On two people, who loved each other...

Little did Dolores know that when she went to dinner with her landlord that she would end up falling in love with him, as her eyes locked with those of her future husband’s. He owned the restaurant, and in his non-existing spare time pined over the local seamstress who happened to be the daughter of a friend of Dolores’ landlord. Immediately captivated by her beauty and elegance, they conversed, laughed, and fell deeply in love. Within a year, this educated, spry and worldly woman would be engaged to this hard working, troubadour of an Italian man. His name was Phil.

There was something about Phil’s unconditional kindliness, featherlike manner, and a presence that invited unfailing trust. You felt comfortable telling him your deepest secrets before you would even think to tell him your own name. It was no surprise people love and adored this barbershop crooner, prince of a fellow, and affable Italian, not the least of which - his beloved Dolores.

Later, underneath the vastness of an east coast sky, the scrolls of providence would scribe them on a private beach on a still evening, sitting and listening to the droning of the evening waves. She had her suspicions that the moment was impregnated with something monumental because Phil insisted on accompanying her to the beach instead of working his normal routine. If not for their sitting hand in

hand, his knee would have found the sand to ask her the question she had answered a thousand times in her head. As the heavens smiled down, a symbol of this monument was placed upon her finger, as carefully as a flower upon a grave.

One humble wedding and a Puerto Rican honeymoon later, they moved into an apartment on the east coast and began their fairytale with furnishings purchased with the little they had saved. Their love would produce two beautiful children.

Throughout the days, Dolores would be with Gianna and John to attend to their coming into their own. And despite Phil’s daily laboring at the hotel and restaurant from 6am to midnight, he stayed up with the babies as they cried and demanded father’s exhausted attention. Besides for the love of his children, he so wanted a weary Dolores to rest peacefully throughout the night.

Both shared a strong Christian faith and felt strengthened within that community. It would be a lie to say that the barbershop community didn’t also give them marital strength and supportive community, fine tuning their laughter and joy to the sound of Divine Love.  A common determination to raise aware, fiercely independent, and self motivated children also gave them a common resolve, and this tied the strings of their love all the tighter, allowing them to walk further hand in hand.

Her daughter, with all the care given to her, would give it in return the day health required both of them to move from the East to the southwest, bringing them into her home. Gianna and her loving husband welcomed them as their own, giving them the care and strength they needed and certainly deserved. Their adopted daughter now had the blessing of having her grandparents living with her, becoming the apple in both their eyes.

Mortality seems to find us all at some point. As Phil inevitably would enter into his final days, Dolores would gently hold his hands, with the same gentleness he embodied daily, singing and sharing so many happy memories they had collected over the years. Even if he couldn’t physically respond, she sang on because Dolores knew he heard and relived each one. These would be the final songs he would hear. I’m sure if you listen quietly enough, the echoes, however faint, can still be heard. It might sounds like the song their life in constancy, sang:

"Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. 

O, Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love; For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; it is in dying that we are born again to eternal life."

On Cecil...

Cecil the Zimbabwean lion was hunted, killed and beheaded by dentist Walter Palmer of Eden Prairie, Minnesota. Unless you dwell in a treehouse, you know that the backlash has been vitriol, unrelenting, and caused social media outrage that has turned the hunter to the hunted.

I greatly mourn the loss of Cecil, on the list as a ‘threatened’ animal. As an animal rights activist, a vegan, and as someone who believes in common decency, I share the general sentiment of being appalled and outraged. If the laws exist, Mr. Palmer should be prosecuted to the full extent of them, especially because the circumstances of Cecil’s death seem quite manipulated and frankly immoral.

We know his dental practice has closed. (read the letter he sent to his patients) I am sure at sometime he will move from his hometown. (Sometimes it’s not good to go where everyone knows your name.) The Lion Killer will most likely become his suffix.

Most likely he will change his cellphone, email, haircut, and anything else that can make him as traceable as the GPS monitor that he allegedly destroyed.

We cannot bring Cecil back to life, no matter how many tweets with the hashtag #walterpalmer we angrily send out. Mr. Palmer will still think hunting, particularly large game a perfectly acceptable hobby. Karma in her form will take care of what needs to happen, so what are we the outraged able to do now? We can scream at Palmer until our vocal chords bleed or fingers numb from typing. Or we can reflect…

·      What causes people to believe large game, trophy hunting is okay?
·      Have we contacted legislators to enact laws against this?
·      Have we spoken to our kids about this?
·      What is our attitude toward small game?
·      Can we lose eliminate term game?
·      Are we are that game etymologically comes from ‘joy, merriment, sport’?
·      How do we treat animals in general?
·      Have we invited a hunter into dialog to achieve at least an understanding?
·      What is the relationship of humans and the animal kingdom?
·      Can we wrap our heads around the idea that we are part of that kingdom?
·      Why do people call killing a sport? Trophy? Really?
·      What are we doing to prevent this from happening again?

Game killing will continue. A hunter might think twice before going, but those who are adamant will continue with even greater resolve. If seeing another Cecil survive, how do we reach those people who wish to hunt? I’m not sure, but tearing down Mr. Palmer more than he already has is not be the answer.

