When Johnny Went Marching Home

How did our "Judeo-Christian" American society get to the place where the widow of a World War II veteran who spent her life teaching young people not only how to read and write, but how to behave in a civil manner, is threatened with losing her home of over fifty years because she doesn't have the money for a new roof?

Her husband not only served his country in the US Navy, and met his future bride at a USO dance, he and she served as officers of the VFW for several decades, traveling all over the country to make sure that we never forget the men and women who sacrificed everything for our freedoms. Their only son spent his life as a military nurse, saving countless lives to continue in the service of OUR country. He died of cancer several years before his father, leaving a sister who is also a nurse the full responsibility of her aged parents' care. She cannot leave her work to care for her mother, and her mother only has the memories that surround her in the home she and her Johnny shared, now that her Johnny has gone marching HOME.

She continues to serve in the VFW and loves the city of New Orleans and Louisiana so much that she continues to travel to the French Quarter to tell everyone who stops into the Tourist and Commission office on Jackson Square about the many blessings of being a native New Orleanian. We should be naming her the patron saint of Yats, but instead, she is worrying about how she's going to keep a roof over her head. Really?! Is this the best we can do?

When Will We Take Responsibility?

We are created in the image of The Eternal Light;
This earth can either destroy it or give it flight
It is the responsibility of the parents of each child
To protect and nurture this light for a very long while.

Why else are our little offspring, for so long, so weak
That they still from their parents, shelter seek?
There is so much to be learned about nursing this fire
And protecting it from others' selfish desires.

Where did it really come from, this idea of original sin
That any babies born of the desires of the flesh would not be, to heaven, let in?
While it is true that the urge to procreate is the strongest in all creation,
Our Highest Power included in the act,  brings it to a sacred station.

When we don't honor the Eternal Good that lives inside us, as a soul,
We eventually destroy the Sacred Light, and we cannot be whole.
Those who are born to souls that are dead have much trouble finding the light,
Even though being a child of The Light should be each child's birthright.

We attempt incantations and rituals to wash away our responsibility
To behave in a way that will nurture the child to be all that it can be.
We pretend that our priests have power to wash our sins from our souls;
I believe it is in the parents' shared light that the child will reach its Eternal goal.

The Christ doesn't mean "Jesus," though for many this is the case;
The Word refers to the Infinite Power welcoming back the human race.
Until we are willing to live by, and raise our children, in The Word
All the public proclamations of salvation will not, by their souls, be heard.


When will we stop looking outward for the answers that dwell
Inside our innocent newborn selves?
When will we believe the The Power is within each of u?
It's for each of us to claim our own soul's inclusion in The Just.

This road is not easy, but if we hold tightly to our beliefs,
Our light will find others and The Grace will increase.
There will come a time when the whole world will shine so bright
That there will be only Holy Days and Holy Nights.

How many more Messiahs will it take
Before we, our arrogance, are willing to forsake?
When will we take personal responsibility
For bringing this world back to Unity?

A Rabbi?! Oh, Really?

I'm beginning to feel like an old rabbi, endlessly arguing fine points of sacred scriptures;
The internet and my rejection of patriarchy has freed me from many strictures.
It's like I have the ancient library of Alexandria in my restlessly seeking hands;
Is this (as many believe) the devil's work, or is my seeking part of God's plan?


I believe The Almighty Aum hasn't changed with the times or the seasons.
I also believe that The Manifestations change with our ability to reason.
There are still many who accuse me of arguing over mere picky semantics;
For these people, believing we understand the original scriptures does the trick.


I do believe that since the dawn of creation, humans are the only creatures who have known
That searching for how we're made in the image of The Almighty is how our souls are grown.
But we forget that some words and some precise meanings are lost when words are translated;
Until we can understand them exactly, they should be neither wholly accepted nor negated.

We seem to vacillate wildly between hiding from our missteps and taking all blame;
The need to feel like we control Creation leads to nothing, long-term, but shame.
Our shame then prompts us to clean up or hide our perceived messes
Before The Great One smites us for any of our fallible, naive guesses.

