Tag: arm’s length

Because the word “community” is over-used.

Double Identity

IN ADDITION TO what else one may find in a wallet (money, DL, &c.), mine contains two cards that license me as a member of the clergy.

They’re neither what you think – I’m not a rabbi, nor will I likely become one in this life – but they do tell a semi-religious story nonetheless.

The first came c. 1999, after a friend who was a member of the Universal Life Church asked me if I too wanted to be ordained. “Sure! What do I need to do?” I asked him. After anointing my head with a frosty cold one (it was a very hot day, in the way that only Northern California Renaissance Pleasure Faire days can be very hot), he declared, “You’re in.” He then told me where to write and receive my free ordination credentials.

ULC espouses a single creed: “Know your beliefs and be true to them.” And because ULC is legally recognized in California (and other enlightened states) for solemnizing weddings, I have since married a handful of friends – which was, really, why I wanted ordainment in the first place.

The other ordination, also legally recognized in some places, belongs to the Church of the SubGenius. Those behind that inexplicable parody religion/religious parody/living art project published a trade paperback in 1983 which – much like science-fiction conventions and DEVO – assured lonely misfits that they too had a place, and a people, they could call their own. Of course, I took to it in a big, enthusiastic way.

Unlike the ULC, the CotS then charged $20 for an ordination kit. So, justifying it as for a good cause, I mailed a Jackson to their Dallas, Texas headquarters. Within a week I received an ordination card, a poster of Church frontman J. R. “Bob” Dobbs, and various pieces of SubG propaganda (some of which I distributed in the summer of 1985 at 2 a.m. in Times Square – but that story is classified.)

For a long time, my ULC and CotS “ministries” helped me feel as though I belonged somewhere spiritually important. I am grateful to be able to do that now in other ways. But I will always be respectfully grateful to the Revs. Kirby Hensley and Ivan Stang for opening their secretly famous doors and inviting me in.

Secret Signposts

HIDDEN SOCIAL NETS surround us everywhere we go, and those who know – know.

Example? Sure!

I was shopping in one of my favorite grocery stores earlier today when the guy behind the butchers’ counter noticed my black Firefly T-shirt.

“Nice shirt!” he said with a wide grin.

“Thank you,” I said, bowing.

Now, he could have added something like, “I’m a Firefly fan too.” Or “I really like that series.” Or even “How long have you been a fan?”

But instead, he indicated the leather bomber-jacket I was wearing (Sonoma mornings are cold these days) and said with a wider grin, “I see you’re a real Browncoat.”

If none of this makes sense to you, allow me to explain. Instead of stating the obvious, my fellow fan responded with another insider’s reference. You see, the shirt in question doesn’t feature the title of the show or anything like that – the only way to “get it” is if you recognize the image and motto: a burnt-umber image of the titular spaceship above the motto, “STAY SHINY.” If you don’t, then no harm done. His comment told me right away that he got it. And his grin told me that he was enjoying our little secret signpost as much as I was.

Connections. Isn’t that what it’s all about?

5 Thoughts: Why Sonoma?

0. WE SONOMANS LIVE in the greatest semi-isolated piece of spacetime findable on this vast and tiny Earth. Here are five reasons why I believe that.

1. Environmental infrastructure: Green hills in winter, golden in summer, wildflowers in the spring, and – partly due to the ubiquitous vineyards – some of the certifiably best autumn foliage that will ever knock out your eyeballs with giddy wonder. (Not to mention Sonoma Plaza, which San Francisco Chronicle columnist Herb Caen once called the most beautiful public square in California.) And all of it available within walking, hiking, or biking distance.

2. Social infrastructure: A friend of mine refers to this place as “the island.” Unlike other Sonoma County population centers, we’re not on any main highways/freeways – so to get here, you have to really want to. And because of that, there’s this fierce community spirit and shared sense that “we’re all we have.” In addition to our many volunteer-built niceties (a feature-rich senior center and independent FM radio station, to name just two), this was most evident during the October 2017 wildfires, where folk used their skills and resources to help their neighbors (and house and feed the many first responders who helped save us from a fiery fate).

3. Quality of life: Taking into account the countless farms, restaurants, museums, music and food venues, newspapers, artists and artisans, festivals, markets, parks, charities and benevolent societies, sister-cities, youth programs, tree-lined streets, classic cars, cottage industries, and 1930s-era moviehouse, there’s a reason we call it “Slownoma.”

4. The people: With Sonoma’s estimated population of less than than 11,000, one person really can still make a difference. And they make for great neighbors! (Mostly.) In any case, there’re a lot of friendly folks round these parts, and due to having lived here since 1998, a lot of familiar ones as well. You can’t buy that kind of connection.

