The Sign of The Wind

Los Angeles, California

The Wind

I listen to the wind,

to the wind of my soul.

Where I'll end up, well,

I think only God really knows.

I've sat upon the setting sun,

But never, never, never, never,

I never wanted water once.

No never, never, never.

I listen to my words,

But they fall far below.

I let my music take me

Where my heart wants to go.

I've swam upon the devil's lake,

But never, never, never, never,

I'll never make the same mistake.

No, never, never, never.

Cat Stevens

Here is what I think I know about the Brit musician, Cat Stevens. He arrived on the scene when I was in my teens, around the same time as Elton John. The music on his album, Tea for the Tillerman was gentle, poetic, and profound. He sang Peace Train which was something we were clamoring for during the years of the horrific war in Vietnam. He experienced a near-drowning when swimming in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Malibu, here in Los Angeles County. And, after searching through philosophical and faith-based reasons for being, that near-death experience led him to faith in Islam. And here I confess that I am not knowledgeable about the Islamic faith. I am, unfortunately, more knowledgeable about Islamic terrorists. I know more about the Christian faith (and also about Christian Nationalist terrorists).

For a time, he changed his name to Yusuf Islam, and stopped performing his Cat Stevens songbook after a misinterpretation led him to think the Koran prohibited it.  He went about the world with his music, suffering a lot of discrimination and persecution for it. After 9/11 media jocks smashed his records which was silly, and at one point, after 9/11, he was refused entry to the US as he, with his gentle poetic music, was considered to be a threat, which is embarrassing. But he also made some controversial comments regarding the Salman Rushdie fatwa, which he has since walked back. He modified his name to Yusuf/Cat Stevens, and after two decades he returned to making secular music once again and in 2014 he accepted induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. But I digress ... So, what does this post have to do with Cat Stevens?

At some point in our young lives, we might have been told not to talk about politics, religion, nor sex. But I imagine that if you drew a pie chart of adult human interest, those topics would take up a significant portion of the whole. And, all three topics certainly take up a lot of the discussions I have with Joel and with my girlfriends. My last post was political. Now, in for a penny; in for a pound as the Brits say, I turn again to the subject of faith. My faith. The faith that I prayed for after early experiences in a variety of church dominations failed to ignite any sense of faith. And then faith came and I felt my prayers were answered. As a result, prayer became important to me.

I think of that faith as a gift in several ways. I think Sandra, namesake of this blog, had something to do with it. Maybe she too prayed that I would find faith. Or maybe attending Mass with her opened a door to an experience for which I had longed for many years. My connection to my faith is deep and so complicated that I can't adequately address it here. But I know what it is because I feel it. And, as I wrote in a recent post, quoting William Temple, who was the Archbishop of Canterbury during World War II: When I pray, coincidences happen. When I don't, they don't.

I attended Mass this month for the first time this year. Mostly I stayed away because of Covid; first the numbers then my own. Then we entered into the Easter period of the liturgical calendar, so I waited that out. I brought a lot of concerns with me to Mass that Sunday. Some of it was regarding my community of friendships, both new and old, connected and disconnected. But more important was my prayer for reassurance of my own faith path. Was I on the right track? Should I make a commitment to Catholicism in spite of all of the problems I had with its politics and dogma? Were my feelings about the importance of ecumenicalism valid? My prayers and questions crystalized into one big ask of God: Let me know that my faith as I perceive it is real and right. Give me a sign. It was a profound experience for me, kneeling in the beautiful church where I attend Mass, asking God for something this big and just for myself.

Mass ended at noon and I walked a block to where my car was parked. It had been cloudy when I walked into church, but now the sun was shining; the morning opening to a pretty afternoon. But, that's not a sign. And then, I got into my car and as I started it up, a song came on. I usually listen to NPR, but I had put music on as I drove to Mass, not wanting to hear chatter. I have around 1500 songs in my iTunes library and it was set on random play. And the first song that came up was The Wind by Cat Stevens.

I listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul, Where I end up, well, I think God only knows. I hadn’t needed to find faith, but it was provided. I hadn’t needed to feel a connection to Mass, but it was provided. I could follow a prescribed path of religion, but the rightness of my own path was provided. I immediately felt reassurance, comfort and JOY. It is a beautiful song but one of only three Cat Stevens' songs in that large playlist. Later I remembered that once, when I had just begun attending Mass at the Carmel Mission Basilica, we had sung the hymn set to the tune of Cat Stevens' song Morning Has Broken. One more connection.

My best ex-friend (I used to call her my ex-best friend but we have reconnected) called me that afternoon and I told her about the epiphany I had experienced. She is a therapist and the subtext of many of our conversations is grounded in psychology. But she agreed that this was a sign. And maybe it was or wasn't. It doesn't matter, because faith isn't found in what we are told to believe but rather in the connection we feel to our belief in a higher power. I don't usually lean into faith more than the other support conduits I have in my life. I strive for balance. But there was a joyful imbalance in this experience that day, and in the days since. While I would never choose bad religion over good psychology, this experience underscored the power of prayer and the personal reaffirmation of faith. And listening to the wind of my soul will continue to be a gift going forward.

Post Script: After I wrote this post I saw and enjoyed the film Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. Can you guess what song covered the credit roll? Yes, The Wind by Cat Stevens.

Lock Him Up

Los Angeles, California

At some time, awhile back, I decided to veer away from writing about politics. It seemed a prudent thing to do with the subject being so discouraging. But, it's been quite a challenge as the current tribalism warrants some commentary and the ex-President warrants some loud WTFs. So, I haven't been completely clear of it, in spite of making an effort, and ...this is just too good!

I'm not a fan of pugnaciousness. I am not someone who would ever see a schoolyard bully as any kind of a hero. I believe character counts. I never could have voted for someone like him. And from the moment I watched the Billy Bush video I could not and cannot conceive of how any woman could vote for that man. And, as in most things, silence or rationalization has been collusion.

The fact is that he is being charged for fraud connected to his behavior of cheating on his wife with a porn star and falsifying the records after paying her off.

From submitting our earliest written reports in elementary school, we are taught that you should never construct a one-sentence paragraph. I just broke that rule to underscore just one of the many indications of who that man is. Just based on this alone, what woman (and what man if they have any sense of decency) can believe that this is a man who should be allowed in any area of civilized society, much less as a 'leader'?

Do I base this all on that one act of infidelity? Or on the 34 felony counts of fraud? Well, in general, I am someone who has a great deal of compassion for when human flaws lead to misbehavior. Once. But this man is a scumbag who thinks anything he does is justified and then works it to herd the stupid and untethered into his base. Just between us, I don't usually refer to them as "the base." Rather, I think of them as lice.

And let me clarify. Yes, I am a liberal. But I am a moderate liberal. And though rarely, I have voted for republicans in both federal and state elections. These days, I think the fringes of both parties are dangerous and ridiculous. I think character is greatly important in politicians. I think Hillary should have left Bill over Monica. I admire Barack Obama. I think W looks pretty good now that we have the comparison of the last administration. I idolize Jamie Raskin and respect Mitt Romney. I am a supporter of having social programs. I think Medicare and Social Security benefits are essential to our aging population. And I am very grateful that I don't have to bring my own highway when I need to travel nor to fill my own potholes on said highway. If that's socialism, I'm in.

I hope, I pray, for a trifecta of indictments. One in New York. Another in DC. The coup de grace in Georgia. I just need you to find 11,780 votes. I hope he is convicted in the civil rape case. Do I think these investigations/indictments are political? Of course they are. He's a politician. He's also a criminal. Prevent this guy from ever running for another political office. Let him go back to hosting beauty pageants. That is, after we lock him up.

A fellow liberal friend texted to say that the indictment was a sobering moment in our country. He felt it is important to indicate that no one is above the law, yet this moment in history felt tragic on a Shakespearean level. I disagree. Much, much more sobering is that someone with complete and utter lack of character and ethics could ever have been looked upon as a valid leader of our country. Even if never convicted of anything, this process of grand jury indictment, and his shame and humiliation, is how we show our intolerance for everything he represents and we take a big, giant step towards making America better again.