How much more peace-promoting would it be to believe that we are born good,
And that the Great Light shining in each of us is simply covered by a bodily hood?
We would look into each others eyes and we'd honestly touch their Immortal souls
Instead of turning from their pain in shame, our souls' bond would help to make them whole.

If we felt intrinsically cherished, we would learn to gently examine our mistakes,
And we would share the lessons that we've learned, for all of humankind's sakes.
We would truly be interested in camaraderie rather than in competition,
But we must stop believing that controlling Grace is a worthy life's mission.

Warrior Women

My mother died before I was born; she had human breath, but no Spirit.

I cried out for a mother’s comfort, but none of my mothers could hear it.

I have the soul of a warrior, taken from my father and his mothers,

And when my father beat me, I wasn’t protected by any others.

The women who loved him saw that my turning from him made him weak;

This was the sense of control for which they all pretended to seek.

 Because I so wanted a mother, I’ve taken the whole world under my wing;

Having no strength or skills I could offer, except for the songs I sing.

Oh My Sisters, how I've loved you as I lay with you on your pyre;
To shelter you from the destructive flame was my only heart's desire.
How did we come to this where you let me stand accused
Of perpetrating the crimes of those by whom you were abused?

Oh My Children, how is it that when you learned to walk on your own,
You have allowed me to be scorned in your families' homes?
How is it that I was fed to the lions when I finally felt my own pain,
Didn't I hold you after your bloody falls, again and again?

I have waited as you mothered your children and claimed your dignity
But to salve my warrior's wounds, who has responsibility?
Will there never be loving mothers' arms to encircle me?
Will you never look for a  way to have a heart that, for me, is free?

You seem to dance with angels and sit upon Your Father's lap
But your invitations to join you have always been a trap.
You seem to want to be His favorite, so you ask me to entertain;
Then you point out how foolish I am, and treat me with disdain.

I have tried to make you love me with becoming your handmaiden;
I didn't have the courage to believe that I could be your friend.
I have nursed your children and worked with you to appease your men
You have said you want us to enjoy time together; my question is, "When?"

I have retreated into myself, trying to preserve the little light
That is left inside my earth-bound soul, which used to burn so bright.
If it was possible to simply will ourselves to fade away,
Drifting away on the waves to the sun is that for which I'd pray.
 

What we are taught to call fear is the awe of complete unearthly peace;

We have even turned our personal faces of God into the faces of beasts
Love and fear are mutually exclusive, as are love and distrust.

Fear is what fuels greed and abuse; which are both born of lust.

Many women want the comfort of their own warrior’s sheltering arms,

Paying no attention to other mothers and children that are harmed.

 They all were taught that to survive meant they had to bend their knees,

And to sacrifice even their own babies to, their Jealous Lords, please.

These women feed their own young to these men to protect themselves,

And learn to harden their hearts to the carnage’s sounds and smells.

These women fail to understand that a beast who conquers, with fear, a child

Should not be allowed a place in community life, except perhaps, in the wild.

Men who rule with cruelty avoid me; those of kind strength are friends.

Not the men, but their women fear me, that I will harm their cowering men.

The cowards hide behind their women’s skirts when someone confronts them;
These women who will not stand with their sisters do not demand amends.

I cannot and will not befriend a person with a vengeful heart;

In my feelings for the abusers, trust and love cannot  be a part.

The quandary has become that women who see their men respect me

Don’t realize that conquered enemies are all their men may ever be.

You may rest easy, My Sisters, your man doesn’t interest me.

It is not me that is a threat to you; it’s your own insecurity.

Woman who bows before no man, a man finds hard to resist her.

If you stand up to this beast; you like me, may lose many sisters.

But what good is a sister if she has no warrior in her soul?

In order to protect our young, it is important that we be bold.

It was never my intent to bring the men you call your own, harm;

But I will attempt no relationship while he’s wrapped in your sheltering arms. 

 

I didn't know that you, my friend, were afraid to stand alone;

I've never really had a place that I could consider my safe home.