5. Reality check: Oh, we’re not perfect: we have our occasional (and sometimes bad) crimes, a high cost of living and housing, our share of homelessness and hopelessness, and crushing poverty side-by-side with privileged opulence, just like many other American communities. But we also have more nonprofits per capita than many other American communities, meaning an unbelievable proliferation of goodhearted and competent people working to change or at least ameliorate our problems. Sometimes that may seem a Sisyphean task – but then, Sisyphus couldn’t muster so many cheerful and enthusiastic helpers.

Aged I

LET’S SHIFT GEARS for a second and talk about something that’s been on my mind for a long but indeterminate while: in a word, aging.

Later this month, may the Force so will it, I’ll celebrate my 64th birthday. While momentous enough in itself, what’s even more of the moment is the matter of perspective this milestone brings.

I have now outlived several dear (and once-dear) friends and family members.

Many of the Hebrew-school children I taught when we first came to Sonoma are now out of college or vocational school and pursuing their own successful careers – some with children of their own.

I have seen my beloved hometown change from a quaint and sleepy rural community to a quaint and world-famous tourist playground. (Don’t get me wrong – it’s still by far the best place on Earth in which to live, filled with the best people to live with. It’s just … different, that’s all.)

And I have matured from a depressive but charmingly self-aggrandizing hophead to a joyful and sober social asset. (For some values of the term “social asset.”)

All these changes – particularly the sobriety – have helped me realize the fragility, continuity and inevitability of time and its cycles; it’s the sort of realization one can only derive from direct experience, and has also given me an appreciation of depth and focus. (And rocket-fueled my innate and sardonic sense of the absurd.) Most valuable of all is what the kids today call “radical acceptance” – a healthier byproduct than cynicism of struggling against the unchangeable – as well as a fierce love of life and its many inhabitants.

Wisdom? Enlightenment? Inner peace? I wouldn’t go that far, because I don’t know how to define or even recognize any of those. Let’s just call it a grateful and quiet delight in the simple, in the small, in the deep happiness of becoming and belonging. And we’ll leave it at that.

Wholly Toil

IT’S NO SECRET that I loathe AI.

Well, “loathe” is rather strong language, especially since I believe modern tech in general to be an evolutionary leap comparable to the discovery of fire, or the invention of the wheel. Let’s just say I am deeply distrustful of AI, and more than a little saddened and dismayed by how quickly and eagerly it’s infiltrated our culture, our devices, and our minds.

Fortunately, I have some Jewish ammunition backing up my “danger-Will-Robinson” disdain. In this week’s edition of The Forward‘s “Looking Forward” newsletter, Louis Keene makes a good case for why Judaism may hold the key to the AI Resistance.

“That key is the Jewish value of עֲמֵילוּת (ameilut), or toil,” Keene writes. “As far as Jewish values go, ameilut is an obscure one. It lacks the celebrity swagger of its better-known peers like chesed [lovingkindness] and tzedakah [righteousness] or the political power of tikkun olam [“repairing the world,” sometimes understood as social action]. … Yet I believe it is just as crucial. Yes, toiling is a mitzvah. And in the age of AI, ameilut can be a human road map.”

The concern among fervently religious Jews and others, Keene relates, is that anyone can feed, say, the week’s Torah portion into ChatGPT and have it spit out a sermon. But that misses the point. Knowledge shouldn’t be commodified – it should be earned through a lengthy (and rewarding) process. Ameilut means toiling for the sake of personal growth. It’s about the means, not the end; the discovery, not the destination.

A cliche, perhaps, but an apt and important one. And a warning: don’t embrace a shiny new toy without examining, or at least giving serious thought to, any consequences.

More Better

A KEY PHRASE in this week’s Torah portion of Va’eira (Exodus 6:2-9:35) reveals much about the state of mind of our centuries-long Egyptian slavery. It happens after G?d tells Moses to proclaim that G?d will liberate our ancestors and bring them home to the Land of Promise.

However, nobody pays attention: “Moshe spoke to the B’nei Yisrael, but they would not listen to Moshe because of [their] shortness of wind and hard labor” (Exodus 6:9; Metsudah Publications translation).

The Hebrew word translated by Metsudah as “wind” is “ruach,” which can also mean “breath” or “spirit;” Jewish mystical tradition teaches that ruach is the spiritual element connecting our physicality (“nefesh”) to our inner spark of G?dliness (“neshama”). Rabbi Jonathan Sacks translates our verse’s second half as “…but in the brokenness of their spirit and brutal labor they did not listen to him.”

