Have We Met?

It's all about labels. People feel more comfortable with labels, even if the label says generic and inside there is nothing of value. It's labeled. It's known. And so too with people.

I was taught that in a group of people at a party, or anywhere people are gathered, there are three subjects you never discuss: religion, sex, and politics. As I have lately come to realize, politics is the most volatile of the three subjects.

In the short space of a few sentences or a couple of short paragraphs, while discussing the current situation in this country (that would be America), I have been labeled. Republican. Liberal. Wealthy. Privileged. Uncaring. Cheap. Of no consequence. Usually after reading a couple of sentences I have written in a comment on a post. I have learned that people don't really read everything written. They tend to pick out a few words and decide they know the person. As if we had met and had exchanged ideas about politics, poverty, etc. in long discussions into the night. But they haven't read what I wrote, not all of it, and that snippet of information is not indicative of my philosophy, experience, or all of what I believe. It's not even a drop in the ocean that is my life after 58 years, a life I have actually lived.

Europeans and Canadians decry America's lack of universal health care, point to our capitalist society and, with that look usually reserved for the illiterate, unwashed, and uninformed of the world, deem me a greedy capitalist who cares nothing for the plight of the poor, and all because I mentioned socialist in a 30-word comment. They know me. I have money and look down my nose at those less forunate than I. More than likely, I oppress the poor, kick bleeding dogs, and drown sacks of cats on the weekends all while driving around in my BMW or Hummer talking on my iPhone while cursing at slower drivers, honking at pedestrians, and breezing past the huddle masses trying queueing for mass transportation on my way to a front row seat at a seal clubbing so I can get first dibs on a new sealskin coat.

It is amazing to me how people go from 0 to outrage in 3 seconds or less. If only my car had that kind of speed.

The only way to know me is to talk to me. That means leaving outrage and preconceptions outside the conversation until they are needed. Such hair trigger emotion and ideas that my character is defined by a few random words you think I wrote -- as opposed to what I actually wrote -- is a waste of my time and yours.

Someone I know from high school, although I didn't know him well in high school since we didn't travel in the same social circles, asked me what I thought about limiting abortion to 12 weeks. Although the hope that I wasn't an idiot or a murderer were obvious in the tone of his voice, I answered his question honestly. I believe that all women should have the right to choose whether or not they should get an abortion. I do not believe that abortion is the answer for being careless or should be used like the Morning After pill or a condom, or just because you don't want a child by that person (then why were you having unprotected sex with them?). I believe in allowing women to choose because it is not my right or my job to tell them what they should do if they find themselves pregnant and unwilling or unable to care for a child.

That does not, however, mean that I believe aborting a pregnant in the 20th week -- or partial birth abortion -- is right or an answer. I don't have the right to judge them, but I do think that is murder. My personal opinion and of value nowhere else but with me. I think an abortion in the first 12 weeks of pregnancy is ample time to decide whether or not carrying that fetus to full term. Anything after that, especially at 20 weeks,, at least in my mind, is tantamount to murder because at 20 weeks, that fetus has a change of living outside the mother's womb.

This view doesn't make me popular with the far right religious conservative political crowd, nor does it make me popular with the far left liberal crowd. I don't care. It is what I believe.

Short version, directly from me to you, abortion should be limited to 12 weeks. If it takes you longer than that to choose, go ahead and have the baby and give it up for adoption, but an 11th hour choice is not an option.

I am used to taking flack. I get it all the time from my family, mostly because I'm a writer and I write about my own life, and my family is part of my life. I have had a lot of grief and recriminations from my family because they didn't read exactly what I wrote. They read a piece and weren't familiar with my personal definitions and decided they knew what I meant -- even though that is not what I wrote. Angry emails followed from siblings who haven't taken the time to answer letters or call or visit in the past decades. It was like being at the middle of an angry hive of wasps with only one intention -- kill. Reason was not part of the equation. The need to destroy me was the intention and nothing would stop them, certainly not the calm, cool voice of reason. That would be me. It's as if they had never met me.

Well, in effect, outside of a few holidays we were forced into each other's company once we left home and went our separate ways, they really hadn't met me. Their only knowledge of me was from what I have written -- and they didn't even take the time to read every word or understand what it was I wrote.  Sarcasm and satire are lost on them.

"That was private," they moaned, screamed, and spat at me.

"Did you tell me it was private?"

"I shouldn't have to," was the inevitable response.

"Have we actually met before?" I ask with my tongue firmly in my cheek. "If you didn't say it was private, then it isn't private."

"It was private."

"Well, thank you for telling me after the fact." I pause for effect. "If you will notice, your name was not used and I sincerely doubt that anyone who happens to read this will connect us. We do have different last names and most people, though aware I have siblings, don't know who those siblings are." I wait for the next scripted remark.

"Well, they might and then they'll know all my business."

"Not actually," I say with infinite patience finally wearing thing after this umpteenth discussion on the same topic. The inevitable phone slamming (a lot less effective with a cell phone) is the next move and I am cut off. That sibling won't talk to me for a long time, which won't be a huge loss since they haven't talked to me in years before they happened to read what I wrote.

They know that I was homeless when I was left stranded in New Orleans. They know that I worked for an escort agency for a while. They know I've been married and divorced twice, that I have given birth to 4 sons. They know those facts because I have mentioned them, but they do not know me. They know me about as well as the average reader who comes across one of my books or read something I wrote for Chicken Soup or Cup of Comfort or they knew someone who knew me and had nothing good -- or bad -- to say about me. They haven't actually met me before.

Reading about someone or reading their comments is not the same as sitting down and having a discussion with that person. It's also not the same as having a relationship with that person or having been with them as they laughed, cried, raged, and fell into a depression over a broken heart or devastating loss. The best the can be achieved is an inkling of a shadow of a faint idea of who and what that person is. Labeling them won't change that.

Label me as you will -- because you will do so anyway. If you're really interested, here's a thumbnail sketch. I was a Republican until I could no longer agree with the party line. I became an Independent and remain an independent. I believe that welfare is a trap unless coupled with more than good intentions. There should be a program to educate those on welfare by training or retraining to find a job, manage a budget, and learn that just because you want something doesn't mean you should have it. Spending all your food stamps or money in the first week of the month will leave you like the poor man allowed in to sit at the feast -- sated for a while but then starving when the food has been digested.

I know whereof I speak -- and write -- but you will never know that or understand what is behind my comment, the one you didn't take time to read fully and understand completely, unless you get to know me and discuss these issues with me. It is the only way to know me.

Romance or Pornography?

I have been reading Jean M. Auel's Earth Children series, beginning with Clan of the Cave Bear and continuing through all the books, now that they are out. I am halfway through The Stone Shelters and had to put it down to read a couple of books for review. I am anxious to get back to it.

Recently, I found a taped interview with Jean Auel about the series and some of the research she did for the book. I listened with rapt attention as she described the painted caves of Lascaux and various archeological digs she had been on. What really caught my attention was the skeleton she saw and on which she based the beginning of what was originally supposed to be a short story, a story that ran to 450,000 words the first time out. That is when Auel knew she had to write a series of books to tell Ayla's story.

The skeleton had an amputated arm (not torn off or a birth defect, but an arm that had been cut off by someone with medical knowledge), was obviously blind (the eye was gone) and looked like Creb, the way Auel imagined him. Creb, The Mog-ur of the Clan of the Cave Bear, the most powerful magician of the Neanderthal world and the man whose hearth Ayla was adopted into when his sister Iza, the first Medicine Woman among the Clan, found and took care of a child of the Others (Cro-Magnons) whose family (and probably her people) had been killed in the same earthquake that had dispossessed Brun's (Creb and Iza's brother) group.

Auel always knew that the main character, Ayla, would be a strong and independent woman, and that Creb would be a part of the story, a very important part as it turned out. Ayla would not need to be protected or rescued and she would be a survivor -- and Ayla is a survivor still since the series is mainly about her life and journey .

During the interview the host took calls and one caller asked why Auel had put so much sex in the books. The caller obviously did not like the sex and had not allowed her daughter to read the second book, or any of the books following, because of the sex scenes. The caller's voice sounded disapproving, but she also sounded disgusted and felt the sex scenes brought down the tone and readability of Auel's series. The caller was downright vehement.

I do understand how she feels, coming from a family where sex is a taboo topic and anyone who talks about sex or in any way condones promiscuous sexual behavior is as much a whore as the person committing the breach of morals. I agreed with the caller for about a minute before I asked myself why sex should be dirty or bring the tone of a good book, or series of books, down. I don't know about anyone else, but I do know how I feel -- or rather felt. Embarrassed.

My embarrassment comes from two sources: my upbringing and my discomfort with explicit sex, no matter how it is rendered. I did laugh from time to time when Auel described Jondalar's penis as his manhood and his organ, but what really got to me was the description of the sexual details as though the act was romantic, which it was.

