Categories

Our problems are categorical
Not flesh and blood
Not rhythm pulsing
Unless flesh categorizes goals - or need

So flesh of kin may still tingle, burn and snap
The flesh of your brethren a number in retaliation
Our flesh impervious to peace against more pain

Taking a side - of flesh or on the side of lines,
Rules, structures - long testimonies branded in our mind
In ink, or blood, or family paternal vines.

caged birds

sing louder when behind bars,
Not openly, yet not discreetly

Caged birds make noise,
that shatter windows if not steel

Walls for Questions

Why build walls when there are two sides to the game?
And why do walls divide us into planes of two-dimensional decisions?
Where is the legal movement forming a new means of thinking, working, and effectively transposing one decision to another through the questions of our own internal mind?


Why throw a snowball over the high tree to see it land or maybe fall apart in cold mid-air?
Hafiz would know the answer or a better question which would give the single form of thought and thus a new corrective frame of reference - union?
Isn't a wall a separation of a union from another side?
Do walls mean much if they are mortar, bricks, ice, lakes of blood and shrapnel?


The Berlin wall still stands in our museum, adorned in colors, paints, phrases, sentiments, so many dreams and phrases: korwa, . .. . I don't know German, and am blessed in my forgetful mind.


The Wall between Palestine and Israel still stands. Sharon dead, armies fighting, children scared in tears because the garden of Eden is not a child's playground in their mind until the walls are not dividing one hate from another and one loving mother from another and one loving strong willed father from another and news and news and more strange news that seems to say the same: "They hate us!"


Ah, walls. Impose their shields on our minds and speak to us in cries of angry protest (against> movement, corrections, amendments, and discussion. Use those walls to speak unless the words are still not there because the schools forgot to give enough real content of which to speak. Or walls from one side of the cord field to another.


A friend once said - no borders and no walls. How loving, kind and open is her heart. In a world full of invisible walls, at least the strong walls of snow and ice show clear division, anger and a desire for change toward.....wish I never knew a better world, because I don't know just what made it better. Wish I never knew a better world, because the tools to recreate are still invisible, unlike this wall of snow, ice, fire, stones and soldiers keeping us from peace and freedom of ourselves. And before these wishes are made truly - I take back wishes never to have known a better world, because the rays of sweet warm sunshine are too strong to hide in any cave.

To Brazil by way of London from DC - Sweet Melodies

Got to the airport a little early. Two hours until my flight and I’m already at the gate. So I rest and enjoy the music - literally.

I seem to be sharing a flight with a group of Brazilian students who wait with friends, three guitars and kickass beats. It’s not just theirs hips and language that say "we love to sing, dance, we love to live and baby wow ooh, let’s feel the music in our skin, bones, hair. . . . and ouch, Wazzuuuuup?!"

Ordinary kids? Yes. Looking at them, they are absolutely great and normal kids; teenagers speaking Portuguese. But their smiles are lovely and full of a melt-your-bones sweetness. Sweet and warm. Open despite themselves. Quietly sincerely not reserved, despite themselves, and humble, because being loud is simply unnecessarily loud. 

Here I am - listening to their guitars and our American music played so beautifully - 19 year olds from Brazil – Hotel California - while waiting for my flight to London.

"Boom, tsetse boom,psheboom, ptsetse boom" cradles the girl’s rendition of the song.

They’re not shy - just openly beautiful and alive, simply alive as living can only be. So it’s nice to be a little early – such things happen when there’s time to live around my early schedule, little mistakes and gentle smiles. Is there such a thing as a sweet mistake as the girl sings behind my left ear?

To watch, listen, understand, and pay attention to life as it gently weaves in magical moments and becomes our reality – what makes the bigger picture a bit more soulful and gentle, deep like the coral reef under the open sun. 

As they interchange between Hotel California and Brazilian songs, they sway in a sweet and loving movement – sera (isn’t that evening?) and all sing together. Thank you for this wait.

Кольцо Соломона

Владимир Шульга

То ли муза проснулась, то ль совесть,

Но уже не сдержать мне стиха:

Посмотри на кольцо Соломона,

Если в сердце закралась тоска.

