves: prejudice, discrimination, or antagonism based on this.

Transposing the Oxford English Dictionary definition above of “racism” on to the word “leafism” (an imaginary form of racism among leaves) illustrates the absurdity of human's habit of niggling hate out of nuances of color.  

Us. Them. Identifying someone by the color of their skin is an easy human visual task. As we continue to evolve spiritually, it is now within our capacity to eliminate the prejudice that has accompanied that simple visual reading. The sentence in the Bahá’i writings which follows this one: “Ye are the fruits of one tree, and the leaves of one branch.” is “Deal ye one with another with the utmost love and harmony, with friendliness and fellowship.” Leaves haven’t evolved to having this ability, but as a member of the human race, you have. 

Were you to shift your perception of people of color and look at them as a version of another lovely leaf on your branch, maybe you would find them to be more approachable, less unfamiliar, less “other.” 

This is only my interpretation of the writings of Bahá’i Faith, but I hope you find it useful. Racism is a scrounge due for extinction.  

After Death, the Wake

Bryan passed away. 

Passed this way with his wake upending our hopes he would remain longer. As a man who exuded lightness and effervescent warmth, we had assumed he had greater buoyancy and wasn’t anywhere near close to his last casting off. In his wake he left the wisdom of his advice to many a board, his stories, and a legacy of generosity. By the time I knew Bryan, he had learned to steer himself towards opportunities and friendships with an ease that maybe belied former times of tumult and uncertainty. The joy of his presence remains in his wake. 

Bryan's Island on the Right

He owned an island. He loved his island. He loved telling stories about his British Columbian island. How he noticed an ad for it, crossed over to it at low tide, and ran all the way around it before having to wade through the incoming tidal waist-deep water to get back to its larger and closest island, Lasqueti. If you imagine his island, think of it as a stone, tossed from Lasqueti. Not too small. Not too large. Just right for one man. An island, which when it was plopped into the water, set off its own wake of pleasure that one day ensnared Bryan, a lucky guy. 

Solitude was Bryan’s most constant guest on his rock, but he did invite a select few to join him in celebrating its water, eagles, old-growth forest, and its lovely sunsets. 

Photo by Bryan

With Bryan’s methodical bent, he assembled island paraphernalia. No easy feat considering one cannot take a vehicle on the small local ferry from Vancouver Island to Lasqueti. His vehicle had to be parked somewhere. Generators had to be separated from their batteries for two trips on the little ferry. Kayaks had to be scheduled for hauling. Then, some arrangement was made to haul stuff from one end of Lasqueti Island to the end closest to Bryan’s island. And then boat it over. He had no running water. No cabin… not even one built of driftwood. A screened cook tent and a sleeping tent sufficed. Visits in the winter were near impossible. The island suited Bryan and he became its custodian for many years. 

Photo by Bryan

Bryan’s choice of living mostly by himself meant his stories are archived with those he befriended. He never married—although he loved more than a few. Never fathered children. And yet it was obvious at a celebration of his life, he had birthed many stories and friendships. He left an archive of memories, a multitude of ripples.

Early in my friendship with Bryan on a morning walk along a wooded dirt road up my canyon, he told me a story from his college years. He said school came easily. He rarely studied and got straight A’s in high school. But when he got to college at the University of Colorado, he received a C on his first physic’s test. He was dismayed. He studied for his next test and earned an A. The instructor called him out, accusing him of having cheated on the second test. No one had ever before moved directly from a C to an A in his class. So Bryan provided proof. He took a friend with him as a witness. Upon arriving at the classroom where he was to meet the professor, he said nothing but went to the chalkboard and proceeded to write out the entire proof of the problem from the last test. From then on, he got A’s and became friends with the professor.

Proof. Although Bryan considered what might come after his death, he couldn’t find any proof of an afterlife. He expected none, but if there is one—knowing Bryan, he will quickly study up and insert the missing connections and excel in whatever comes next. 

Last year, when Bryan waited for the results of a biopsy (Waiting for the Results of a Biopsy), he gathered those close to him and consulted on everything he thought was essential to tidying up in case the prediction of his demise would become reality. Harry, his brother, arrived in town to assist and his friend Jen stepped in to help orchestrate details. Those of us who accompanied Bryan on his last casting off have poignant memories of his leave-taking. Of his courage and of his optimism. His exhaustion. His efforts to greet visitors, usually dressed in one of his beloved plaid shirts and with hugs. Sometimes shaky with tears. Martie, his dear friend who housed him in her little cabin in the woods his last many months, and Lori, his love, kept the rest of us apprised of his course. But Bryan was at the helm, at times confident and at other times desperately examining the charts.

The ripples of his wake haven’t entirely subsided. Those of us who knew him well can still remember him in focus. His smile sharp. His wit lingering. Back on his island, Bryan must have spent many hours over many summers sitting on some chunk of driftwood on its shore while listening to the lapping of the water, the ripples from afar. He would appreciate that we derive pleasure in having known him and still are listening to the lapping of his wake.   

Photo by Bryan

A Dog On a Walk...

Chester on a Walk

A dog on a walk

Is like a person in love

You can't tell them

It is the same old world.