For some reason, many people react as though they are teenagers and sex is the mysterious wonder that their parents will not discuss openly in front of them or hide, like their father hiding his Penthouse and Playboy magazines, tittering over anatomic pictures in medical books and dictionaries. Some people thoroughly enjoy sex in their books and makes no bones about it and the rest are shocked by the filth that some writers will put in their books. "How can decent people write such stuff?" they ask, even though the writer has gone to great pains to use more euphemistic terms (manhood or organ). It all reminds me of She-Devil with Meryl Streep when she is sitting at a table outdoors trying out different words for clitoris (love . . .). I am sure Streep's author also used safer words for penis, vagina, clitoris, scrotum, etc. After all, she was writing soft porn for housewives, as one interviewer said.

There is sex everywhere in our modern world. Men objectify women, although often tastefully, to sell cars, fencing, John Deere harvesters, and so many other things that have nothing at all to do with sex, and the public buys it. The prudish sector of the public decries such blatant pandering and likens the women (and often young teenagers) posing for such ads as whore, tramps, and worse.

Shows like Queer as Folk  and Mike & Molly that treat sex as a biological function that everyone should enjoy are cited as pornographic. I still do not get what is pornographic about two consenting adults coming together to make love or even to pull off a quickie in a bath house or restroom stall so pornographic, especially since no penises were in evidence, and more's the pity. But that's just my preference. I figure if the media can expose women from top to bottom and full frontal then men should be treated the same way. Equal rights -- for the viewing public. I am still miffed that The Full Monty did not show anyone's full Monty. They were men and penises, hard or soft, are the enemy. Right! Tell me another one.

While sex is vilified in the strongest terms by the religious types who save sex for marriage and always behind closed doors, eschewing the possibilities of sex on the kitchen table or the living room floor, violence is front and center and few people complain. Oh, there are complaints, like teenagers not old enough to see violence in movies, though they are exposed daily to graphic violence in books and on the news every day, and the pacifists among us complain that violence is unnecessary. No one is more vocal or condemns quicker than the anti-gun supporters while they are standing in line to see Stallone, Schwarzenegger, and Daniel Craig at their violent best in the movies.

When you come right down to it, there is no easy answer why the sensitive, and graphic, love scenes in Jean Auel's books will upset people more than the latest Tom Cruise testosterone fest as he plays super spy in his most recent action packed gun and bomb fest.

I think it all comes down to modern religion. It cannot be the ancient religions when sex was permissible anywhere and as often as possible between consenting adults (adults being women who had reached the age of menstruation -- usually about 10-12 years old -- and men who had been tasting the Mother's gifts ever since they began having wet dreams and spent time with the local woman who taught young men what women want). Sex was a biological urge and it was not hidden from young children, but celebrated and engaged in while children were present. After all, there is only so much you can hide behind a ring of rocks or drapes and room dividers. Sounds carry and children are curious enough to peek.

Part of the reason is likely also because people understand that babies are not a gift of the gods, or the Great Earth Mother, but the product of sexual relations between men and women. As Ayla describes it, babies come from the essence of a man when enjoying Pleasures with his mate or any woman he has shared Pleasures with. When men discovered they were part of the process, I am certain they decided that making sure a woman had sex only with them to ensure their fatherhood of the progeny and began to see sex not as a pleasurable activity that honored the life giving force, but a possession. As long as they could continue to enjoy Pleasures with any woman that would have them, they would still make sure that the only man their mates had was them. Enter patriarchal prerogative and women as possessions instead of thinking, intelligent beings in their own right who also happen to have cornered the market on nurturing life in their bodies.

Before this becomes an anti-patriarchal diatribe, I should also explain that this is conjecture. I am pretty sure of my theses, but I am also certain that men will be offended by being cast as promiscuous sexaholics more than willing to chain and lock up their wives' and girlfriends' sexual options.

What it all comes down to is conditioning. We have been conditioned to think of sex as private and naughty unless it is between consenting adults, and preferably married adults. I know I was. Too bad I did not follow the training forced on me, as evidenced by my oldest son who is the product of a 7-month marriage.

It is no wonder people view sex in books and movies and in actual fact as something dirty (sometimes a little bit and sometimes sin city), and that is not only because of sexually transmitted diseases. As one friend often reminds me, life is a terminal sexually transmitted disease.

I no longer skim the sex scenes in Jean Auel's books. I enjoy them. I am no longer titillated but I do feel a little nostalgic and a bit deprived. I see each sex scene as evidence of the deepening relationship between Ayla and Jondalar and essential to the plot, as proof that their relationship is loving and how the bonds between the Stone Age pair are forged.

Jean Auel reminded the outraged caller that there was a brutal rape in Clan of the Cave Bear when Broud forces Ayla to "...assume the position" to satisfy his urges. Although she was taught to be subservient to the men in her world, she knew deep in her soul that Broud's sudden interest in her had more to do with control and violence than in sharing what should be a romantic moment. The caller never did respond. Like so many of us, the caller was more comfortable with the rape scene than with the sex scenes in subsequent books. What does that say about the caller -- and indeed about the rest of us?

Earth's Children is not soft pornography or pornography of any kind. The sex scenes are not dirty, although they are a bit funny in the use of substitutes for anatomical body parts; the sex scenes are most definitely romantic.

When I was growing up I was taught that my curiosity about and interest in boys (kissing, holding hands, etc.) was unnatural and I was not a nice girl. Nice girls waited to have sex because it was special and the first time should be with someone I loved. While I agree that the first time should be special and with someone I cared for or was attracted to, I do not agree that sex is only permissible within the confines of marriage. Given a choice, I would prefer to be initiated by someone experienced in sharing Pleasures in a world where sex is a biological act that is pleasurable and to be desired. That is most definitely not pornography but romance, and it is and should be romantic, even if I decide not to marry (or mate) my sexual partner.

The Mythos of Frank Herbert

When my cousin by marriage, Michael Vanderboegh, told me I should read Dune by Frank Herbert, I wasn't interested. There was nothing wrong with what he told me, but I could not get interested. There were too many other things going on in my life, like adjusting to being divorced with three small boys, only one of whom was in school (first grade) and working two jobs to make ends meet. I didn't have time for books, even for the science fiction I enjoyed so much.

Books had not been a part of my life for a few years, at least since getting pregnant and having children. Babies tend to suck up all available time and energy until there is nothing left for the good stuff, like reading. Dune was off the list of available things to do. There were not enough hours in the day for reading. The only time I had to myself was in the shower, if I got it before the boys were up or after they went to sleep, and falling into a dead faint at the end of the day.

I had much more time a few years later and picked up the book at a secondhand store while trying to add to my Andre Norton collection. I happened across the book and took a glance at the back cover and first few pages. I got lucky. The book was available in hard cover, and so I bought it, took it home and found a few minutes to begin reading. I was reluctant to put the book down to cook dinner, do laundry or go to bed. I was mesmerized -- and hooked but good.

The sweep of plot, characters and worlds took my breath away and the story was a real page turner, despite its deceptive size. I recognized many of the so-called ancient words drawn from Greek, Italian and Muslim origins, but that wasn't the real draw for me. It was the scope of the plots and stories that intertwined, leaving me hungry for more without ever feeling lost. That was artistry. That was good writing and I couldn't wait for the next book and the ones after that.

I did read some of Herbert's short story collections, and they were good, but it was with Dune that he reached his true calling as a storyteller. I go back and read Dune and the rest of the books from time to time, and I have read several of Herbert's son Brian's additions to the mythology and history of the worlds and people, answering questions about their origins and the beginnings of feuds, how the navigators evolved and where the whole thing was going in terms of religion and history. One thing I learned from Herbert, even though I knew it already, was that everything dies. Every religion, every system and every civilization reaches a pinnacle and is replaced by something new, something born from seeds planted long ago. About the only thing that lasted in Herbert's vision was Judaism.

Catholocism had evolved and become a breeding and martial arts program that, in concert with melange, the spice that extends and enhances life, created super beings, like Paul Muadib Atreides, Leto III the God Emperor and eventually an entire race of Atreides spawned humans who were no longer visible in the minds of those that could track every being in the universe. Islam became an entrenched society of people devoted to the violence of war and the protection of every drop of water on Arrakis (Dune) so that the planet would one day be carved up between rivers, lakes and seas between which ran grassy plains where cities and towns careless of water would spring up. Leto III made that possible with his breeding program and his reign of over three thousand years.

In one small part of the universe there were hidden pockets of Jews still practicing the ancient rites of their religion waiting for God as the chosen people. That did not change, and there is still the question of what Frank Herbert believed and saw for the future of mankind.

The stories and layers that came after Dune were the icing on a very rich cake that lingers still on the mind and in the heart. Few stories like that come along. It's no wonder the book has been made into a movie and a mini-series, each done by different directors that add more pieces to the puzzle. From the elegant and regal Dune of David Lynch's vision to the Sci-Fi TV mini-series directed by John Harrison, which is closer to what Herbert envisioned, except with the navigators, Frank Herbert's dreams live and continue to evolve. The scope is awe inspiring and the story a small tale of what happens when religion and ambition take precedence in government and commerce.

Some books remain long after the last page is read and call to the reader to return and look a little deeper, find a little more. It is all there between the pages, waiting for a new perspective and new eyes fresh from the cauldron of time and experience. Dune is still one of my favorite books and doubtless always will be.

Just for 30 days

If I could be one person for 30 days, it would be the person in charge of making the decision about whether or not a mega mosque should be built at Ground Zero in NYC.