Иль в душе - как в пустующем доме -

Только эхо: зови - не зови.

Посмотри на кольцо Соломона,

Если дело в несчастной любви.

Или в жизни, вдруг, смысла не видишь -

Так и в смерти его не ищи,

И, у края последней надежды,

На кольцо Соломона взгляни.

Жизнь на многие беды богата.

Не сломает - так крепко погнёт.

Но, взглянув на кольцо Соломона,

Прочитаешь: "И ЭТО ПРОЙДЁТ".

Remember Monty Python?

"ALERTS TO THREATS IN 2013 EUROPE

From JOHN CLEESE

...

The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent events in Syria and have therefore raised their security level from "Miffed" to "Peeved." Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to "Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross." The English have not been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies nearly ran out. Terrorists have been re-categorized from "Tiresome" to "A Bloody Nuisance." The last time the British issued a "Bloody Nuisance" warning level was in 1588, when threatened by the Spanish Armada.

The Scots have raised their threat level from "Pissed Off" to "Let's get the Bastards." They don't have any other levels. This is the reason they have been used on the front line of the British army for the last 300 years.

The French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from "Run" to "Hide." The only two higher levels in France are "Collaborate" and "Surrender." The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France 's white flag factory, effectively paralyzing the country's military capability.

Italy has increased the alert level from "Shout Loudly and Excitedly" to "Elaborate Military Posturing." Two more levels remain: "Ineffective Combat Operations" and "Change Sides."

The Germans have increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance" to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs." They also have two higher levels: "Invade a Neighbour" and "Lose."

Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual; the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels ..

The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy. These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.

 

Australia, meanwhile, has raised its security level from "No worries" to "She'll be right, Mate." Two more escalation levels remain: "Crikey! I think we'll need to cancel the barbie this weekend!" and "The barbie is cancelled." So far no situation has ever warranted use of the last final escalation level.

Regards,

John Cleese ,

British writer, actor and tall person

 
And as a final thought - Greece is collapsing, the Iranians are getting aggressive, and Rome is in disarray. Welcome back to 430 BC.

Life is too short..."

Still - child

We grow . .. and the splinter
Grows within, though I still remember.

One day next to back
Inside the pain grows crack - like
Father warned, that salt spreads wounds.

Thus did the Romans salt the trees
Trying to forward time from greater enemies.

So love makes arrows, and Mars makes bolts
Both champions of deadly sports

breaking in half both lodged - the salt - remember
until fully out,

So time spins on - running with poles
on ropes and coals

Clock's hands work through the silk, splash further still -
Evaporating drums, cans, fuel - remember . . . stillll, even your beachless furvor

And health and life your beauty, shipped
over a silly mystery -
more water gone.

Remember how the kinder probe?
Heimliches Lieben or a Monster Claus?
Remember goodness, showers, earth?

Our fear of your new wonder - my aphorism dims
You were my sacred kind of wonder - friend

So farther in our way -
Your reading of Hafiz, by point-blank luck, so stuck

And seeds dispersed in all that muck, pots thrown

your tree could have been grown -

ahh, but Gethsemane is still so far away.

Wisdom of Survival

"Malala is a 14 year old girl who authored a BBC Urdu blog in 2009 called 'Diary of a Girl from Swat' and she advocated for girl’s education. Taliban gunmen shot her in the head on October 9 for promoting secularism and democratic values."

"The battle for survival of civilization"

"Today the battle for survival of civilization is being fought in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (Pakistan). Education a well acknowledged catalyst for meaningful socio-economic change and a constitutionally recognized fundamental right in Pakistan appears to be the most threatened. Centre for Civic Education gave its annual Civic Courage Award to Ms. Malala Yousafzai and Civic Education Award to Baacha Khan Trust Educational Foundation at National Conference on State of Fundamental Rights on September 15, 2012 in Islamabad. We are sharing English translation of Ms. Malala Yousafzai’s speech. We consider her an icon of courage and commitment for peaceful change in Pakistan that could be engineered by quality education. Her sacrifice has not only united the nation rather has shown a way to our future, if we really care for our survival as a pluralist nation."

