her name was joyce, and i hugged her.

i hugged a woman i did not know today.
and said, i love you.
her name was joyce.
i only asked her this,
after,

i held her hand.
and listened to her for nearly half an hour.
tell, of how she was ashamed.
that she had snapped.
and yelled. at the new clerk in the old store
she had been shopping at for the last 12 years.

where she had been shopping, because
so new to this country, from jamaica, via the cayman islands,
she had learned to appreciate places where she could
feel as though she was patronizing friends.

maybe i'm wrong, but perhaps, she missed a little of her home country.
where people at her age know one another, for so long, that
there is little fear of being misunderstood, and
after so many years, she felt she had conjured a little piece of home here,
in this terribly transient, senselessly impersonal peninsula of a state
{kind of an island, yet, not quite}
a small ocean,
and many worlds away.

so she had snapped, because, as i tried to make out from her telling,
she had been so affronted, she had been yelled at, and told to leave the store, for the simple offense, of cheekily addressing her old friend,
in the manner they were accustomed to doing.
by walking in the door, and saying, "hey, woman!"
knowing, full well, her friend would laugh, and they would fall into a round of patois.
and chuckling.
and laughter.

and with tears in her eye,
she asked me,
after 12 years,
if she was so wrong.

if i would take offense,
if i would misunderstand,
if had overheard her exchange with her friend.

in the moment, i must say,
my head was spinning,
i could not understand at first,
why she had found me
and had felt such a burning need to tell this all to me
and to introduce herself, by asking,

"hey, can i ask you something?
can i ask you,
would you be offended if i called you
"woman?"

would YOU?

i had no idea, in truth, when she asked, where it was leading.
i had never met her.
she had never seen me before.

and so, i asked,
why? she had asked me?

and her heart unburdened itself.
and she talked of her shame.
and of her sorrow, for not turning,
as her pastor had taught,
the other cheek.

and i listened.
and i asked questions.
so she could clarify.
her grief.

and i held her hand.
and i touched her hurt.
and i said,
"if you had addressed me, as such,
all i would have to see,
is that twinkle in your eye,
and the smile on your face,
to know your heart is kind,
to know you meant it in jest"

and we talked, of all the reasons,
she may have been misunderstood.
of all the conditioned responses,
to a litany of bad experiences,
this woman may have fallen into.

and. in the course of her telling.
of her shame about screaming. and cursing.
of her confession. of tears. and of praying for forgiveness.
of her fearing and her feeling
she had failed her expression of
what it meant to be 'a child of G-d'
of her trying, still,
to make sense of what she couldn't understand.

i asked her, for 2 things.

as i held her hand between both of mine
over the counter, in our busy store.

i asked her. if we could agree.
to bless the heart of this woman who had so wronged her.

who had called her out,
and shut her down,
and shamed her,
and elicited in her such a protective, defensive,
response.

i asked her,
if we could agree, to ask that this experience
would allow this woman to consider,
how she might misjudge others.
and re-act.
without taking time to listen,
and to know.

that not everyone is needing to be put in their place.
is out of line
is on the offensive.

if it would take the crescendo of emotions that occured.
to stop the whole spinning world for these two women in this moment to reflect.
then something truly beautiful could happen.

and they could both move on, even better for what had happened.

and so, it was.
joyce and i prayed for this woman,
who had acted as her enemy.

and blessed her.

and i asked joyce.
if i could do something else.

if i could come around the counter,
and hug her.

and.
i did.

i hugged her.
and i held her, as she cried.

and.
i whispered.

G-d forgives you, joyce.
it's okay. G-d loves you.

you are loved.

joyce,
i love you.

you have a good heart, joyce.

your heart would not be so burdened, otherwise.

and.

in the end, joyce said.

she had decided,
she would call the store, and apologize.

even though,
it was clear,
she had been misjudged.
and was treated poorly.
and felt wronged.

we discussed how.
even though,
her response was not what she had wished it to be,
there was grace in this moment.

and beautiful things could come from it.

understanding.
and healing.

and a sea change of seeking to understand others.
and, as she sighed on my shoulder,
i thought,
that beautiful things,
already had.

re.ally

By Their Works

Who cleaned up the Last Supper?
These would be my people.
Maybe hung over, wanting
desperately a better job,
standing with rags
in hand as the window
beckons with hills
of yellow grass. In Da Vinci,
the blue robed apostle
gesturing at Christ
is saying, give Him the check.
What a mess they've made
of their faith. My God
would put a busboy
on earth to roam
among the waiters
and remind them to share
their tips. The woman
who finished one
half eaten olive
and scooped the rest
into her pockets,
walked her tiny pride home
to children who looked
at her smile and saw
the salvation of a meal.
All that week
at work she ignored
customers who talked
of Rome and silk
and crucifixions,
though she couldn't stop
thinking of this man
who said thank you
each time she filled
His glass.