It cannot be just about money, although it is obvious the legislators and mayor of NYC had their heads up their collective backsides when they decided to raise the taxes on the rich, who responded by leaving NYC in droves. But to put up a mega mosque at Ground Zero is sheer lunacy.

The Muslims are upset at the backlash of feeling and point to the freedom of religion and freedom of speech as backing their claim that a mosque should be built there. Setting aside the fact that it was Muslim extremists who brought down the towers and killed thousands, to honor the Muslim dead and their religion by erecting a mega mosque is to forget about the people who died and were not Muslim. Is it right to honor the religion of one small group of people over the religion of the tens of thousands who died? I think not.

If a religious center is built it should represent the religions of all those who died that day and in the days that followed, a mega religious center not a mega mosque.

I have read arguments that a mega mosque would be like the Taj Mahal, erected by a bereaved Mogul (Muslim) king honoring his dead wife. He was the ruler and his wife was queen (rani), so that was understandable. Neither America nor NYC have kings or rajahs, so a monument to one group of people and their religion is not understandable. What is understandable is the outrage that so many Americans feel. This is what free speech is all about: open discussion and conversations from all sides of the issue, not just the popular and politically correct side.

No one is keeping Muslims from celebrating their religion or building mosques on other sides in America, but it is the right of every American to have a say in whether or not a mosque should be built at Ground Zero? Celebrate your religion anywhere. Roll out your prayer mats and point them toward Mecca while you pray at Ground Zero, but don't expect for Americans to embrace putting up a monument to the Muslim extremists who destroyed two buildings to throw American commerce and lives into chaos and killed tens of thousands of Americans. Yes, there were Muslims who were killed on 9/11/2001, but there were far more non-Muslims who were killed that day. To honor one group is to ignore the deaths and religions of all the other groups. As far as I am concerned, there isn't enough money in the world to allow that to happen. As the person in charge of this decision, it would be a center for all religions or business as usual.

Now, down the street a couple of blocks among all the other churches and synagogues, is something else again. To that I say, go for it.

That is all. Disperse.

Have Faith, Your Belief is an Opinion

faith
Pronunciation: \ˈfāth\
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural faiths \ˈfāths, sometimes ˈfāthz\
Etymology: Middle English feith, from Anglo-French feid, fei, from Latin fides; akin to Latin fidere to trust — more at bide
Date: 13th century

1 a : allegiance to duty or a person : loyalty b (1) : fidelity to one's promises (2) : sincerity of intentions
2 a (1) : belief and trust in and loyalty to God (2) : belief in the traditional doctrines of a religion b (1) : firm belief in something for which there is no proof (2) : complete trust
3 : something that is believed especially with strong conviction; especially : a system of religious beliefs
synonyms see belief

— on faith : without question


be·lief
Pronunciation: \bə-ˈlēf\
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English beleave, probably alteration of Old English gelēafa, from ge-, associative prefix + lēafa; akin to Old English lȳfan — more at believe
Date: 12th century

1 : a state or habit of mind in which trust or confidence is placed in some person or thing
2 : something believed; especially : a tenet or body of tenets held by a group
3 : conviction of the truth of some statement or the reality of some being or phenomenon especially when based on examination of evidence
synonyms belief, faith, credence, credit mean assent to the truth of something offered for acceptance. belief may or may not imply certitude in the believer . faith almost always implies certitude even where there is no evidence or proof . credence suggests intellectual assent without implying anything about grounds for assent < a theory now given credence by scientists>. credit may imply assent on grounds other than direct proof .

opin·ion
Pronunciation: \ə-ˈpin-yən\
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Anglo-French, from Latin opinion-, opinio, from opinari
Date: 14th century

1 a : a view, judgment, or appraisal formed in the mind about a particular matter b : approval, esteem
2 a : belief stronger than impression and less strong than positive knowledge b : a generally held view
3 a : a formal expression of judgment or advice by an expert b : the formal expression (as by a judge, court, or referee) of the legal reasons and principles upon which a legal decision is based

— opin·ioned \-yənd\ adjective

Today's post is brought to you by the continued wrangling over religious in/tolerance in the military and especially at the Air Force Academy where the current commandant is doing his best to promote a tolerant environment for the worship of all faiths.

A friend who works at the Academy keeps sending me links to articles and articles about this issue ever since the ring of stones was set up for pagan worshipers to gather. One intolerance Christian put a railroad tie cross against one of the larger stones of the outdoor circle and set off the current debate. There have been comments about how our forefathers would view the military and would cringe at the incursion of religion into the military and government sites, but I'm not so sure they know whereof they speak. It's hard to say what the individual founders of the Constitution would say since many of them did go to church and carried their faith with them, but one thing is certain, it was their anonymous belief that a state religion would only tear apart the fabric of the country they created and endowed with their own blood, sweat and tears.

The purpose of the dictionary definitions of faith, belief and opinion above should be obvious, especially since the first two words -- faith and belief -- have figured prominently in all the articles about the current discussion about tolerance. When you get right down to it, the whole idea of a single religion speaking for all is an opinion and has no basis in fact. Some people have faith that one god is the only god, whatever they choose to call him (the Jews have several names for him, Muslims one, and Christians none at all, other than god or lord, which are titles and not names) and other have faith that no god or the anthropomorphic (made in man's image) representations of natural forces and ideas called gods and goddesses rule their lives. It is their belief that they are not alone or, if they are alone and life is just a finite point of existence no one survives and is blown out like a candle flame, that they are alone and nothing matters because we're all going to die. Then there are the more exotic religions based on worship of ancestors, animal headed god/desses and cargo planes that once disgorged vast quantities of food, material, weapons and people and then took them all away again. There are religious beliefs of many types in every part of the world and all of them promote the idea that one set of beliefs is the only true path to enlightenment. I find that difficult to believe that if no one will agree to wearing one color, one cut of clothing, one shoe design and one hairstyle there is hope for everyone believing in one god or one religion.

When you boil down all the rhetoric, gossip and proselytizing, it comes down to one simple truth: one size does NOT fit all. America has been in the forefront from its bloody birth because there was no state religion and freedom was at the center of what has become the most important country on the planet. It isn't because the United States of America is the strongest, richest or most powerful nation in the world and can destroy every other country in the world ten times over; it is because America is the only country that works hard to promote and maintain freedom: freedom to speak out without fear, freedom to print opinions and beliefs without fear and freedom to worship any religion without fear. The word is out; the streets are not paved with gold, but, with hard work and faith in the system and yourself, anything is possible. It's time the evangelical arm of Christianity got the message that in order to practice their religion without fear, they must allow the same freedom to others and stop pushing their agenda down everyone else's throats. Christianity is a religion, a set of beliefs that followers have faith in, but it is not the only religion and believers have neither the right nor the mandate to force everyone else to believe their way and only their way.

I have faith in the Constitution. I believe that following the simple statements set down by our founding fathers will keep us a diverse nation of freedom loving and tolerant people. It is my opinion that all this religious tug-of-warring benefits no one and that it will tear this country and its people apart, thus negating the principles on which this country was founded.

There's a simple solution: You find meaning in whatever religion you choose and allow everyone else the courtesy to find meaning in their own way. After all, the only person you have some amount of control over is yourself. I can say, from personal experience, that I have enough trouble controlling myself and I do not need nor do I want to control anyone else, except maybe my mailman, but that is a story for another time. In the meantime, follow the dictates of your heart and leave everyone else to follow their own. We'll all be a lot happier.

That is all. Disperse.

Celebration day, come on

Today is a big day for celebrations. It's Groundhog Day and Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow, so that means six more weeks of winter, as if you couldn't already guess. I wonder if anyone checked the woolly caterpillar's middle stripe before winter set in.

It's also Ayn Rand's birthday, Ayn Rand of The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged fame. If you've not read the books, you should. Yes, they're big and they are also meaty, but they're worth the effort. If you prefer the short version, check out the movie with Gary Cooper and Patricia Neal. I think the book is better, but I came to the book through the movie.

Today is my best friend Connie's 55th birthday. She is officially a senior citizen, and I'm not far behind, just 15 more days until I hit the double nickel, too. Connie and I have known each other for nearly 40 years and we're still best friends. Her children call me Aunt Jackie and I've been there for some of the big moments, and even designed and made Dawn's senior prom dress. She still has it.

Today is also Imbolc, the festival of lights, the first Sabbat of the pagan calendar. I know some people celebrated it yesterday, but I've always celebrated it on the 2nd and not the first. Imbolc celebrates the return of light and warmth and has been co-opted by Catholics as Candlemas and Irish Catholics by St. Brigid's Day. Everyone likes to get in on the celebration since it is at this time we are halfway through winter. Winter ends technically on March 21st, and that will be the celebration of Ostara and the first equinox, that moment in the year when the day and night are in balance.