"Ladies and Gentlemen -

"I shall begin by describing situation in Swat. We have seen worst over there. Schools were destroyed, the girls were barred from education and even flogged. People were slaughtered at Green Chowk. Even the (music) CD shops were not spared.

"The circumstances (in Swat) made people shiver. Amid bomb blasts we lost our peace. The girl students were scared of going to schools. We had to flee our homes (to save our lives). We could only return after the (military) operation that normalized the situation. The girls are now back in schools. The shops have resumed business including the CD shops. Everything thing is fine now. Was that easy to leave homes when things turned violent and returned after they cooled down?

"The only factor that brought normalcy (in Swat) was the struggle of the people. Had people failed to raise their voice, Swat would have been another Waziristan. Girls and senior citizens of Swat joined hands with others and fought for their rights. People rendered sacrifices to restore peace in Swat. People win their rights only when they struggle to achieve them. And, in Swat, our rights were usurped. The right of education. The right of freedom. We were not free to express ourselves. We lost our freedom and they imposed their will on us. It was our effort and endeavor that extricated us from the crisis.

"Fellows, great nations learn from the history. The dilemma of Swat is now part of history and we pledge to learn from it, because if we don’t, we would never accomplish our goal. What have I learnt from the circumstances is that just one voice and one movement is strong enough against the groups which usurp the rights of the people. If they are armed with guns, you have the weapon of pen and power of words to defeat them. Secondly, we complain too much. We believe the system (of governance) in Pakistan is flawed altogether. Nothing is normal. (Electricity) load-shedding is common, so as the shortage of gas. We need to revamp the system instead of complaining too much. We need to correct ourselves to improve the circumstances. We know what we can do to turn things around by exercising our rights. But most of the time we remain silent.

"Don’t you know breaking traffic signal is a violation? Don’t you understand rejecting ideas of other people is inappropriate? Don’t you realize how bad it is to destroy schools? Don’t you agree confining women to home is so wrong? Everyone knows, but seldom stands up. We know what our rights are. We can differentiate between good and evil. Still we don’t speak out. We don’t tolerate each other.

"If we want to nurture a generation that is tolerant enough to coexist with the people of opposite ideas, we must revamp our curriculum to fulfill this need. Only by doing this they would be able to tolerate, for example, a fellow from other faith or have love for other countries. While we start understanding the importance of peace we would let them know that strongest weapon in the world is a Pen – not a gun, tank or a helicopter.

"We talk about culture and fundamental rights. There has been a recent incident in Swat wherein a 12-year old girl was exchanged to compensate the crime, committed by her brother. Backed by her father, the girl stood against that decision. She went to the court and saved herself from the darkness of injustices. We must have more youngsters like her. We must inform them about their fundamental rights, failing to which the new generation would give-in to the existing cultural taboos and obsolete social norms.

"We create culture and formulate laws. It was not a God’s decree to exchange girls in compensate. Why can’t we change which is neither a holy decree nor written in any holy scripture? We are entitled to make laws and empowered to change them. The most important thing to do is to cleanse our culture and traditions from all the negativities which exist even today. We are the architect of our culture so we shall be entitled to change it.

"We need an education system that could make people successful because we have seen in the past the Ph.D. or Master Degree holders were clueless about the purpose of their life. They only think of themselves. They only think of earning money, amassing wealth for their children, having luxurious cars and sprawling bungalows. They are not worried about the future of the son of their servant. Instead of being self-centered, we should follow our religion which says: “The better are those who help their fellow-beings.”

"Until we let others live in peace and comfort, we would never be able to live like that. The reason why we are far away from peace and living in peril is that we are not letting others live in peace. Peace is not the absence of war, but the absence of fear. And the peace cannot prevail until we get rid of fear. In order to reach this destination we must choose the path of Asma Jehangir, Tahira Abdullah, Samar Minallah and Malala Yosufzai. No one can do it single-handedly. To get the country out of crisis, we must act together.

"In the end I would like to recognize that my father supported me wholeheartedly when I was raising my voice and fighting for my rights. Hundreds of talented and passionate girls from Swat failed to succeed because they were restricted by their parents and brothers. And this is still happening. The way my father supported me I can’t express my gratitude. I wish every girl has a father like mine.