             — as seen on a sidewalk in St. Paul, Minnesota, author anonymous

Although Chester and I went on a long, long trip, his dog walks were in the same old, same old world. Every location had interesting dog smells. Every location had dogs. Every location had people. With my six million olfactory receptors compared to Chester's maybe three-hundred million receptors, I experienced the world on the trip differently than him. How could I convey the difference in a human way?   

After some thought, I decided to make every trip photo of him in a different phone-app style. Every photo (as it was taken) shifted to something radically-different than what I had seen and photographed. Each picture became not my view, but a view with three-million tiny differences distant from the original.

In Chester's "words":

I was game on walks even with the wind blowing my ears askew.

No smell. How wierd.

I hate wet feet, but Kathy had to come into this freshly washed restroom with water pooling on the floor. Is that my reflection? Good look'in dog.

Darn frustrating when Kathy's scent disappears into some place I'm not allowed.

I love following Art into the woods. He led me to those odd-smelling mushrooms.

If I were off leash, I'd be sprinting down that path. Who invented leashes? Bugger 'em.

 

Too hot to walk any further.

New dog to me. Adorable. He comes to the name of Opal.

We're best buds already. Couch-surfing together.

No, we weren't watching T.V.

I got a new dog toy for the journey back home. Quite fishy, hardly any smell.

Done walking where I haven't been before. Home is same old, same old.

Photos Not to Miss from an Adventure to the Midwest and Back Across Canada, 2024

Alley View of Hotel Alex Johnson in Rapid City, South Dakota

I have a new phone with a great camera, a Samsung 21. Every morning, I slid it into my back pocket for the roadtrip of 4,500 miles, looping across America to the Midwest and returning via Canada. These photos aren't ordered in the sequence of the trip, but are organized to best display the diversity and beauty of what I saw. First off is the photo above taken of the graffiti in the alley behind the Alex Johnson Hotel in Rapid City, Sioux Falls. Rapid City was the surprise of the journey: creative purpose for graffiti (an entire alley's worth), great bookstore (Mitzi's), best book (Birding While Indian by Thomas C. Gannon), hiking close to downtown on Piss Hill (read the above book for the reason for its name), and a great outdoor store (Roam'n Around).

Below is my favorite photo from Hot Springs, South Dakota. I wasn't there long because I got a flat time and had to go up to Rapid City to wait three days for a replacement.

Building in Hot Springs, South Dakota

Jackalope in Walls, South Dakota

Who can't stop to snap photos of a distracted-looking jackalope?

Waterfall and Rainbow at Lundbreck Falls in Alberta, Canada

Provincial campgrounds in Canada are at stunning locations.

Cloud about to Grab the Road East of Winnepeg, Canada

A Wall Cloud Dragging Blue Rain

My campsite for one night was at the Stephenfield Provincial Park in Manitoba, Canada—just on the other side of these clouds. While I was on the gravel road leading to the campground, I drove into dense rain. The storm was moving so fast  though that it was sunny by the time I had eaten dinner.

How about a few museum photos?

Of Its Time. Notice the Coca Cola Ad at the Foot of This School-Crossing Police Officer. 

Popeye Says, "Eat Your Spinach!"

Irresistably Charming Zuni Pottery Bird

The Carnegie Historical Museum in Fairfield, Iowa (Jefferson County Carnegie Heritage Museum), has been collecting artifacts since 1876 and is an amazing museum. Recently relocated to a former Carnegie library building near the town square, it showcases local history and its collection of Native American pottery and baskets. Worth a visit to Iowa.

More reasons to visit Iowa:

An Eyelash Mushroom

Find the Speck of Orange above my shoe. It is the eyelash mushroom above!

An Artist's Mushroom. My drawing.

The Top Side of that Artist's Mushroom Above.

My friend, Art McBreen, led a mushroom walk in Brinton Timbers Park in Washington County, Iowa. The tiny orange eyelash mushroom and the artist's mushroom were my favorite of the many we saw. That rough-looking mushroom can be drawn on its underside with a sharp tool, and the image will remain. Here is a link to photos of the other mushrooms we saw that day:  https://iowamushroom.smugmug.com/Forays/Foray-2024/Brinton-Timbers-15Jun2024

For those of you who are foodies:

A Latte and an Horchata Waffle at La Luna Café, Sioux Falls, South Dakota

The Cabrese Avocado Toast at La Luna Café again, Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Cat-faced Sandwich at the Cattitude Cafe, Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Sioux Falls wins the title of "Best Food on the Trip." The food at La Luna was as delicious as it was beautiful, and I could have hung out with the adoptable cats at the Cattitude Cafe. Quite fun. I missed getting a photo of the cardamon latte at The Breaks Coffee Roasting Company. I'd move to Sioux Falls on the basis of that latte alone! Their latte will at least entice me to return. It is only a twenty-and-a-half-hour drive. 

More simply fun or artistic sightings:

Kiss me on the Balcony? Minneapolis, Minnesota.

More Rapid City Art. Sky Imitating Sky.

As Good as Graffiti, a Butte, Montana Wall.

What a pleasing trip. You might have noticed I have not included any photos of Chester, my canine companion on the trip (He'll get his turn next.) or people. So, here is a finale photo with people. This delightfully-engaged couple were taking a self-portrait in the Badlands. They did get a copy of this one too. 

 

Get on the road! See what you can see! Travel safe.