The year wears on no matter how we seek to stop its movement for an hour or a day and, although it seems as though some hours are longer than others, it's perception and not fact. Gram always told me to stop wishing my life away because there would come a day when time would flash by too fast to catch it. She was right. It seems only yesterday that I was looking forward to the holiday season and now spring is nearly upon me. The years are becoming like a juggernaut rolling away faster and faster like the pages on a calendar in the movies. I don't know if I'm sad about that or if I'm too busy to worry about it, except in moments like these. The one thing I have always counted on is change, and the movement of time, as seen by human eyes, is nothing but change from one second to the next. All I can do is appreciate this moment and the next moment and the ones that follow and be glad for friends like Connie and looking forward to reading writers like Ayn Rand, Terry Pratchett and whoever shows up in the boxes Authorlink sends me to review. Good thing I enjoy change.

That is all. Disperse.

It's all about light

Throughout the season since Thanksgiving, there have been angry and loud claims of those who are intent on keeping the Christ in Christmas. They object to "Season's greetings" and "Happy holidays" because for them, it's all about the birth of Christ. In their single-minded drive to force their views on everyone else, I'd like to calmly and quietly remind them that this is a season of many holidays, most of which do not include Christ. This has nothing to do with being PC or bending over backward for someone else's faith or beliefs, but a simple statement of facts.

From Thanksgiving to New Year's, people of all faiths and persuasions celebrate the following: Chanukkah, Kwanzaa, Yule and Mid Winter Solstice. Surprisingly enough, there is no Christ in these holidays and yet they are traditional at this time of year. So, while all the Christians celebrate their particular holiday, I hope they will not be so adamant about the Christ in Christmas that they forget the generosity and joy of the season and give a nod to the people of the rest of the world who do not share their faith and beliefs. I will spend my holidays celebrating Yule and the Solstice and will put up my tree, a tree decorated with presents, light and ornaments that came long before the change to Christmas. I celebrate much older traditions and, though I do not celebrate Kwanzaa or Chanukkah or Christmas, I offer my seasons greetings and happy holidays to those who do.

In the end, it's not about who or why you celebrate, but that you take the time to celebrate the end of the reign of darkness and the swing back toward the sun and the coming of the light. Whatever you choose to celebrate, in the end that's what it's all about.

Happy Holidays. Seasons Greetings. May all your days be merry and bright.

Religious calling

One of the biggest mistakes I made as a beginning writer was taking on too much, especially in fiction. I'd have too much for a short story and not enough for a novel, and I couldn't tell which was which.

I began a novel about an Air Force pilot, a woman, who was allowed to teach other combat pilots, but not fly combat. This was about thirty years ago when things were different. Women fly combat all the time now. I had a romance brewing and the characters were talking to me. The male romantic lead kept waking me up to tell me he knew the heroine before they met in the book, and it was the first time a character bothered me in my sleep and hounded me day and night. I thought I had something.

I plotted. I made outlines of the action. I knew where I was starting and where I would end, but had not clue about the middle. I thought it would come as I wrote. It didn't.

I had great scenes. There was laughter. There were tears, brilliant dialogue, rapid-fire exchanges and heat, lots of heat. I had everything to make a great book, or so I thought. I got to the middle of the book and hit a brick wall. It felt much harder than brick when I banged my head against it, writing this way and that to get out of the rapidly closing cul-de-sac from hell. I was stalled. Nothing came. I couldn't get past it to the end of the story.

Thinking I had everything covered, I had no idea the mid book slump could happen to me. I was fearless. I had prepared carefully. I was lost. The remains of the book are still on a 5.25" floppy and is probably no longer readable. The hard copy is still in a folder in a locked cabinet that is probably food for mice by now.

There are times when a book just won't jell no matter what you do. Even with the best outline and covering all the points of plot, characterization, dialogue and time lines, a book can, and often does stall. There are many reasons for this stall that turns into a horrible crash-and-burn. What it amounts to is running out of gas -- enthusiasm. There are ways to write past that point and find energy by working on the last part of the book, hoping that something will come out of the blue and save the story, and sometimes it means a whole rewrite. Such is the case with Whitechapel Hearts.

When I began writing the book, I tried it in several different points of view and styles, from confessionals to dairy entries, and nothing came. I couldn't figure out how to get from point A to point D and was having a difficult time bypassing B and C, which was a new experience for me. I usually bypass them without any difficulty, but I found I couldn't bypass them in a novel. I gave up, printed out the hard copy of everything I did and stuck it in the locked cabinet in a file next to the combat pilot romance, moving on to other projects that didn't tax my abilities quite so much. During a conversation with a friend about Victorian pornography and morality, I had a flash of insight. I knew what was wrong with Whitechapel Hearts and I knew just how to fix it. Mind you, this is a few years after I originally began.

Everything started coming out as though I was typing from a finished book until I hit the brick wall in the middle again. It wasn't a lack of story or not knowing what came next; I simply ran out of gas. After several tries at writing around the wall and tackling it from different angles, I decided to put it away and work on something else. That was several years ago.

I have since worked past the wall and finished the book. I have rewritten sections and added layers I never knew were possible before. As I learned, the book became better and better. I refused to give up and now it's a done deal. No doubt my editor will put me through the paces once again and she will help me see textures I didn't know were there.

There are some books that should remained in a folder in a locked file cabinet and some that won't let you go. I've been lucky enough to have more of the latter than the former. There are stories and books bouncing around in my head jostling for pole position, and they will eventually get their turn . . . when they have simmered long enough. I'll have to face the wall again in other books and sometimes it will be closer to the beginning or right before the end, but I know how to get past it now -- brick by brick.

I have lots of books in me, yet I am reminded of another author who wrote a best selling novel that is still a best selling novel decades after its first publication -- Harper Lee who wrote To Kill a Mockingbird. When asked why she never wrote a second book, Harper replied, "I never needed to." It was not the whole truth and it wasn't completely a lie. She wrote another book, but it was declared so awful that she stuck it in a folder and hid it in a locked file cabinet never to see the light of day, and has lived very well since then on the proceeds of Mockingbird. I think she might have given up too quickly, should have tried another publisher or written another book, but we are not the same people. Some writers only have one book in them. And some writers never know when to quit.

Writing is as much a vocation as it is a calling, and writing is in some ways a religion. You either believe or you don't. Some writers lose their religion and some backslide from time to time, doubting their calling and their faith. In the end, the only things that matter are the words and how the come together.

For some writers, they will come together effortlessly without the sweat and blood it costs other writers every time they put fingers to keyboard or pen to paper. For the rest, it will look effortless from the outside and like anyone can do it, but that's because those writers have sweated blood, cried, pleaded and battered the words until they were pounded smooth as silk and come out looking like child's play.

Only another writer can understand the hard work that goes into the magic that happens when the story becomes a tangible reality between the covers of a book. And that makes it worth all the trouble, anguish and hard work. Ask any writer who has held their first check for a story or received their copies of a novel that was years -- or weeks -- in the making. You won't have to ask, just look into their eyes and see the shining light of the faith and religion that is writing.

The physics of revolution

There is this horrid problem involving theft and what I assume are tachyons and quantum physics. It couldn't be anything else. It happens when I get an idea, snippets of dialogue and description, stories and characters and all the things that go into writing successful articles and books and posts. The words effortlessly come together, spinning out like the most wonderful of Charlotte's webs and I am caught in the zone, traveling at the speed of thought. I decide the inspiration will still be there when I get back from the store or running errands or doing whatever needs to be done and don't stop and record it or write it all down and go about the tasks at hand. When I return and have the time to sit down and write, they're gone. The most brilliant prose disappeared as though no more than smoke on the wind. No trace of existence remains in the synaptic cul-de-sacs of my brain. My words have been stolen -- again. I'll find them weeks, months and even years later looking up at me from someone else's books and articles and stories as though they belong there. It's quantum theft on a massive scale and I am diminished, violated, raped with no recourse to justice. That's what's happened this morning.

I had a wonderful idea for a post yesterday but I had some chores to do, food to buy and a horrid book to finish reading so I can review it today. The foulness that was the book lingers in my mind like a nasty aftertaste of some poisonous or rotted food that no amount of tooth brushing and gargling has removed. I doubt even writing the review will purge the horrible story from my mind and it will linger, tainting my reading enjoyment with crass, half-assed plotting and prose that barely deserves the designation.

Is half an ass a mule?

The post is gone and I am left sitting here, my fingers tapping out consonants and vowels, arranging them in some coherent order, bereft of my original impulse. In it's place, I offer this:

In the Muslim world it is acceptable to murder women and one movie says it all so eloquently: The Stoning of Soraya M.. This is the truth behind the news, the rights of women that Obamessiah upheld and pointed to in his Cairo speech. This is the tip of the iceberg in Iran and other Muslim countries where sharia law is practiced and where demonstrators for democracy are beaten with clubs while the President offers his mealy-mouthed protestations that he supports peaceful demonstrations. He just does not get it. In a theocracy where human rights are denied and the people oppressed and fearful of speaking out, there is no such thing as a peaceful revolution. Women are demonstrating in the thousands throughout Iran in defiance of the Ayatollah Khamenei's demands that they stop because demonstrations will not change the vote nor will he be pressured as he has pressured the Iranian people since the Shah's overthrow in the 1970s. The people are tired of mock elections and lies and are willing to stand up for their rights to a free and democratic government. It's too bad the President of the United States cannot be pried from his teleprompter to respond as vehemently as he did when he denounced the bloodshed in Romania. After all, pushing more pork and his universal health care agenda is more important than the outcries of an oppressed people in the enlightened Muslim country of Iran.