"God willing, we would change things around once we start thinking positively and passionately. God willing, we would succeed. Thanks."

First of Six Lectures in Verse

Lecture I
By Czeslaw Milosz

How to tell it all? Referring to what chronicles?
Imagine a young man walking by a lake shore
On a hot afternoon. Dragonflies, diaphanous,
Over the rushes as always. But nothing of what's to come
Has yet arrived. Understand: nothing.
Or perhaps it has, but is unfulfilled.
Bodies asigned for wounds, cities for destruction,
Pain of uncounted numbers,each pain one's own.
Concrete for crematoria, States for partitioning,
Assassins drawn by lot: you, and you, and you.
Yes. And the jet. The transistor. The video.
Men on the moon. He walks and doesn't know.

He comes to a little bay, a kind of beach.
People on vacation are there sunbathing.
Gentlemen and ladies, bored, talk about
Who is sleeping with whom, bridge, and a new tango.
That young man is me. I was him, perhaps still am
Though half a century has passed. I remember and don't remember
How they and he were at odds. He is different, alien.
Prisoners of his mind, they flash by and vanish.
He scorns then, a judge, observer.
Thus the sickliness of adolescence
Divines the sickness of an era
That will not end well. Those who are unaware
Deserve to be punished: they wanted only to live.

A wave, bits of reed on gravel, white clouds.
Beyond the water, village roofs, a wood. And imagination.
In it, Jewish towns, a train crossing the flatlands.
Abyss. The earth is swaying. Does it sway only now
When I throw open the labyrinths of time,
As if to know meant to comprehend,
And beyond the window hummingbirds perform their dance?

I should have . . . I should have what fifty-five years ago?
I should have lived in joy. In harmony. In faith. In peace.
As if that had been possible. And later, stupefaction:
Why hadn't they been wiser? It all appears now as a sequence
Of cause and effect. No, that too is doubtful.
Everyone's responsible who ever breathed --
Air? Unreason? Illusion? Idea?
Like everyone who lived there and then, I didn't see clearly.
This I confess to you, my young students.

Hoping to Lean Your Way

Habbit of Love:
Consider why - Remember
Only time - and wind - and closing doors
Swing open :
Shut.
And dancing,
With the breeze of sharper branches,

And that reminds me,
of the long road, path
lost way, a little cottage night
Some nights, even the squirrels steal -

You swung too open - wide
To a new Dance, of
Open Doors
Calling me . . . ? some beautiful word :
Only in your tongue.
In mine, translation makes obsenities.
And meanings, timely, while
your changing eyes -

Where were we? treading on a cobbled path,
Speaking of parents,
To Find a Child,
a Father, of your Nation,
allmost of blood,
Your Memories - all seen with
his hot drop - we asked for tea.

Of Which, ... I Always Wonder -

Euphoria of God

I see you smile, so I hatefully destroy the sun.
Block - block : throwing wings from balconies.
While building a house of sand; until the next cinder burns hot, enough.
The coal of winged desire has been cut...

Until another wave will hit, persist.
Today, one bakes,
the other - 10 years ago burned up.
The picture of this brown muffin,
Smells of your hot cross bun.

The children smile, as they eat,
Just like their children laughed, as their torn wings
Beat in the sky.
Though roaches crawl through streets,
The abbott hungers for a new fresh roll -
Without the buns,
Without white sugar, sprinkled
as a new coal oven, burns.

Occupy DC - Stench or Freedom?

McPherson square has been the home of many of DC's homeless - but during the Occupy DC movement, it became a miniature city. If the police hadn't come to tear down the first house, the movement would have turned into a new block; fully equipped with kitchens, nurses-wards, art centers, discussion tables, radio sets and toilet facilities. All that remained was a blacksmith shop and a city hall. I have a feeling that that first initiative to construct a building in place of the tents would have been titled "The White House" had it not been immediately torn down. No need for a fountain or garden in front. The occupation's planners chose locations according to the pre-existing foundation. Freedom Plaza has a fountain and a statue, Mc Pherson Square a statue and garden.