Bob Hicok
Copyright © 2002 Bob Hicok All rights reserved
from 5AM

le bon mot du jour: connected.

"An individual is a separate
entity without connection.
A person is an individual
connected."

- Swami Prajnanpad

it's still a love beyond all keeping, michelangelo, or everyone crashes down around here.

The Fall of Icarus

I looked up when Icarus came down –
but who would notice?
People are always crashing.
My neighbor's foot caught on the edge
of a furrow as he plowed
even as Icarus tumbled
headfirst down. He twisted his ankle
and tore up the ground with his hands.
While Icarus plunged down streaming,
my neighbor cursed the ants that confuse
the dirt, the feet that are blind
in their shoes and are always blundering.
The white wax ran down Icarus' arms in rivers;
he was a drenched man, a ruined,
a steaming man – I watched him fall
and my neighbor turn his ankle in the field.
That day Icarus was the toast of all the taverns.
I told everyone about the red runnels
on his shoulder where the wax plowed away
his skin. My old neighbor was there,
a cloth around his leg. We drank
a mug or two for Icarus who imagined
he could look God in the eye, another mug
for Icarus and then one for God Himself–
Here's to God's Eye which burned away
the wings of Icarus!
God's Eye! I felt wild thinking of it.
I went out to look at the sea, gilded
with the last of the light that took down
Icarus, bright as the annoyance in God's Eye
when he blazed away those wings.
I lost my head for a minute, dazzled
by light and drinks to daring and scraped
my knees when I took that tumble,
standing on tiptoe on the edge of the hill,
imagining the cut valleys, the lean spoon
of the isthmus and the shredded breezes
in the sky – how it must have looked to Icarus
as he spun down and God flicked me
off my hillock just for imagining.
Everyone crashes down around here.

-Dashka Slater-

First published in The Gamut #30, Summer 1990
Anthologized in Orpheus & Company, edited by Deborah DeNicola

how then?

as the current u.s. administration trumps the merits of 'the surge',

and presidential candidates debate exit strategy versus 'staying the course'

i think of them.
i think of their war-dead.
i think of our war-dead.
how then, do we fix this?
how then, do walk away from this?

after 5 years?

how could we ever? really?

and i know we all know,
even after our troops 'come home'

we will never be the same.
they will never be the same.
and i remember,

how imperative it is

especially now
to love

love
love like our lives, and their lives, and the future of our human race
depends on it.

loving, living, forgiving, acts of reconciliation, growing, stretching the limits of our understanding and acceptance, and embracing the 'other', looking beyond the knee-jerk reaction of fear for the unknown, the neighbor who seems different than what we know, because they are black, they are white, they are dark, they are light, they are devout, they are not, they are muslim or jewish or not citizens, or gay, or any of the other polarizing labels we tend to employ these days to keep building walls...all of this must change, if things are to change

if we are ever to truly win the war this generation, and
the whole of this world [whether engaged in conflict now, or not] is in

and that war we must win is a fight for what is fundamentally a universal, human right

the right to love
the right to hope
the right to a future

A four year old Iraq child cries as older boys stage a mock execution in Baghdad, Iraq, Monday, July 2, 2007. Children's games are under a heavy influence of ongoing violence in the country, one of the more popular ones being a clash between militias and police. (AP Photo/Hadi Mizban)

Young Iraqi girl stands next to a bullet hole in the area where clashes erupted between the US military and the Mahdi Army militia, in the Shiite shrine city of Karbala, 27 July. Nine people were killed and several more were wounded during the clashes, security and hospital officials said.(AFP/Mohammed Sawaf)

Bodies of victims of violence are seen on the floor of a hospital morgue in Kirkuk, about 250 km (150 miles) north of Baghdad, April 1, 2007. Violence in Iraq killed 1,861 civilians in March, a 13 percent increase from the previous month and despite a major security crackdown in Baghdad, Iraqi government tallies showed on Sunday.REUTERS/Slahaldeen Rasheed (IRAQ)

THOSE WHOM WE DO NOT KNOW

"To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life. But to feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know...is something still greater and more beautiful..."

-Pablo Neruda

1.

BECAUSE OUR country has entered

into war, we can have

no pleasant pauses anymore —

instead, the nervous turning

one side to another,

each corner crowded by the far

but utterly particular

voices of the dead,

trees, fish, children,

calling, calling,

wearing the colorful plastic shoes

so beloved in the Middle East,

bleeding from the skull,

the sweet hollow along the neck.

I forget why. It's been changed.

For whatever it was

we will crush the vendor

who stacked sesame rings

on a tray

inside the steady gaze

of stones.

He will lose his balance

after years of perfect balance.

Catch him! Inside every sleep

he keeps falling.

2.

I support all people on earth

who have bodies like and unlike my body,

skins and moles and old scars,

secret and public hair,

crooked toes. I support

those who have done nothing large,

sifter of lentils, sifter of wisdoms,

speak. If we have killed no one

in the name of anything bad or good,

may light feed our leafiest veins.