Seeking god

When I was a child living on an Army base in Panama, my father decided to convert to Catholicism and the family went with him. It didn't last long, just until Dad found out he had to give up being a Mason, and that he refused to do. We got off the Catholic train and followed our parents through several different Christian reform sects until they settled on Baptist after a lifetime of being Methodists.

Off and on through my adult life I moved toward and backed away from the Baptists and from Christianity, feeling something unsettling about their history and doctrine, but never quite sure what it was. Time and again I came up against dogma and all my questions, questions I had asked since I was a small child of three or four, were met with the same answer: It is not our place to understand just to obey and take everything on faith.

I have faith in many things: the turn of the season, the sun rising in the morning, the moon hanging in the night sky showing its many faces as it glimpses the sun and that death certainly follows life. I began having doubts about any religion that negated the "gifts" that I was supposedly given by god, like my curiosity and intelligence. Ministers and laymen alike told me I was not allowed to use them to question god or to question anything that was already accepted by their religion. Then why give me curiosity and a thirst for knowledge if not to use it? I couldn't accept that an omnipotent god would be so incensed and upset by me using what s/he gave me and so I began to search and to question.

In my early twenties I studied the Mormons and every other religion I could. I briefly became Mormon, but their exclusion of other races and their problems with people who were born different chilled me to the bone. I walked away and went back to Christianity, and thus began the dance toward and away, toward and away. As Christianity became more and more exclusive I backed farther and farther away until I realized that it no longer fed my soul, met my spiritual and temporal needs or filled me with joy.

The more I learned of Christianity and its history, of the truth it has suppressed in order to gain more power over people's minds and hearts, the less I wanted to do with it. Organized religion was the path to corruption and destruction of the souls and minds of humanity, steeped in excess and rife with lies. I could no longer give my talents or my allegiance to what I was raised to believe.

I had flirted with paganism, finding in its simple tenets and open embrace of curiosity and intelligence a peace and joy I had not felt since I was a child, and finally I turned away from organized religion altogether and embraced the calling of my heart and soul. I have not only considered converting, but actually have. I still read about and question adherents of other religions because knowledge is power and because knowing what calls to another's heart helps to understand them and myself. I will always seek understanding. In many ways, that is my religion, seeking god at the heart of nature and creation. Understanding may never fully come, but I will always seek it. It is what I was born to be.

Nurturing a viper

When Kevin Costner was at the top of the Hollywood heap, before he made Waterworld he was Lt. Commander Tom Farrell caught in the midst of a murder investigation that would uncover his true identity as a Soviet spy (KGB mole) raised in America to bring the United States down from within. The movie, No Way Out was based on the idea that during the Cold War with Russia they would stop at nothing to infiltrate American society and bring about communism and the death of the American dream.

The premise of the movie -- that a Russian spy could live in the midst of America and be indistinguishable from any other American, one of America's homegrown sons or daughters -- was everything Senator Joseph McCarthy believed was happening in the 1950s when hearings were conducted by the House Committee on Un-American Activities. Many of us over 50 know it as the Red Scare and we still cringe at how McCarthy's paranoia destroyed the lives of many Americans whose only crimes were being creative and curious about communism and the equalities it seemed to offer. What's not to like about having enough food and shelter and working together for the common good? I guess those very intelligent and creative people hadn't read George Orwell's Animal Farm and didn't realize that there is no such thing as a Utopian paradise of equality as long as there are humans involved.

Most people want Utopia. They want to believe that somewhere in human nature is a spark of human decency that keeps us from destroying our fellow man and working for the common good. Unfortunately, as much as we want to believe in the basic humanity of people, it's not there. We are wired to survive at any cost, to battle against nature and each other to secure the immortality of our genes. It's a biological imperative. The fact that biology has nothing to do with ideology doesn't figure into the equation.

McCarthy looked at liberal Hollywood and the breakdown of American morals and mores in the face of Rock and Roll, divorce and the disappearing American dream and he decided that communism was at the root of the national rot. Yes, that is a simplification of what happened, but it's no less true. Communism was Satan and Satan openly attacking the American way of life.

Nature abhors a vacuum -- or that's what we are told to believe. It seems to me that physicists would dispute that claim, especially since space is a giant vacuum that Nature doesn't abhor. That's another post for another time. At least on this planet, Nature abhors a vacuum and seeks to fill it.

In the vacuum that followed the Red Scare of the 1950s, came tolerance and the Love generation of the 1960s, the Age of Aquarius when all men would live as brothers and sisters and be able to cooperate and get along for the good of all mankind. Anything that hinted at McCarthyism was shunned and feared. The pendulum was swinging the other way. We're still not at the high arc of the swing yet, but we're getting there and it's going to cost us when we realize that Sen. Joseph McCarthy may have been paranoid, but he may also have been right. There are spies in our midst and they are determined to destroy the American dream and our way of life.

They are the same spies that are being recognized in nearly every country in the world and their intent is to force the world to choose death or conversion.

Kim Stanley Robinson envisioned that world in The Years of Rice and Salt where the only remaining religions are Buddhism and Islam. But even Robinson didn't see the coming of Shari'a law. We have. We saw it in the news when a man murdered his wife and cut off her head in his television studio offices and claimed he found her that way. We see it throughout Europe where Muslim communities are growing at phenomenal rates, insulated and separate from the countries to which they emigrated, and where their host governments bow to their demands and requests for understanding. It's happening here in America and we don't recognize it for what it is because we're afraid McCarthyism is back with a new agenda since the Berlin Wall came down and Russia is no longer the Big Red Threat. The Cold War with communism is over. We have peace -- or do we?

Rod Dreher, a reporter for the Dallas Morning News sees it differently. He knows our government is nurturing a viper at its breast. The article is long, but it is worth reading.

You can be paranoid and still be right.

Honeymoon in Tehran

Honeymoon in Tehran is one of the books I recently reviewed, but 300-400 words is not enough to explain what this book contains or what insights it provided.

First and foremost, Azadeh Moaveni's book is a memoir, a history of her more recent time in Iran before and after her marriage. The honeymoon part of the book is not just about her marriage, which comprises the last one-third of the book, but about her relationship with Iran, its customs, political climate and people.

In many ways, Moaveni's honeymoon was part of a continuing cycle in an abusive relationship with Iran, and that relationship, as well as the relationship of most Iranians with their country and its government, is abusive. What else would you call it when the government goes through periods of crackdowns on satellite dishes and dress codes and then ignore those same things just to crack down on them again when the unsuspecting citizens lapse into a feeling of safety and marginal freedom just to be plunged back into terror, fear and paranoia?

The government jams the Internet and satellite television all the time, but having a satellite dish is against the law, and yet millions of Iranians have them, pointing out that in the past when government workers came to kick down the dishes they were rude to the doormen and the families and now they politely march up to the roof and kick down the dishes and take them away. It's the plaintive claim of any abused person who does their best to find something good about the relationship they either cannot leave or are afraid to leave, and it is Moaveni's reaction as well. Iranians know they are breaking the law by having satellite dishes, but they keep buying more dishes and putting them back up in order to have a little freedom and a chance to see something other than the heavy-handed religious and state operated channels they are allowed.

It is the same for dress codes. The chador, a traditional shapeless black, sometimes patterned, garment that covers from head to toe and held together by the hand or teeth, is worn by extremely religious women. The manteau is a long coat that must be worn when a woman is in public, although modern Iranian women who are more secular and less religious wear shorter and tighter manteaus when the government police and Basiji (members of a volunteer paramilitary organization, or civilian militia, mostly populated by young people from poorer sections of the country and Tehran) are less vigilant. And it is the same thing for head scarves. When the government is on a crusade to fine and imprison any Iranian woman not wearing an opaque and voluminous head scarf, women wear sheer and colorful head scarves. The problem is that no one knows when the government will change its tone and mood, but secular Iranians have learned to cope, just as Moaveni learned to cope, dancing along a dangerous razor's edge line between the cycle of rage and honeymoon with the government and her homeland.



Despite what the Western world believes about educated and modern Iranians' devotion and belief in Ahmadinejad, the truth is very different. Ahmadinejad is hated by most Iranians, except for those in the religious right, and suffer under his rule. They are ashamed of his ranting and raging against the Western world and his stance on Israel, but the cannot do anything about it since he is the figurehead chosen by the mullahs (religious leaders) to govern the secular government. During his tenure, Iranians have watched their marginal economy take a nose dive as Ahmadinejad and the mullahs drive the country deeper and deeper into debt by funding Hamas and Hezbollah and other terrorist organizations while antagonizing the West by continuing work on nuclear weapons instead of focusing on providing clean and safe electricity as publicly stated.

Just after Ahmadinejad was elected, Moaveni interviewed a mullah and asked why the people, who wanted a secular government, voted for a man "...who considers cemeteries decorative." He responded, "Do you think the people who voted for him even knew that? He spoke only about jobs and the economy. Eight years of failed political reform disappointed people. It made them indifferent to politics. [T]hey figured that if they could not have real freedom, they might as well have more manageable rent, better jobs." Arising from obscurity, Ahmadinejad's "...campaign slogn, 'We Can and We Will' implied fighting corruption, not building the Bomb..." Despite his belligerent attitude and his naïveté and amateurish fiscal policies that resulted in the further ruin of the economy, many Iranians applauded him -- at first.

