How long...

Photo Credit Sasha Makoviy.

One of the most interesting and well crafted novels I’ve read in awhile is Kristin Harmel’s The Book of Lost Names. The story of a young forger in WWII who provided papers to children being evacuated from Nazi occupied countries. Concerned about the children reuniting with their parents, she devises an ingenious code to record the true names of the children in an innocuous book. WWII ended in 1945.

The short length of a lifetime later, Sasha Makoviy codes her mother hope into her child’s back with marker to identify her child if she and Vira were separated, or Vira’s parents were killed while fleeing a despot invading Ukraine.

When will we learn?

Caesar at Kent...

Reading A History of Wales and Davies skillfully manages to make the account fascinating! Chapter One deals with pre-pre history. Chapter two begins with Julius Caesar landing at Kent in August of 55 BC. Julius was on a rampage, ostensibly to punish the Belgae of Britain because they sided with their cousins, the Gauls. Direct quote from Davies regarding the Roman invasion … “although it is probable that it had more to do with his own ambitions.” “Their real motive was their desire to seize the fertile lowlands.” “Planting of the eagles across the sea… was a matter of pride.”(p. 25 ~ 26)

Does Davies’s conclusion resonate? Sound like a current events class? Interesting the national bird of conquest is the double eagle. Who else do we recognize without scruples who invades under the same symbol? Two thousand plus years since Caesar was miffed. I’ve stood on the old Roman road in Chester and gazed to the hills of Wales. Caesar is long since dust and archaeological remnants all that’s left of his quest for empire. When will we as a human race learn the boundaries of respect for each other?

There is one point to our history, personal, cultural or as a planet. One reason humans come wired with memory. Memory serves as a learning experience for the self and collective. Reading history, factual school curriculums, honoring accounts of survivors serve our collective memory. Compassionate conversations enhance our chance of mutually assured survival when we internalize the lessons.

Global Mourning...

Global Mourning. Acrylic 20 x 16”.

In the closing years of the Viet Nam war, I was an interim finance clerk in a bank, newly married to a church man who accused me of being radical because I wanted to help save the lives of Vietnamese children. The church man bank boss fired me when I told him what I was doing instead of fabricating a sick day.

A radio announcer related the horrors of orphaned children dying in the streets a world away and proposed if anyone wanted to “do something about it” they could come down to the station and help figure something out. A Trooper and I were the only ones to show up. An airlift was born. Sheer cussedness willed a collection of coins in bars, I bent the arm of every person I knew with phone calls while the trooper did the same. Enough quarters for a Flying Tigers charter, a willing pilot, nurses to tend the children, fuel and expenses. After the guys in the red tasseled hats figured out the idea would work they moved in with a telethon. The men took all credit. For some obscure reason I still have the posters, lists of persons who donated, and the reputation among church men of being a crazy radical. 300 infants and toddlers given a chance at life when they would have starved to their death in the carnage of war.

In the early days of youth and strength I moved mountains with will and a shovel.

The first impulse with Ukraine was again pick up a shovel.

I wanted to lie down beside the beautiful grandmother in her elegant gold coat and help her learn to shoot.

I wanted to carry children to the border.

I wanted to hold a bowl of soup for the starving in basement shelters.

I wanted to wish harm on mortal men turned monsters.

I wept until remembering there are powerful contributions to make after I’m unable to even lift the shovel. Energy and manifestations and prayer. Puny as a single human seeking audience with an impartial universe. Joined with millions, an invincible power. Easy to despair and disparage until we remember the physics of prayers and meditation. Particles and waves at work in the invisibles. An intention experiment in real time. Young people standing silent in Turkey. Russians facing imprisonment to protest. The hope for a world joined in the service of peace while my heart breaks with those who mourn.

Justification you may say, because in safety I can afford the luxury of prayers and meditation. You’re right and I’m thankful. The only way I maintain peace of mind when the world is in chaos and I feel people suffering is keep making authentic work until I fall into meditation and a greater energy than mine manifests and turns to collective solutions.

Keeping on...

“Coming On Snow” oil on canvas, 16” x 20”.

When the world is a mess and I’m so far off balance I experience vertigo, the only thing to do is keep on making my most authentic work. When we contribute our genuine authenticity to the world, collective energy is raised.

This is another Throw Away painting (for clarity a throw away painting is the one beside the canvas I'm currently working on where all the frustrations are taken out, not literally thrown away). Coming on Snow” started life as a palette scraping, turned into a memory painting of a range in north central Alaska and kept going despite the odds.

Strangers

I’ve come to expect brutality and destruction in the world since the day Dad came to take me home from first grade, sobbing and inconsolable from another duck and cover drill. We’ve all practiced at WWIII since we were children. Inured to the up to the minute coverage and tears. War won’t break me.

What guts me is the beauty and beneficence of the human race as people tenderly care for each other. The breaking opens my wounds to healing and the essence of peace descends.

I’ll remember until I die the children of the world killed in a perpetrator’s march of narcissism and arrogance. Mourn with all who sacrificed their children to genocide. It’s easy to hate when I think of the children maimed who have to live with their memories. Enmity is the easy way.

It’s so much harder to allow the fracturing of our hearts to be used for a true and faithful purpose in the world, to join in compassion. To find hope for healing in the now constant diaspora of children to and fro across the planet. Children come to heal us with their sacrifice, now forever strangers in a strange land.

Is it possible the migration of the world’s children will save us from ourselves?

Sacrifice...

I meditated this morning to add my prayers and energy to pleas offered around the world to close the skies over Ukraine. NATO refuses in the fears of reprisal. Do they not understand if Ukraine falls, they will be next anyway? They are using Ukraine as their sacrificial lamb.