It’s very hard for the continually (and generationally) traumatized to work toward, or even hope for, better days. Rabbi Sacks puts it like this: “If you want to improve people’s spiritual situation, you must first improve their physical situation. … Alleviating poverty, curing disease, ensuring the rule of law, and respecting human rights: these are spiritual tasks no less than prayer and Torah study. To be sure, the latter are higher, but the former are prior. People cannot hear G?d’s message if their spirit is broken and their labor harsh.”

Words to ponder as we all continue to hope for, and work toward, a better world.

Cat Whispering

IT’S NOT ACTUALLY hard to become a Cat Whisperer, if you just follow these field-tested and foolproof steps:

1. When you first behold the cat, sweet-talk it: e.g., “Who’s the nice cat?” or “Hey, beautiful boy/girl!” or simply, “KITTY!”

2. Let the cat approach you instead of vice-versa, lest it bolt. (The first Rule of Thumb in any feline encounter: NEVER MAKE A CAT AFRAID OF YOU.)

3. Present to the cat the back of your motionless hand, without trying to reach out for it. (See Rule of Thumb above.)

4. Should you be blessed by having the cat rub its face on your hand, keep your hand motionless and enjoy its warm attentions for the duration.

5. When the cat, sensing your good intentions, rubs its side against your hand, shift your hand to its rump to give a few experimental skritches. Let the cat’s tail slide (loosely!) between your thumb and forefinger as it passes.

6. If the cat turns and makes a beeline for your hand, repeat steps 3-6 until your new friend tires of these familiarities and leaves.

7. If, when you next see the cat, it runs to greet you, congratulations.

8. See?

The Handshake

THE UBER DRIVER’S HAND was warm and calloused, but its electric charge was unexpected.

It shouldn’t have been, though, since for the past forty-five minutes we had free-associated on topics that don’t lend themselves to easy or uncomplicated conversation: God, mind, the uselessness of AI, Self-realization (not a typo) and ego-death, gurus, the constancy of change, the Indian fashion-industry, meditation, capitalism, health and healing, life’s unpredictability, Hindu holyman Ramana Maharshi.

His car was a late-model Tesla – ironically, since we also agreed we shouldn’t colonize Mars – enroute to a faraway hospital, where my copilot was undergoing heart surgery. I told him this toward the end of the ride, and he reached back a ringed and metal-braceleted hand to take one of mine.

“Aw, man,” he said. “Blessings come from God.”

That was when something unexpected passed between us.

“For her,” he said with earnest intensity.

We conversed a bit more before pulling up to the hospital.

“Thank you,” I told him as I got out. “And thank you for your blessing.”

“Aw, man,” he said. “Blessings come from God.”

“Yes,” I replied. “But thank you for being the conduit.”

A few minutes later I stood next to my copilot’s bed. She had just come out of surgery, pale and weak-voiced and pained of expression. Her escape from the Beyond had been a close one, but her doctors were skilled. With a why-not-it-couldn’t-hurt shrug, I touched her leg with the hand the driver had grasped. Nothing unexpected this time, just a loving gesture of comfort.

Mind you, I am a skeptic in the original sense of the word: an open-minded soul who doesn’t chase after explanations of the inexplicable. And really, earnest handshakes are common enough. But over the next few hours, as she went from colorless and tentative to walking with me about the cardio unit, beaming a delighted smile at everything we passed, I wondered.

Perhaps that’s the way her sort of surgery is supposed to work. I like to think it does.

But on the other hand, every little bit helps.

Elder Weisenheimers

THERE IS MUCH VALUE IN friendships – even more so in those that are decades long.

In 1986, I began working at the Northern California Renaissance Pleasure Faire’s fencing booth. Dubbed the privateer ship “Cardiff Rose” (after the 1976 Roger McGuinn song/album of the same title), we taught people to swordfight using foils; we also staged exhibition bouts with epee, saber, shenai, main-gauche, and other martial implements. These shows drew in many guests, as did our hawkers (myself among them), and an unspeakably tightknit and rollicking good time was had by all – until our much beloved Black Point Forest site was sold to condo developers ’round 2000.

It’s important for Village Elders to know how to pass on what they know.

After that original RenFaire closed, some of us migrated en masse (swords included) to similar “living history” events, including The Great Dickens Christmas Fair. But we also see each other at annual picnics in an undisclosed East Bay park. My copilot (then coworker) and I met at RenFaire in 1988, and recently attended one such reunion. As we drove regretfully home (it’s hard to say goodbye to unique friends you’ve known for almost 40 years), the following discussion ensued, dutifully recorded elsenet (edited here for clarity):

Friends, Roses, countryfolk – lend me your brains.