Despite the "...cozy regard [for America that] had evaporated under President Bush...no one appreciated Ahmadinejad's party ridiculous, party insulting letter [to President Bush and considered it] embarrassing to Iran and Iranians." And yet Moaveni assured a friend in California, who wanted to come to her wedding that "...[i]t's safe! People love Americans here. You'll get marriage proposals in the street, probably."

Interspersed with the darker side of Iran is the beauty of its culture and the reminiscent glory of its past before the arrival of Islam into the Persia of ancient days and fame. Moaveni's descriptions of her extended family and the world they inhabit make Iran sound like a paradise, or at least dwindling pockets of paradise in a toxic world where people become ill and die from the pollution or take their lives in their hands when they go shopping for food or go for a stroll with their children.

Fruit sellers notice when their patrons are buying less fruit because of the economy and tuck a few extra pieces of fruit in their patrons' bags. Western stores glitter for a brief moment before censors black out objectionable illustrations and words. Uneven sidewalks trip and harm the unwary while in poor neighborhoods gangs of Basiji thugs harass women not sufficiently or modestly dressed and covered. In the distance on days when the pollution isn't a thick smoke-filled haze, the distant mountains glisten with snow and families trapped in ugly cement buildings cut into apartments escape to family estates in nearby rural communities where fountains cool the air of walled gardens and children laugh and play with their families.

Iran is a world of conflicting views, modern urban sensibilities and unstable government pulled by secular and religious concerns and Azadeh Moaveni's Honeymoon in Tehran an attempt to breach the gap between Western ideas of Iran and the realities of its beauty and dangers. Even among her extended family in Iran, Moaveni's Western education and sensibilities and rose-colored view of her grandmother's beloved homeland are naive and overly romantic. As a journalist, Moaveni is competent, but careful in what she says and how she says it to protect herself from the torture and imprisonment that would surely follow if she stripped away the veil and showed Iran as it truly is.

She admittedly spins her stories and articles to please the government and that makes much of what she writes questionable, something to be taken with a grain of salt. In the wake of harassment and the fear of imprisonment and worse, Moaveni becomes a soft journalist, shying away from hot topics and writing what she considers neutral stories, discovering along the way "...that there were no 'neutral stories.' [T]here was no avoiding mention of the regime's flaws." When finishing Lipstick Jihad, she "...confessed to Lily, my publisher friend, that despite all my efforts it ended sorrowfully. 'I want so badly not to write a grim Iran book. Why is it turning out this way?"

"It's not your fault," [Lily] said with a knowing smile. "you can't write the sadness out of Iran's story."

In the end, for all its faults and flaws, Honeymoon in Tehran is a closer look into an Iran most of the West has never seen and would not otherwise know and for that reason Azadeh Moaveni's views of Tehran are well worth reading. The view through cracked rose-colored glasses of a sadder by wiser woman is a view worth experiencing. Moaveni's memoir is a revealing odyssey of the heart and soul.

The death of democracy and freedom

As a child, one of my favorite books was The Arabian Nights, 1001 tales purportedly told by Queen Scheherazade to the Sultan who had vowed to take a wife, sleep with her one night and then kill her. Scheherazade was the last queen because she saved her own life by captivating the Sultan with her stories. My ideas of Islam were born among those tales of Djinn and Mamelukes and flying carpets.

When I read The Infidel by Georgia Elizabeth Taylor, I got a different view of Islam, the view of beautiful blinding white cities in exotic Spain where women were educated and even taught in colleges, owned property and had the run of the city. They were intelligent and beautiful and free and had converted from Christianity under the spell of the beauty of Islam's fair laws and generous heart. By contrast, medieval Christianity was barbaric, a religion that espoused filth as the way to heaven, where bathing was a sin and reading, writing and learning punishable by pain, torture and even death, especially for women. Islam was an enlightened religion that protected the rights of slaves and women among luxury and beauty unknown anywhere in the world. Astronomy, mathematics and medicine were nurtured in the greenhouse under Islam's warm glow.

And the decadent Spanish Muslims were persecuted by the Christians who plundered their cities, raped their women and slaughtered thousands as they took Islamic gold and luxuries. Spanish Muslims were also persecuted by their militant African and Middle Eastern brothers who looked upon the wealth and beauty of their cities and their just and flourishing society as apostasy, sin of the highest order, and they were either converted or killed. It is the same world in which we live today.

There are peaceful Muslims who deal openly and generously with those who do not share their beliefs, but more and more the world is being overrun by Muslims intent upon the absolute conversion or death of all infidels -- the rest of the world. Jews are first on the list and then Christians, but you can be assured that no one will escape unscathed. No one is safe. That is the Islam of today, a world in which radical Muslims are taking over countries from within, spreading their religion of hate and destruction assured of a place in Paradise by their sacrifice -- and no sacrifice is too great, not even the lives of women, children or themselves. To die in the service of spreading their message of hate is the highest honor.

Geert Wilders, a peaceful man and a film maker from The Netherlands, made a movie and wished to show it in Parliament in Britain, one of the oldest homes of a living democracy in the world. Wilders was declared persona non grata, an unwelcome person, by the leader of the Labour Party and met at Heathrow airport by security. He was manhandled and taken to a holding area where he awaited the next plane back to The Netherlands. He was invited by Parliament to return and show his film, Fitna, about Islam. It takes about 15 minutes, but the images and the information are worth the time.

Fitna is about the Quran and about the radical Muslim agenda. The World Trade Center, the Atocha station bombing, the bombing of a triple decker bus in London and all the other atrocities committed in recent years by Muslim extremists are part of an agenda of hate aimed at spreading Islam's message of hate throughout the world. No one is safe, not even peaceful Muslims.



It is at times like this, after viewing radical Islam's plan for the rest of the world, that I understand why, in the wake of Pearl Harbor, thousands of peaceful and law-abiding Japanese were rounded up and sent to relocation camps. We could not as easily round up and imprison Nazis in our midst because they were indistinguishable from people and families they knew all their lives. In retrospect, the all pervasive fear that created those camps is understandable. America had been touched by the Nazis and their allies the Japanese, came to our country and attacked Pearl Harbor. Was the rest of mainland America next?

Muslims have spread to nearly every country in the world, their slender minarets climbing into the heavens, their shadows spreading across the land and darkening all that falls beneath its influence. Muslims have been welcomed into the government and a Muslim took his oath of office on the Quran before becoming a Member of Congress. As radical Islam spreads its message of terror, death and destruction everywhere it goes, how can people not be afraid that the smiling face across from them at work, in the store, at the bank or even reading the evening news does not hide the heart of a terrorist?

In a land of democracy and freedom, we believe in the inherent decency and honor of all races and religions -- as difficult as that sometimes proves to be. We allow the hateful rhetoric of neo-Nazis, black Muslims, black Christian preachers and would-be terrorists because the very essence of the freedom is the freedom to embrace different ideologies and religions and openly speak about it. Messages of hate stand alongside peaceful protest and opinion in the pages of books and newspapers and on the Internet and each message, regardless of its intent, is protected by law, laws enacted in the democratic process that ensures every adult one vote. And yet, can we ignore the danger in our midst? Will peaceful and educated Muslims stand against their radical and murderous brethren to protect freedom and democracy, stand with Christians, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists and every other religion or nonbeliever when the time comes to make a choice?

Freedom and democracy are dangerous in a radical Muslim society because they guarantee the right to think and believe and act against the dictates of hate. Radical Islam is bent on the destruction of freedom and democracy and their weapons are hatred, terror, intolerance, torture and death. Who will stand for democracy and freedom in the face of torture and certain death? Could you?

Violence in the Age of Aquarius

Mike and I were discussing the perpetuation of violence and that there may not be a way to end it. I suggested a virus that targeted whatever hormones or DNA responsible for the violent response in humans, but that might end up in like Captain Kirk in Mirror, Mirror when he was split into the two halves of his personality (one violent and one passive reason), neither of which could live without the other. The same situation was used in Buffy the Vampire Slayer when Xander was hit by a demon's weapon and split into smart and confident Xander and silly, immature Xander, both of which would die if they weren't reunited. Instead of a transporter fusing the two, Willow reversed the spell. Willow said that it was the natural state of the two halves of Xander to be one. In both situations, the writers were saying that we are darkness and light, violence and reason, good and evil combined in one package.

The dichotomy of the two halves of human nature -- dark and light -- is the central theme in many stories throughout history and is most prominent in Robert Louis Stevenson's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Nowhere is the search to end violence and divide human nature more obvious than in Jekyll and Hyde, and that is one story that has been told and retold and cast in many different ways, even making the two halves of human nature male and female (Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde). So what is the answer? How do we control violence without cutting ourselves in half or castrating the population?