I would rather lose you with the hope that we will one day reunite

Than to risk harming you any further with my grief's might.

I pray that all the people I've loved and lost will remember me kindly,

When our peaceful souls identify each other in Eternity.

And my mother's sweet soul won't foresake me for someone else;

There will be no more need to fear me, for I'll be my baby self

Female Composers, Food Fantasies, and Felines

I spent a number of hours researching female composers of sacred music. I found three nuns (not "The Singing Nun") who were sacred music composers in their time, though most of their music was apparently only for use in their convents. I also found several organizations dedicated to publishing and promoting the work of female composers. Susan sent me the names of several contemporary female sacred Jewish music composers. I didn't find a huge number, so I'm still asking for suggestions.

I happen to be house and pet sitting for friends who are off in Strasbourg doing the final edit on a sacred book; I must say that their home lends itself to searching of the soul. In every room there are books on sacred traditions of the Judeo-Christian and other world religions. The yard is lovingly landscaped as a charming cottage garden. The location, less than two blocks from a beautifully restored white sand beach on the Gulf of Mexico in Long Beach, Mississippi, is heaven on earth for those who see The Almighty in all of creation.
 
The "mistress of the manor" not only creates lovely little spots in and outside for contemplation and conversation, she's also taken up nature and wildlife painting, so her home is full of artistic efforts that are quite soothing. She doesn't do much celebratory food preparation, though, so I didn't know what to expect when I took my first peek in her refrigerator.

I spied a foil-covered dish that seemed about the right size for a two-person hors d'oeuvre tray. When I picked it up and felt that it was actually a photo frame covered in foil and refrigerated, I was intrigued and impressed. I thought that my friend had begun to apply her artistic talents to arrangement of food. With great anticipation of unveiling a food fantasy of mouth-sized morsels on a painter's palette, I gingerly lifted the edge of the foil only to find PAINT! It was a painter's palette, alright, with not an edible morsel in sight. Well, at least we had brought leftovers back from our lunch before delivering my friends to the airport.


Before I came here to babysit the house and three cats, Richard asked me what I was going to do all day by myself. I looked at him and laughed, “The same thing as I do all day by myself when you’re working on the PT boat at the museum.” The difference here is that I don’t have anybody to cook for or clean after…don’t even have to get dressed if I don’t want to.

My friends gave me a list of all the things their cats like, like being fed at 4:00a.m. Right! I told them that, after raising children next door to me, they should know that children and pets have to learn my schedule, not the other way around.By tomorrow I may get so lonesome for taking care of others that I might start pampering the cats, but I doubt it.

Richard does get more respect than that. When I’m home, I make him breakfast and lunch before he goes to the boat and supper when he returns. Of course, that’s to keep him from running off with another woman, but you probably already knew that.

The weather here is beautiful and balmy.This is truly a writer's paradise and quite a sacred spot.

Echos of Ecclesiastical Ecstacy

If anyone is aware of any sacred songs or sacred texts that are written by women, please let me know. I became intrigued with this topic when a couple of my close circle of commentators on this blog answered my question about what The Holy Spirit looks like to them. A professional singer, who not only performs, but teaches classical voice said this:

"My experience differs, and I hope none will take offence at my divergent viewpoint.  I feel deeply and viscerally and spiritually the joys, communion, contentment, wonder and peace of which you speak, and can add to that the transcendent joy I feel at singing great music with great musiciians, music specifically written for the glory of God and/or the Holy Spirit and/or whatever else.  I feel ecstasy and amazement at the capability of the human soul to transcend itself, but I feel no attachment to "another" in it, except to any "other" who experiences the same joy in her soul." She recommended Carl Maria Widor's "Organ Toccata" for perhaps a very different experience of joy -- or the finale of Benjamin Britten's Sea Symphony.