It was so good to see, connect with, and learn from everyone, which is invariably the case whenever we gather. The thought occurred – and I’m still puzzling the why of it – that our longtime, lifetime Cardiff Rose association-web is good training for becoming Village Elders.

Stay with me here.

1. We are for the most part a generally and generously accepting group of people (we’re all misfits on some level, which helps), except when it comes to militant/willful stupidity. Village Elders may welcome the strange(r), but they also don’t take no guff.

2. The prefatory acronym AKICITR – “All Knowledge Is Contained In The Rose,” which we all use to pose online questions to activate our “hive mind” – is amusing, yes, but also true thanks to our vasty array of eclectic educations, singular experiences, and multiform talents. And what we don’t know, we know how to learn about. Village Elders must be, or at least be perceived to be, sources of wisdom.

3. Strictly as a collective, it would be fair to say that “we’ve seen it all” (see point #2), while mostly avoiding the discomfort of world-weariness by dint of a sardonic sense of humor. Village Elders without such a humor-sense are just crotchety old fussbudgets and get-off-my-lawn shouters.

4. Many of us have (or teach) younglings. It’s important for Village Elders to know how to pass on what they know.

Anyway, that’s the view from behind these eyeballs. What do you think?

This can’t at all capture our seamless friendships’ ineffable essence, but I hope it conveys some of the flavor; we would not be the people we are today without each other. Here’s to good (and sadly, some now-absent) friends – and to life! [clink]

The Bag

ONE OF MY FAVORITE QUOTES from The Lord of the Rings concerns Frodo Baggins’ loyal manservant and steadfast friend Sam Gamgee. It’s a narrative quote, not dialog, and it describes Sam’s knapsack as stuffed full of (quoting from memory): “… little treasures of his master’s to be trotted out in triumph when needed and called for.”

Sometimes, stories come to life.

The NorCal fire season definitely made an impression on me.

It’s my custom to post a daily Facebook question, to the evident delight of good friends who love to play along. I always answer it myself just to get the snowball rolling, and the other day I posted this:

What’s your EDC (Every Day Carry)? (Me: In addition to wallet, keys, phone and bandana handkerchief, I carry a four-pocket, five-pound, grey Cordura sling bag containing a Leatherman-knockoff multitool; blue and red ballpoint pens; blue Sharpie; mechanical pencil; yellow notepad; binoculars; two-lens jeweler’s loupe; LED flashlight; thumb drive; spare bandana; two black KN95 masks; two pair nitrile gloves; two pair earplugs; comb; mirror; six-inch/15-centimeter plastic ruler; earbuds [wired]; one of those steel, credit-card-sized “11-in-1 survival tools” [bottle opener, can opener, standard screwdriver, wingnut wrench, hex wrenches, blade, magnetic compass, file, ruler, keychain loop, and saw]; sewing kit; first-aid kit; inspirational reading; space blanket; razor-sharp Opinel No. 8 knife; miniature Swiss Army knife with toothpick and tweezers; mini carabiner clip; ibuprofen; Listerine spray; dry-mouth spray and lozenges; two plastic teaspoons; two paper straws; military-issue folding can opener; actual magnetic compass; synagogue-leadership roster; vaxx card; cough drops; folding scissors; eyeglasses; homemade trail mix; phone charger; small clothespin; rubber band; butane lighter [I don’t smoke, but instant flame can be handy]; guitar pick; Kleenex packet; nail clippers; two packets of Bustelo instant espresso; and one of my business cards with “IF FOUND PLEASE RETURN TO” scribbled on the back. In short, everything which I have needed and/or anticipate needing goes into this damn bag which I lug everywhere, feel absolutely naked without, and have misplaced twice – with attendant bad freakout. Wouldn’t you?)

The NorCal fire season – especially 2017’s, which burned half of Sonoma Valley – definitely made an impression on me, and I now partly live out of my go-bags for small things like sunglasses and daily grooming essentials; it’s a great stress-reducer to know I can grab everything of importance without thinking. But to be honest, I really tote all these things, each thoughtfully and meticulously collected over a period of years, because I love to be useful. (Which is not a bad way to be.)

So. What’s your EDC? And a bonus question: What makes you feel useful?

We’re All Americans, Dammit

I’VE SAID THIS BEFORE, BUT it’s more important now than ever:

“I pledge allegiance to the Constitution
Of the United States of America
And to the ideal on which it stands:
One nation of individuals
Indivisibly intertwined
With liberty, justice, and peace for all.”

(So help me, G?d. And so help all of us.)

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