FINDING A WAY

The tendency toward violence is inherent in all of us and religion certainly isn't the answer. Organized religion has fomented more wars, murder and destruction than any other catalyst in the history of mankind, and it's much harder to persuade a fervent believer that violence in the name of his god is wrong. After all, he has a mandate from heaven and he is the instrument of god's will, the results of which can be seen in radical Muslim suicide bombers. They have the force of Allah behind them and to deny Allah's will is unthinkable. Christianity isn't without its holy wars either and it's not even necessary to go back to the time of the Crusades in the Dark Ages to find proof. Hitler used religion to his advantage by targeting Jews, Gypsies and Christians that didn't follow the same beliefs. Even the Jews in their early days destroyed cities and put whole populations to the sword in the name of G_d. Instances of murder in the name of religion are very easy to find: Jim Jones, the Holy Inquisition, Joan of Arc (although Joan carried a sword, she never killed anyone, but her troops did), Cromwell, El Cid, Saladin, Richard the Lionhearted, the Children's Crusade, the Reformation Wars, David Koresh, Saddam Hussein, etc. I could go on for pages.

It is doubtful that violence can be reliably obtained through external means (drugs, religion, government) because each can be so easily perverted and turned from helping to fueling a more intense and destructive violence once removed or perverted. At the Battle Creek Sanitarium in Battle Creek, Michigan, John Harvey Kellogg believed he had conquered the inherent predatory nature of a wolf by raising him to be a vegetarian, but I've little doubt that given a plate of raw meat the wolf would have reverted to type and become a dangerous predator. That much is evident in cats. A vegetarian cat will still chase, torture and kill any mouse that crosses it's path, its predatory nature hard wired in its DNA and its brain, and the same can be said for any predatory animal, including humans.

The only possible chance to curb the violent nature is to focus on the personality, the basic human psyche. Some people are more predatory than others (serial killers, abusers, murderers, etc.) but the instinct is in us all. It is the instinct to survive at all costs, as the members of the Donner party found when they were stranded in a snow storm while crossing the Rocky Mountains on their way to Oregon. The soccer players in the plane that went down in the Andes quickly turned to their dead fellow passengers to sustain them until they were found. The survival instinct is strong and I doubt it would exist without the inherent violence in human nature.

Humans can be tolerant and charitable and driven and reasonable, but given the right circumstances a mild mannered individual can become Superman or John Wayne Gacy.

As much as I would like to see peace on earth with good will toward all men, I doubt it will happen quickly and definitely not with religion, drugs or government intervention. You can lock up the criminals, but the most successful criminals never see the inside of a prison. We may not be ready for peaceful co-existence, as Kirk and Spock found out when they leapt through the time arch in The City on the Edge of Forever, which I discovered was written by Harlan Ellison. Edith Keeler had to die because her plans for peace were ahead of their time or it may be right around the corner.

At dawn on Saturday, February 14, 2009 the Age of Aquarius dawns when the Moon in Libra enters the seventh house of relationships, and Jupiter and Mars are aligned in Aquarius in the twelfth house of spiritual transformation. Sound familiar? It was a very popular song when I was growing up.

Whatever happens, we must find a way to use the violence inherent in the survival instinct, and the instinct to compete for mates, territory and possessions, to propel humanity into a new age of peace and prosperity without castrating human nature or ending up as ineffectual, weak-willed, intellectuals on the verge of fading away into nothingness. There has to be a way. Maybe the dawning Age of Aquarius marked in the eternal skies above this beleaguered planet will guide the way. The hippies of the 1960s were ahead of their time, like Edith Keeler. Maybe we have finally reached the time when peace will reign and violence will enhance our strength without robbing our minds and hastening the end of the Age of Man.

When the Moon is in the seventh house
And Jupiter aligns with Mars.
Then peace will guide the planets
And love will steer the stars.
Harmony and understanding
Sympathy and trust abounding
No more falsehoods or derisions
Golden living dreams of visions
Mystic crystal revelation
And the mind's true liberation
Aquarius!
Aquarius!

Essence of freedom

When I read my cousin Ellen's email a few days ago and formulated my reasons for being wary of Sarah Palin I realized that I had made a common mistake. I had fallen in with the herd and forgotten the actual meaning of freedom. I also realized that my dislike of Palin is more about what her beliefs say about her and her ability to reason intelligently than anything else.

I don't oppose teaching creationism in the schools as long as evolution is taught as well. That may shock some people, but it shouldn't, especially if you know me. It goes to the heart of what freedom really means. How can anyone judge the arguments if one of the major points of the discussion is missing? How can anyone judge the validity of creationism versus evolution without seeing them side by side with all the facts and figures, theories and conjecture? You can't. No one can.

What I find so frightening about Sarah Palin is that she seems like an intelligent woman, except when you get to the subject of her religion and religious beliefs. I have no problem with people believing whatever they want and worshiping or not worshiping whatever gods they choose. I do have a problem when religion overrides common sense and empirical scientific data. Thinking like Sarah Palin's is what made Leonardo da Vinci hide his work and research and made Galileo recant his statements about the earth being round and not flat. Thinking like Sarah Palin's, and anyone who allows religion to dictate science, is what has killed more people and caused more deaths than anything else, including greed and rampant testosterone poisoning.

Freedom is about being able to say what you think and believe what you will without having to hide for fear of censure or death, and that holds true for every American, except those who choose public office. Elected officials represent the entire population of their constituency and not just those who agree with them. Elected officials should be and must be blind and deaf to anything but the welfare and protection of all the people they govern. Nowhere is this more important than in the offices of President and Vice-President. As a private citizen you may believe what you wish and speak your mind without fear of censure or punishment. Publicly, you are neutral, the voice of all the people, and especially the voice of those whose beliefs are in opposition or different than yours. This is the essence of what Jefferson meant when he wrote about the separation of church and state.

It's not about whether or not to allow prayer in schools or religious mottos on public buildings as long as it does not exclude any American. The people who built this country believed in Judeo-Christian religions. That is no longer true. While our forefathers and the people who were present at the birth of these United States believed in one god we live in a country where people believe in many gods and no god among those who still hold to Judeo-Christian beliefs.

President Bush has made a lot of mistakes, but he has also done a lot of good. His biggest mistake was making decisions based on his religious beliefs, beliefs that exclude nearly half of the population. This cannot be allowed to continue.

When any elected official bases his decisions on his personal beliefs and needs he damages the whole country and breaks faith with the people who ignored their own beliefs to vote him into office. A politician needs to be a wo/man of the people first and an individual last. The President and Vice-President speak for the entire country and not just those who believe the same way and to do anything else is self-serving and will bring this country down because only tyrants and dictators consider their own beliefs and needs before the people's.

It is difficult not to consider one's own feelings in a position of power when it seems as though the people have put their faith in you, the person. That is what makes politicians rip at each other's personal beliefs and drag each other through the mud. That's not what elections were meant to be. Yes, it's about popularity in a sense, but it should be about a person's ability to put their own needs and concerns to the side and do what is best for all concerned. What elections have devolved into is a continuous round of "Don't do as I do; do as I say." We are supposed to ignore the man behind the curtain pulling the strings and be awed by the spectacle in front of us.

It is the rare politician who puts his beliefs on hold and acts in the best interests of the people who elected him -- and those who didn't elect him. That's the problem. Politicians forget the very basic tenets of freedom, to govern in a way that protects all the people, most especially those who were in opposition, and yet that is what elected officials are supposed to do.

We have seen too much personal animosity and exclusion based on personal beliefs in the politicians who are currently in office and among those who wish to be elected. That has to change. I don't mean saying the words without understanding the meaning or promising change without a definite plan of what and how to change, but change at the very roots of how things are run. It's time to remember (if you ever knew) what freedom is all about and what it really means. Freedom is easy to say but a hard concept to put into action because we are human and we think of ourselves first. It's called the survival instinct. Freedom is a hard mark to hit, especially when you don't know what it really is.

When I interviewed Benson Wolman many years ago, he taught me the true meaning of freedom. Benson Wolman was a Jew and a lawyer who faced the justices of the U.S. Supreme Court to defend the rights of the members of the Ku Klux Klan to raise a cross on the Ohio Statehouse lawn. When I asked him how a Jew could defend people who would eradicate him and his people from the face of the earth if they could he told me that his rabbi taught him the true meaning of freedom. Freedom means not only speaking and writing and believing as you choose but defending the freedom of people who chose to believe something else even if that something else was dangerous to your very existence. Benson Wolman was the very essence of freedom and freedom few understand and even fewer practice, as we have seen from the current candidates for President.

As much as it angers us to hear Rev. Wright damn America and spew filth from the pulpit, it is his right to do so. It is Michelle Obama's right to be ashamed to be an American and to be a bigoted racist who sees white people as the enemy. It is Barack Obama's right to go to Rev. Wright's church and sit in a pew and nod his head when Rev. Wright vent his spleen and damn America and all white Americans without apology or explanation. It is not, however, Obama's right to censure and demand and get punishment for people who oppose him as he has done in several states throughout the country. If someone chooses to wear a button or hat or sash or shirt or put a sign in their yard that makes fun of Obama or publicly states they are against him being elected president, Barack Obama has no right to complain or to deny them their right to speak. It may hurt him personally and offend him, but as a candidate for the highest office in the land he must be blind. The same goes for Sarah Palin and John McCain.