I support clothes in the wash-kettle,

a woman stirring and stirring

with stick, paddle, soaking out grime,

simple clothes the size of bodies

pinned to the sky.

3.

What we learned left us.

None of it held.

Now the words ignite.

Slogans knot around necks

till faces bulge.

Windows of sand, doorways,

sense of shifting

each time you blink —

that dune? Used to be

a house. And the desert

soaking up echoes —

those whom we did not know

think they know us now.

- naomi shihab nye -
from "19 varieties of gazelle"

from the - one more thing that makes me like you -. [or why 4th of july is kind of a queasy holiday for me] dept.

photo by shirin neshat

so i told you how i really hate the 4th...not in some mindless, reactivist sort of way...but as a thinking, feeling being...it's odious to me the way the day dissolves into what is essentially [not universally, but often enough] a bunch of americans getting rip-roaring drunk all day and then spending the evening playing with explosives. it's hard for me, because i think of what it means...the sacrifices that have been made for everything i possess...and the sacrifices that are made - daily - all over the world in countries that are unraveling in tyranny or servitude to what boils down to be [in my opinion] an economic war.

and you said..."they have to live with these horrid noises daily, while fearing they may fall victim. the fear. all the time. ugh".

and that's precisely it! that's what makes me sick...and i know it sounds terribly idealistic [an oxymoron, i feel, but i'm aware that i'm perpetually hopeful] to think that my small steps...like riding my bike 20 miles. instead of thoughtlessly getting behind the wheel and wasting resources like oil that people are dying over every. single. day. can make some difference in this off-spinning world. but that's what i think...

i think nationalism can be such a dangerously heady brew without any real substance...and at times, i look around and fear this post 9/11 world gets drunk on it, but what i think as a group of people we should only take esteem in is each act of compassion we can foster toward our fellow human beings.

i was talking today with a fellow co-worker who had emigrated here a long time ago from iran...and like one my favorite artists: shirin neshat...i could sense in her a feeling of still being alien...of not knowing exactly where she belongs. "there are so many beautiful things on that side of the world she said...and they have been poisoned...poisoned by years of the horror of war and one corrupt government after the other [often set up, or supported by u.s. administrations]...and people over here don't have any idea of what goes on in the world...even though there is access to a computer, or books...and all information anywhere you look, and it's hard for me because people judge me for my race, for my religion...and i want to say...what do you even know of my religion? so many things...and it's hard for me to say [as she put her head in her hands]...how do i find the words?...it just seems, so many here are...spoiled.

and i shared with her these words, i had just stumbled on before she came to sit with me, and even as we sat in silence as she read it, the words turned over and over in my mind "pray it is universally applicable" and so, i do:

Prayer in my Boot

For the wind no one expected

For the boy who does not know the answer

For the graceful handle I found in a field
attached to nothing
pray it is universally applicable

For our tracks which disappear
the moment we leave them

For the face peering through the cafe window
as we sip our soup

For cheerful American classrooms sparkling
with crisp colored alphabets
happy cat posters
the cage of the guinea pig
the dog with division flying out of his tail
and the classrooms of our cousins
on the other side of the earth
how solemn they are
how gray or green or plain
how there is nothing dangling
nothing striped or polka-dotted or cheery
no self-portraits or visions of cupids
and in these rooms the students raise their hands
and learn the stories of the world

For library books in alphabetical order
and family businesses that failed
and the house with the boarded windows
and the gap in the middle of a sentence
and the envelope we keep mailing ourselves

For every hopeful morning given and given
and every future rough edge
and every afternoon
turning over in its sleep

- naomi shihab nye
from "19 Varieties of Gazelle"

today. 16 june, 2008. Against such things there is no law: Love...

Against such things there is no law:
Love, patience, faithfulness, joy, kindness, gentleness, peace, goodness, self-control.
[The Bible - Galatians 5:22-23]


- Thank you, California -

may it be me.

I've been reading a lot of Carl Jung's theories of individuation and the journeys we each make to whole and integrated adults...and I like his theory of the collective unconscious...as I understand it. Somehow the romantic, idealist in me likes to think that...every smile I proffer to the old [maybe terribly slow] woman in line ahead of me at the grocer's creates a ripple effect of goodwill and compassion and shift toward patience throughout the whole of the world.

It's like the scientific studies that have measured when a crossword puzzle or some other standard of measurement is submitted to one study group, the second and later group given the same puzzle completes it uniformly faster than the first group...and vice-versa.

It's as though the knowledge has been entered into humanity's collective mind bank, and is now somehow 'out there', where people can psychically or unconsciously pick up on it.

It causes me to think, each day – If one of us finds the answers and chooses to do right...…it affects and influences others to do the same.

Il est intéressant, n'est-ce pas?