Another beautiful soul who was my first friend ever who could actually play music on a piano responded, " your joy is clearly expressed and it does not seem to differ so much from mine.  Different words, same joy, I think.  “How Great Thou Art” always brings me to tears."  Another soul sister who is a professional interviewer for a television station and focuses on sharing positive input into society by people over the age of 50, responded, "The Widor is a magnificent work, which always inspires deep joy.  I was so pleased to be invited by my daughter to plan the music used in her wedding so that I could suggest the Toccata as her recessional.  It was glorious, thanks to a marvelous organist!"

One thing these pieces of ecstatic expression have in common is that they were all written by males, so I wondered if there was any of what is called "sacred music" written by sisters in salvation. I was absolutely amazed when I couldn't find any references to any of these woks, given how females are so often criticized for our overly-emotional natures.

But the thing that brought me to tears of frustration was a website of the Catholic Encyclopedia, which stated this, " the presence of women in choirs is excusable under certain circumstances, although choirs composed of men and boys are for many reasons preferable. It is true that an inquiry about this point received an apparently negative answer on 18 Dec., 1908, but this was in regard to the conditions described in the inquiry (prout exponitur), and it is added that the Decree is to be understood in the sense that the women must be kept entirely separate from the men, and every precaution taken to render impossible all conduct unbecoming to the sacred edifice. From these clauses it appears that, in principle, choirs composed of men and women are not inadmissible; however, the desirability of banishing every possible occasion of indecorousness from the church renders it preferable to employ boys, rather than women in choirs. The employment of women as soloists is all the more questionable, since solos in church are admissible only within certain limits (Motu proprio). A choir composed of women only is not forbidden (Decree of 17 Jan., 1908). To employ non-Catholics in church as singers and organists is only tolerated in case of urgent necessity, because they neither believe nor feel the words which they sing."

I know that we are not all Catholic, but all the Abrahamic religions are based on the sacred scriptures that are in the bible.

Can it be true that the only the sacred song "written"  by a female is "The Magnificat?" Even this was set to music by a male. Are women only allowed to express their ecclesiastical ecstasy in echoing that which men contend a male God has spoken to them alone? Or are we to confine our sacred selves to the co-production of the children brought forth from our bellies by man's seed?

Sisters who have sacred songs in their souls, please heed the words of a Sesame Street ditty: "Sing; Sing a song. Sing out loud; Sing out strong." Surely there is at least one who has a sacred symphony in her soul, waiting to be celebrated.

What Does The Holy Spirit Look Like to You?

Most modern, educated people accept that all history is an interpretation of events by itse tellers, writers and translators. How is it that we can't admit this about the bible accounts without quaking in our boots? (St.) Augustine believed that the story of Genesis was allegorical; how could he believe otherwise when Genesis 1 and 2 give two different descriptions of the creation of Eve?

If we all understood the exact same thing from reading any historical account, we'd still believe that it's acceptable to own other human beings.If we all understood the exact same thing from reading any historical account, we wouldn't need bible studies and preachers, or professors in different disciplines to help us interpret long-ago events in order to apply them to our modern world.

The old model of education was based on rote repetition of an accepted body of "facts." In a global nuclear-powered world, we realize that we must be open to new information coming in at an incredible rate in order to stay alive, physically and mentally. The new information is based on the old, but seen through many complex facets. If we don't honor the old, we continue to walk in the same circles back to past failures, but we cannot continue to be afraid of the new input.
 
Living history is history that is looked at from many angles, by many people, in different world circumstances. As we become more enlightened, we can see different facets of the same sentences. Our language is a living, evolving thing. There are always new words based on new discoveries and insights.

We now know that not all plants or animals are limited only to being "he" or "she." There are many variations in the amounts of gender-producing hormones in individual creatures. While we were taught "rules" about what makes an animal a mammal, we were also taught that there are exceptions in those rules. One of my granddaughters (then eleven years old) and I once had a spirited discussion on where plants and animals cross the lines of absolute classification into one or the other.

My manifestations of The Almighty allow for many exceptions to the "rule" of God always appearing only as a male. What does The Holy Spirit (The Spirit of Holiness, The Spirit of Wholeness) look like to you?