So as the movement is being rejected by the city of Washington, the question remaining in my mind is whether this movement was effective in its harmless approach to peaceful, but very fowl, protesting? And did the relatively calm element lead to any transition or change? Could it have been more successful if there had been less stench and the "unpleasant" appearance of a homeless subburb? Perhaps - though given the cold winter, one has to give due respect for the fearless protesters, who supplied the homeless with reasonable aid. Their methods were blatantly benevolent: by giving food to the homeless, creating a rather well-organized movement, and not protesting in an obtrusive or offensive manner, the message was calm and clear: human rights, human dignity. Corruption and financial ruin are evident in our country, if not throughout most of the world.

Revolutions around the world were inevitable given the global economic crash. Let's take a look at other countries' protests; appropriate, given the recent anniversary of Egypt's revolution. Bloody, violent, movements that altered nations and societies. The Egyptian revolution also began as one dealing with a financial crises. After all, the first loud cries against the former government claimed that people were upset over the financial degradation and the level of poverty - of lack of timely pay. 

Russia's protests during the Parliamentary Elections also partially implied a financial tone, though not outright. Such overtones came through blaming the Capitalistic West and scapegoating the United States as having bribed Russians to protest against election fraud for pay. The point was that financially corrupt government was being opposed. The US Occupy Wall Street movement protested against corruption, financial ruin, and basically, a continued pattern of money feeding money, which is an unending cycle; arguably unavoidable.

Did the peacenicks in the United State really change anything, though? For that matter, did the revolutions abroad? Egypt is facing a new authoritarian regime, Russian protesters continue to vote for Putin and his party, and the United States cleared out most of the Occupy movements without clearly acknoledging the demands of the protesters.

What did the movmenets achieve? Did they help anyone to reevaluate our values? Did they make us think twice as we walked through, alongside or in avoidance of the banners, public art, flags, slogans, first aid stations, discussions, round-tables and roll calls, feeding stations and thousand of different agendas and messages - in all honesty, can we hate a movement that promoted good will or at least some form of re-evaluation of our financial freedoms?

If "successful," then how would the "new" financial market look? There is no Tabula Rasa for our government and economy. Perhaps the Occupy Wall Street movement was too ambitious in attempting to revolutionize the economic structure as a whole. Perhaps its lack of a "clear agenda" confused people or created a farce; a silly Revolution of Actors and Artists. Just two more months and the Guillotine would have reappeared . . . but would it have? Or is it the guillotine - and the history of the French Revolution - that makes us avoid and denounce economic liberals? Walk in our own freedom to ignore? Fear of a French inquisition from the extreme liberal "artists" ...

Perhaps this question of the Occupy Wall Street movement's success should be put to the test by asking those who truly deserve to be asked, those vacated from their "homes" by the occupation: DC's homeless. Do they agree - is there a problem with money, food, corruption or job availability? Do we have a system that feeds the rich and forgets to teach those too incapable of learning how to learn? Do our salaries . . . granted we have them . . . grow on their own, based on charisma, skill, etiquette, language or simply aptitude?

Space

Still ... Still... Still.
As Children at Sea
Waiting for Wind
Hoping for Still Water

Choked up in Wealth or Afraid to be Homeless?

A short disclaimer and warning: the text may sound crass and self-centered because the organization is not meant to show my kindness or benevolence, but rather a progression of thought. Please take the time to finish reading and leave any comments or questions this may raise. I would be most grateful for your thoughts!

A friend enjoys discussing the poverty in our country, the problems of taxes, and who pays enough. Who pays the taxes, are they distributed fairly, and why do the poor have to be taxed in the first place when the rich are so wealthy and can afford to pay extra. Okay - we are all really really rich. Even the poor guy is really really rich when he has any taxes to pay in the first place. Basically, if he has enough to pay a tax, he is making enough to live on and then some. Most likely the tax will be returned. If he doesn't, then this is a different conversation.

The homeless on the streets are supposedly drug addicts, bad people, countless human lives that we pass and avoid. We try to make sure to avoid their eyes. We say to ourselves "because they must have something to live on. After all, they are still alive. . . even if they are filthy." I once promised myself that when a homeless person asks for money, I'll give them food instead. I too have to survive. Besides, who knows how they spend it . . . I've been cheated already, having seen the drugs they smoke in clear daylight. But if they ask for food, when they ask for food, I will bring it to them.