I don't care what they do in their private lives as long as it does not hurt or impact the rest of the country. A healthy America is an America where people can voice their opposition, complaints and personal beliefs without fear or censure or punishment. A healthy America is one where the President and Vice-President act for the good of all Americans and not those who voted for them and believe as they do. A healthy America is one where elected officials work for the common good and not to line their own pockets or get rich from the hard work and sacrifice of the rest of the country. A healthy America is one where elected officials at all levels are blind and deaf, instruments of the people who speak for us all.

This is not a perfect world, but we are far from where we should be over 200 years from our beginnings. How can we bring freedom and the rights of all people to the rest of the world if we cannot get it right in our own back yard?

Vote as your conscience dictates but take a closer look at the man behind the curtain pulling the levers and strings to manipulate the spectacle in front of your eyes. Can we really afford another President who cannot understand the basic tenets of freedom for everyone, even for those who oppose him? Can we expect such a person to stand for us all when he can't even face the dissenting public during a campaign? I know we can't.

The candidates look on running for office like it's a popularity contest. It is and it isn't. It's more than that. It's about proving to the people -- all the people -- that you have their best interests at heart and will put aside personal agendas and animosities to do what's best for every single solitary American without regard for personal beliefs. It's about the greater good. It's about putting the people and this country first. If a candidate cannot put aside his or her ego and put the country first, then s/he has no business running for office.

The way I see it, that leaves only one choice, the candidate with a proven track record of putting the needs of the many before the needs of the one or the needs of one group first.

All things being equal

I finally got around to seeing The Mist, one of Stephen King's novellas (a long short story) and I wasn't happy with the ending. It wasn't the one I remembered from the story, which admittedly I haven't read since it was originally published, but still...what happened to the original ending?

With the Lenten season in full swing and Easter upon us, in addition to the ranting of the church lady in the movie, I was beginning to see a trend in King's writing that had before seemed more like subtext but was screaming at me from the end of The Mist about expiation and sacrifice. It was definitely the theme in The Stand and its in Thinner, Dolores Claiborne, The Dark Half, The Shining and Desperation. In fact, in most of King's work there is the same theme of sacrifice -- one (or more) die to save someone (or a group of someones), expiation. I felt an article coming on and that meant a bug hunt, which led me to the director of The Mist who had a disagreement with King about the ending. Stephen King wanted the ending to remain the same but the director saw it in his mind as he filmed it. King and the director parted ways. I don't know if it was King refusing to see what is so obvious about most of his work, this underlying theme of sacrifice and expiation, or that he didn't want to make it so obvious.

A writer whose book I recently edited said her friends couldn't understand how someone who had such a religious and upright background could write such violent and questionable books. She said she didn't understand how Stephen King did it either. So I explained that despite what most people think there is a strong religious streak that runs through almost all of King's work, not like it did in Carrie with the religious zealot mother who had overdosed on too much religion, to the point of oppressing and abusing her daughter with it, but in subtle ways that permeate the entire underpinning of each story. She said she'd have to take another look at King to see what I meant and came back a few weeks later saying she saw what I meant.

People tend to look at horror and see only the blood and guts and terror. They miss the thematic threads that hold the whole thing together. There is so much more to any writer than just the basic story, something I realize but didn't see until I took another look at a little story I write about a boy in a candy store that reeks of sexual repression and denial. It's in the imagery.

Whether we are writing fiction or nonfiction, something of our thoughts at the time, like under tows, or rip tides sometimes, find their way into the story, inextricably bound to the words and themes about which we are often unaware. I remember Stephen King writing about not realizing he had written about his struggle with drug addiction in The Dark Half when he wrote it and yet I caught it immediately when I read the story, and have written about it here. I see the whole progression of his life and his distinctly Christian leanings in almost everything he writes. I see the early frustration with balancing a job with the creative muse in his early work as well as his maturity and aging as he coasts into midlife and beyond that is so apparent in his more recent work. The little boy chained in the basement among the spiders and demons is still there, but he's often more of a distraction, like a magician's sleight of hand, than the focus of the story. So much more is going on if you look at things in just the right way, in the same way that an impressionist painting looks unfocused and confusing close up and becomes something much more subtle and beautiful as you move farther away.

At least I'm not so rabid now to point out Stephen King's subtler themes becoming glaringly obvious in The Mist but whether I do or not, the director saw it and decided he had to make it, thus underlining Mrs. Carmody's crazed demand to spill the blood of the unjust to save the righteous coming back to haunt Drayton as he stands outside his car begging the monsters to come and get him while out of the thinning mist the Army plows through with the survivors from the store who wanted to kill him and those with him who wanted to get away from their blood lust. He killed his son and the people with him to save them from the horrors in the mist when help was already on the way. The question in my mind is if he hadn't killed the other four in his car and they tried to brave the horrors in the mist with their last four bullets would they have been saved or did they have to die in order to realize their blood was required as a sacrifice to expiate the sins of the world they espoused and championed? It's like the tree that falls in the woods when no one is around to hear it: does it make a sound?

There's no doubt where Stephen King's stands on the issue because it's just under the surface of his stories, and the director of The Mist certainly agreed or he wouldn't have filmed the ending that made it to the theaters. Is that where we are all headed -- to a world where those that don't agree with the majority that Christian values are the only path to salvation in the face of terror? Are we caught in a tide of religious reformation that will carry us once again into the Dark Ages or is this simply the struggle that comes when faced with a fork in the road? Time will tell.

In the meantime, Stephen King, your roots are showing.

That is all. Disperse.

Wired for sound

For my birthday Beanie sent me her old iPod since Ants gave her a brand new one for Xmas. I asked for it and I got it. I finally got around to getting a battery (she sent it with a dead battery) and ear buds (no ear phones either) and last weekend I plugged it into the laptop (she did include the USB cord), figured out what was on there, what I wanted to keep and then downloaded some audiobooks and music and copied them onto the iPod. I'm ready to rock and roll and I figured out what has been missing for so long -- music. Music motivates me to move and dance and even clean house. That's my line and I'm sticking to it. Music lifts my spirits and makes me feel as energetic as watching a movie with dancing when for a few minutes (or several hours) I feel like I did when I used to go out dancing during the disco years and before when I danced in musicals. And all this time the only thing wrong was that I needed a soundtrack. Go figure.

In this morning's emails (I took the day off so I'm taking it slow and easy today) I received my usual fare from AltReligions and was surprised to find out that The Golden Compass bombed at the theaters and the other two movies in the trilogy will not be made and all because of right wing Christians who conducted a smear campaign. An article that cites Mike Nichols disgust and dismay at the mob censorship and misinformation on the Internet was an eye opener. On the one hand, as a democratic country (less so as time goes on) we all should support free speech even if the speech is counter to our desires and beliefs. It's the exercise of free speech that keeps us marginally democratic. But does that mean anyone has to right to ruin the chances of a good children's adventure movie just because it might show religion in a bad light? Yes.

What is really specious is the claim that the film "...was a covert plot to advance the cause of Satanism..." Give me a break. Satan is a Christian idea and construct and not part of most of the world's religions and the movie is a very toned down version of the books. The books do not espouse Satan in any way. It's like the furor over a scene in the third book, The Amber Spyglass that supposedly promoted adolescent sex. Of course the woman who made the complaint had never read the passage she was complaining about and decrying. Sound familiar? It's another case of misinformation like the woman who wanted the Harry Potter books banned from the library because they promoted Satanism and taught children witchcraft. It's amazing how these religious zealots see Satan everywhere undermining their plans to spread the message of Christianity and Jesus to the darkest corners of the earth. Too bad they don't turn the lights on in the dark corners of their minds, especially when it comes to politicians like Mike Huckabee.

As an American I have a big problem with anyone who wants to lead this country and puts their personal religious agendas ahead of their job as head of a country founded on religious freedom. Just like a have a problem with any candidate that uses their sex or color as a platform or a stick to bash their opponents. For instance, Hillary's new campaign slogans: "'We Want Experience, Not An Experiment and The White House Is No Place for Training Wheels." I've got news for Hillary. Some of the best presidents have had little or no experience in politics wheeling and dealing and undercutting the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. Anyone ever hear of George Washington or Abraham Lincoln?

Both men were failures. Washington fought in the French and Indian War and failed miserably, losing nearly his entire company in a battle that he should have won. The first few engagements of the Revolutionary War were also big losers with Washington leading. The tide did turn and he came out victorious, but not without a lot of help. As for being President, he didn't have a clue but he wanted to do a good job and lead the people of the nation that had put their hearts and trust in him. Lincoln was a failure at many businesses before he ran for office. When he was elected President, he had no experience, but he led this country through the difficult years of the Civil War and paved the way to heal the wounds of the war that split our country and families apart.

Right now, in this political climate, I think we'd do better to elect someone who doesn't have the stench of political glad handing and power brokering on them. We might get a fresh perspective and a better deal with someone who is willing to work for us instead of for themselves. Come to that, we should abolish the electoral college and the two-party system. Then we'd see changes and people who will work for us and not against us instead of millionaires who want to feather their own nests and push their own agendas. We might get another Washington or Lincoln or someone even better. Or I may be a dreamer who still believes in a Republic and a nation of the people, by the people and for the people and I should just eat my poisoned mushrooms.

In the meantime, music take me away and bring me peace and life.

That is all. Disperse.