On gender...

A friend of mine had a few questions about gender. Please, I am no expert, but I did the best I could. I'm more than happy to be corrected if I am wrong...

My dear friend,                                                  

I will do the best I can…

Gender identification is a realization unrelated to one’s anatomical reality. A biological male can identify as decidedly female and a biological female can identify definitely as a male no matter what lies between the legs.

If a place of identification has been attained, it's up to the individual, how much of their internal disposition they want to have reflected to their outside world, sometimes referred to as gender expression. If I internally identify as a female, do I want to paint my nails, grow my hair, wear what we have identified as women clothing? These are external instruments sounding internal melodies. Does a female who feels male want to wear a tight sports bra, dress in long jeans, shorten their hair? Again, these are all things we have decided over generations are decidedly male features. If it helps their internal identification feel more authenticated, a society should embrace their desire to show that (or at the same time, not to show it)

That brings us to your question of surgery. The first is the trend of body manipulation, or reconstruction in order to become physically more of a woman or a man and it has become an unfortunate societal pressure. (This could also include hormone therapy). Any sort of surgery or drugs would predispose that one has embraced the question of identity and being and has decide what amount of physical change they feel they need to more fully embrace their self. (An issue I see here is that this need is not felt by the individual so much as it is imposed by a people who desire to see a woman as a woman and a man as man.) Society is accepting transgender slowly, but to them, identification on the continuum of external to internal is still obsessed with external ‘proof’. Those who feel the internal, whether they know it or not, are heavily pressured to physically ‘prove it.’

I think a biologically born male can be a woman and identify as a woman without ever having laid upon a table or experienced any incisions. The degree that this person (and I use this term non biologically) needs affirmation of identity is unique and strictly dependent upon person, their journey, and what they feel they need to do to accomplish their process of self-authentication. If the cosmetic reality is an important component to be an external reflection of an internal reality, then so be it. It does not make one any more or less woman or man.

I also believe that is why we have begun to see the emergence of ‘gender fluidity.’ One doesn’t identify at all. This might be a direct effect, again on our obsession of wanting physical proof of your internal disposition according to norms that have been established, perhaps arbitrarily, but still deeply engrained in within all of us. People who identify as gender fluid do not feel the need to identify as one or the other. 

In so many spiritual traditions, spiritual masters have spoken of a consciousness of non-duality. Oneness. I think this phenomenon we are witnessing is the raising of our collective consciousness. We are being forced to accept a reality of non-duality. No longer do people feel they fit into neat little compartments of male or female, this or that, here or there. I think we saw this first as gender roles began to disintegrate and women gained more prominence and participation in society. On some deep level, we’ve always known that we are one and all should be treated with love, compassion and equality. I think with so much gender speak, we are beginning to this shift happen.

Always yours,

Adam

On Capital Letters...

I do not know what I thought of capital letters when I attended Kindergarten It was just a scribing rule everyone except e.e. cummings followed. Someone’s name, a state, a capital, a city, or just something important required a bigger letter, and bigger signified importance. Since I attended Catholic school, if writing about Jesus, He always had to have a capital H even though we were using a pronoun. Because of our non-Messianic nature, our pronouns remained lowercased.  Of course, when wrote of G-d we always employed capital G. Seems we never had a straight answer about the Holy Spirit. (I not so secretly used She)

It’s funny in our typing how our muscle memory instinctually knows the exact location of the backspace key. If I would type out the words catholic church I would catch myself, get as far as cath and then back space until I correctly typed the word Catholic. This must have happened enough that capitalizing Catholic just became habit.

Well as the years went on, I found myself in disagreement more frequently with some of the foundational tenants of the church’s dogma and doctrine. To appropriately and passively express my frustration, in writing, my Cath would then backspace to type catholic. This was my own personal way of nailing my feelings to their doors. Perhaps if I used all the word document tools at my disposal, I would change the font size depending on my level of defiance. That requires more than just throwing my pinky finger in a northeastern direction of the keyboard, so lowercase it stayed.

In the book Conversations with G-d, I relished how author would capitalize words like Love and

Being Itself. This made sense to me, in the easy way rolling the window down on a nice breezy Thursday seemed. What could be more important than Love? If it was a pronoun or another name for a deity or G-d, could we not then invoke the capital H rule as we applied it to Jesus?

We could. We could do all of that. I Could Capitalize Every Word To Make Sure Everyone Knew How Important Every Word Was In A This Sentence. Off the page, do scribing rules still apply?

On the exit I take almost daily, I see a homeless man, and I’m embarrassed to say I don’t know His name yet, but whatever it is, it would capitalized for sure. According to our rules, that enough means He deserves to have His dignity recognized. And really, He doesn’t care at all if I capitalize Catholic or if I do an interpretive dance of the word. He’s just hungry and wants God to bless me. His folded cardboard says so.

When I see Him, I just want to press caps lock, so that when everyone looks at Him, instead of seeing a reason to lock their door and fain their attention to radio, they see G-d, someone whose name is capitalized, or at least someone you can lift your head up long enough to exchange a smile.