So I did - I got the guy a piece of chicken and some gatorade. He still looks hungry. This one meal wouldn't even last a well-fed person who eats on a daily basis.

Yesterday on my walk to work, I passed a woman who was also homeless, hadn't had a shower in too many days, and could have been stereotyped as a junkie: oh . . . how she was devouring that bag of chips that I immidiately saw as a fat machine. And how I felt guilty, having to walk on and remember that I have to pay rent this month.

But at least I have rent to pay! These guys braved the hurricanes - if not for the hurricane, they probably wouldn't get to a shelter, get clean and showered, . . . after Hurricane Irene, some of them almost looked like they had dignity for a day, well shaven, clean clothing, clean faces - while I could still recognize them as they moved back into their former positions at the regular posts in front of the CVS, in the park, in front of the church, their cleanliness made their faces serene and proud.

During the hurricane, I walked past a woman who walks in front of the church on P St every day - she looks very proud, calm, serene. She wears a scarf in turban fashion around her head and reminds me of an Armenian Greek Orthodox woman: she wears traditional long skirts and bears her composure with feminine grace. After weeks of seeing her, I thought strange. But it was to see her pacing in the same spot during the hurricane, after naively thinking nothing of it, that her strength stood out as a symbol of wonder . . . I crossed to the other side of the street and saw her there under the church door, again calmly and serenely pacing in her usual conservative yet clean dress. This time I noticed her sleeping bag, duffel bag, and umbrella which she used to establish a sense of privacy, all under the doors of the church. Clearly, she had not gotten into the shelter.

So I wonder, if I still have time to write this and if I still have the power and ability to find a job, babysit, work at a bar or at a restaurant, find a job in a school - if I know whom to ask, how to ask, where to go, what to say, am I poor? And are the doors closed off to me? And am I choked up with poverty and taxes? No - my taxes are what helps these people survive, even a few at a time. And I wonder if it's my role to play, to spend a little bit of time to say hello, to remember that when they greet me on the street they will not harm me, even if they might spit at me. But who can judge them? Many already blame them for their own hell.

But it does feel bad to be ignored, dehumanized, and feared - so my only way of helping them is to remember that if we have time to think, read and write, then we are very very well, can afford whatever we need, and have everything we could have asked for. Am I self-centered? yes. Are they? Probably. But I can do much more, sure. . . in some way. We don't know why people come to this point - not really. If we did, we would be among them. Most of us don't have time to ask.

“Team Paradox” 2102

ENCINITAS—On a Saturday night San Dieguito Academy students work hard to build a new robot for this year’s FIRST Robotics Competition challenge, Logo Motion. A group 14 to 18 year olds teach each other the ropes of engineering, designing, building and marketing in order to build robots which would carry plastic triangles, circles and squares and place them on poles.

San Dieguito Academy students are known for becoming makers, doers, and dream builders. Dreams without real work are not enought. Painting murals along school corridors, staging self-written plays, and building robots – all this seems to be normal for students at SDA.


The school is covered in student art inside and out. On each office building, classroom, bathroom and hallway, walls are covered with murals of dolphins, whales, cars, oceans, tiles of each person’s individual ideas, dreams, or aspirations – some drawings are of peace signs, mermaids, trees, mythical creatures, surfers and skate boarders. After school there are always a few kids hanging out practicing music, dance moves or staging a play, both supervised and of their own free will.

So for someone to see the making of a robot would be normal at this school. Real inspiration is in the shop with the students. This is where the real magic happens. They want to be there just to wire, fuse, drill and become engineers. They study pneumonics and programming well enough to build, design and fix most problems that the robot may have during the "FIRST" Robotics competition.

George Stimson, physics and history teacher at SDA, explained that “this is a program run by kids, taught by kids, and just the kids. They do it all - teach the classes, make the design, make the robots.” And it really is a marvel to watch the kids spending hours upon hours after school teaching, working, enjoying, building, designing, drilling, and using heavy machinery intelligently.


The students began working in September by splitting into four groups, divided into building, programming, publicity and design teams. On day one they began by using simple objects and applying the rules of physics, geometry, and problem solving using straws, tape and a desk.