Marble Eggs

Los Angeles, California

Spring was my mother's favorite time of year. She was born in that season which supports my theory of why autumn is my favorite season of the year. But I also think she loved that spring represented a time of renewal, of leaving the cave, of longer days of more light. I am fully my parents' child having received an imprint of anxiety from my dad and depression from my mother. Though, truth be told, they both suffered from both at times, each emotional condition being the other side of the same coin. I do think that Mom's depression led her to be grateful for sunshine and longer days. There was a bit of seasonal disaffection there. Something I can relate to this year as here in sunny So Cal we have been hit by cold, rain, and general gloom for what seems like many months.

But now we are at the start of Spring. Boys in Blue are back playing baseball for us, and along with the pagan, vernal aspects of the season we have all of the religious holidays: Ramadan, Passover, and Easter. Easter used to be a favorite holiday because it was the one I hosted with my family and it was a true celebration of Spring. My mom and dad would drop by the day before, bringing armloads of fresh flowers including lilacs and tulips. They would arrive the following day with Mom's freshly baked bread. Sometimes this was vanoca, the Czechoslovakian bread we had at all holidays. But at other times, she wanted to be creative and a few breads like babka arrived. Whatever she baked, it was always a yeasty bread with some kind of fruit and nuts and was always delicious.

My great fun was setting the table, after determining whether it was warm enough to eat outside. Sometimes we pushed the envelope, eating outside on a cloudy or breezy day, then retreating to the house with a fire warmly burning in the fireplace. Sometimes I did an all-white table with layered white tablecloths and my Spode Jewel china, then I splashed color with the flowers and a crystal cracker barrel filled with pastel Easter eggs (relax, they were actually marble). My white napkins were a variety of mismatched ones I had collected. If we were outside, I often set the table with my sterling, crystal, and linen napkins but used Easter-themed paper plates. I loved the whimsy of this.

But those days are behind me. While I have thought about hosting an Easter celebration, and indeed we did share Easter at my home last year with Connie and Curt, it just seems daunting to resume. So my celebration of Spring will be more subtle. Yes, I will dye Easter eggs. I eat an egg white every morning so I always have hard cooked eggs on hand. I also have some Easter decor around in the form of dish towels, ceramic rabbits, and those marble eggs. There are always rabbits here at my house, both decorative and, in this neighborhood, live. And I will enjoy the sunshine and the warming temperatures that will arrive mid-week. And, of course, I will be mindful of what the season used to mean to me when I had a family.

What I won't do is attend Mass. It's not my favorite time in the liturgical calendar. Once, in that first Easter during the pandemic, I attended, virtually, the Stations of the Cross service, and came away disturbed and deflated. I was reminded of the dark ages of religiosity which was utilized to keep the faithful in line. I fully believe that God wants us to experience joy, especially at this time of year when we are coming out of winter. Once Easter passes I'll return to Mass, though I am recently intrigued by reading about the Unitarian Universalist faith. What keeps me attending Mass is... the celebration of the Mass. I have been tangentially attached to other faiths. My mother's family had roots in Christian Science. Scary. And my parents were Presbyterians. I often sat with them through their Sunday services while compiling to-do lists in my head. No connection to the service, whatsoever. Roman Catholic Mass provides me with a connection to God, as well as the incentive to be better. To me, better doesn't mean to not swear nor complain about my parents. I don't need antiquated guardrails. I just need the lesson and reminder to endeavor to treat people better. Even if I can't love my neighbor, at the very least I can try to treat my fellow humans with understanding and compassion. A difficult enough task (you must trust me about this) but surely what would make the world a better place. I don't make any distinction for people in my religious 'club.' A great many of my friends are Jewish and I will always enjoy Cat Stevens' music. I also know some good, strong and true non-believers who exemplify the character and ethics I admire. I am grateful to have them in my life. Meanwhile, I continue to offer up prayers for those around me, more or less in priority order of need. I can fall asleep before I get to the bottom of my prayer list, so it's good to put the most needy at the top, though I have been known, on occasion, to cut in line near the top with my own suffering needs.

But for today, with an open heart, I offer spring greetings out to the ethos. Wishing everyone, regardless of faith origin, a wondrous season and hopeful peace for the rest of the year to come. Enjoy the flowers, the rabbits, and the chocolate eggs. Enjoy this wonderful, warm season of springtime rebirth.