The build team-leaders, Senior William Sake and Junior Andrew Dalager, gave students ten minutes to build the highest vertical and then longest horizontal structure, with the help of a desk. The object could not fall, touch the ground or use more than one desk for support. The idea was to prepare them to work creatively and logically so that in just two-weeks-time the welding, drilling and shop equipment would have some purpose.

The money to build the Robot also came from students' hard work. They learned about self promotion, creativity, budget and business. Sukie Berry, a senior, coordinated the marketing and publicity department and did most of the design work for the logos. She described her Paradox design as a circuit board, though to me it appeared as an angel with the head of a bull. She said that the theme represents unity and the inner workings of a team, stating that “When stripping away a robot’s metal exterior, what is revealed is the circuitry, wires, the inner human core.” Sukie is articulate, organized, and ambitious, with easily apparent spunk and character. Not surprisingly, when asked what made her want to be there, she replied: “because I love it!”

The kids are not completely self sufficient. They work with mentors, teachers and parent volunteers. However, the volunteers insist that their roles at SDA are minimal in the kids’ work and described the difference between their students versus students from other schools as vital to their independence. At other schools, according to the parents, students do only part of the work. The robots are clearly built by instructors, whereas SDA robots are made almost entirely by relatively inexperienced student hands.

The difference, however, comes through during the competition. Students from other schools step aside to let their teachers drill while students from SDA do the drilling and fixing themselves.

Volunteer mentor Bobbie Walton explains that “the kids are the ones who fix them right there. If parents or adults build the robots, the kids don’t know what happened or how to fix them.” He believes this difference is crucial when it comes down to having the kids learn to explain to each other what could go wrong and how to work on it.

Walton added that the mentors’ real job is to “make sure that the kids don’t drill a hole into their hands."


The kids want to win for themselves. Their strength, energy, dedication and spirit makes those around them want to support them five-thousand percent. This was clear during the competition, when a neighboring team literally paraded into the Team Paradox stand and the two schools cheered for each other.

When asked about whether the parents have anything to do with student participation in Robotics and Team Paradox for college profiling, the head programmer of the team Sophomore Gabriel Cemaj said that such students simply don't come. “People that are here really want to be here.” Cemaj started as a student teacher and programmer last year when the original instructor (also a student) quit the team.

Gabe's style is quite normal to this surrounding. He makes this group think, learn, and relearn as he finishes an instructional day by running out and saying, “Everything I just taught you doesn’t help you build a Robot,” after a 2 hour session of Programming and C++.


Another student, Junior Tatiana Roy, was so proficient in working the mills and drilling, that she was able to explain in full detail the function of each drill, their use, and their unique strengths or purposes. She said that initially her parents told her she spent too much time with robotics in her first year, worrying about her grades and homework. But by the third year their concerns changed.

“They’re fine with me coming here, doing things that I like, now that I’m working on machining.” Tatiana is here because she has “always been interested in engineering” and the “robotics team [is] a great opportunity to try engineering, even on a small scale.”

Friend

How much your eyes still burn,
The one I so remember, blistering
Engulfed in dancing flames, roses, ... eruptions,
Like volcanic ash etching down the middle
of my chest - zig-zag

Still cracked - the splinter stuck
As time stands still in frozen pause.
Ghosts chatter, while you are . . .
In an abyss slowly unfurling

Time runs, rewritten
My first step toward
Becoming. Friend. Still.
Not knowing burns,
Or helps the time move, still.

Still drops of water wash
Over the ruins standing toppled.

Remembering the Souls of Light and Dance

My dear Adamahniks are in my heart. So beautifully, so strongly - their music, their passion, their brilliant minds that strive to fight for freedom, truth, world kindness to the amazing balance of our environment with our souls and bodies. We planted gardens to feed our hearts and the communities in the field called Earth. We learned that spirituality, meditation, light are all part of our world. The way we work in the garden is how we live, play, work in the world. My current work is in historic research: and as I sit in Toronto learning about various literary figures of nineteenth century Ukraine who grew and molded the minds of today's Ukraine, I am reminded by my last summer. This summer I am in my lonely bliss, working in solitude. Last summer the difficulty of living with others made me stupidly blind to the compassion of each soul. And maybe there really is no such thing as too late, because the fullness of each person is singing in my heart as I sit working on historic peace.


We spoke of kindness, we worked on keeping the garden from flooding, we discovered how to live in nature every day, learning how to grow peas, tomatoes, cucumbers, how to harvest in a way that would preserve our hard work. We celebrated the fruit and the vegetables as we harvested and smelled and picked. We complained about bees, flies, ticks, sun, rain, even stars. I walked late at night and stared at the beautiful stars below my feet, reminding myself of a promise that would never be fulfilled - my mother and the jar of fireflies that I would collect for her.

Now as I sit in constant desire and need of meditation and pass my free time in meditative peace, trying to see my way through life, discover my future and the only path for my soul, I remember the time when I said I would never meditate again. And what I realize is that the stubborn hatred of the healthy love in me is a result of saying never - that the love of those I misunderstood or stubbornly judged is tenfold because of the difficult time I had in clearing my bias. My humility (and I thank you Sarah for teaching me this word in the important meaning it holds) is stronger as I live in a blooming love of those amazing human beings with who I spent three beautiful months at Adamah.


As Tali perfectly put it, my sisters and brothers, who are so so so angelic and wonderful! Where are you now? What great deeds have you been achieving? How have your amazing lives been winding through the last year of winds, rains, turmoil, earthquakes, spills, summits, world events, and simple enjoyment of your own person, your wonderful lives?

Brown is the color of friendship

On a light misty night,
Turning the lights off to a guest
A Hasidic rabbi who drove 500 miles
Making stops every half hour
To find friends sipping tea
Outside
Sitting on the ground
Laughing off stars, protests, events, whatevers

"Do I not speak clearly?"
Kasia asked,
When the rabbi could not
Hear where to check his email at 3:00 am

Not to miss - another late night guest -
A rabbi maybe
They drank another cup of
Black tea
Anticipating Maria's unexpected arrival
Before saying "Good night"
In their tricolored tongues.

dedicated to Kasia from Freedman

The Colors of History are still “Somewhere over the Rainbow”

I want to put doilies and flowers into my historical writing: that's right. You can make fun all you like. That's the problem with writing about history. It seems wrong or inappropriate to write down a beautiful field of colors and dreams and poetry while writing about political movements and how a bunch of guys with mustaches and pipes created nationalities, states, languages, citizenship rights and constitutions; and how am I supposed to make a war sound fascinatingly beautiful without literally writing poetry and calling myself a Mickiewicz in Graduate school? What do you compare a war to in the garden? A drought? A blizzard? A flood? A galloping herd of the deer and the rabbits going at it against each other and eating up all of the tomatoes and squash? Let's try it. There must be a way to add color to history; or to historians, for that matter. Maybe by integrating the magical realism of the Bug river when describing the fall of the Roman Empire, more sexuality and scandal, maybe simply more mysticism in the shooting of Stalin's victims or perhaps describing the terrain where the trenches were dug through color, reminding the reader that only 2 weeks earlier, a maiden had her first kiss there and two years before that, she and her sisters found a birds' nest and sang to the butterflies. Is that too “girlie”? Why else would it be so important to a Biographer what shoe Stalin's father beat him with? Though that's hardly adding a doily here and a rose there. Or does that actually give the history more life, meaning, a little more context of the lives that history tries to bring to our current understanding of the world. Why else would national movements be so important and why else is the rule of law and the integrity of a state constitution, or the history of how it became this way, is so vital to our everyday lives today, now, in our current situation? Well, these are silly questions: they are important in and of themselves. My question is, how do I have a chance to play and enjoy writing this history? Or are some questions too serious to play with?!

Your Garden Bed

Passing your bed each day
So moist
deep, soft, warm,
I want to lay down too.
Not on you,
By your side.

While I run around,
You lay there,
Roots deepen, your curious face,
long fingers,
Basking in the sun,
Enjoying the lush rains
Loving songs of birds
Tender caresses, fingers of
-- us
Brushing past your body.

Some day,
You and I
will lay side by side.
Resting quietly together,
your roots and mine.

-Sula
September 23, 2009