It’s Past Time to Do the Hard Work

I was channel surfing yesterday evening looking for anything remotely positive and stumbled on world traveler Rick Steves’ program on PBS.

He was in Nazaré, Portugal and the scenes were magnificent. Calm, blue sea. Families with children playing on the beach. Quiet little villages of happy people walking the streets and working in open markets.

It all seemed so far from the real chaos in the world with the now labeled COVID-19 virus sweeping the globe, political upheaval across Europe, the impossible-to-describe calamity in Syria, the wretched corruption and cruelty of Netanyahu in the Middle East, and of course the alarming disintegration of our own election process and the shameful division and rancor of our people.

I long for summer and a beach getaway. There is something transfixing and transformative about the ocean.

And yet I cannot stop thinking about those who have no way to escape; the oppressed; those tortured by chronic illness and disease; the orphaned children of these immoral wars; the old dying alone; the victims of sexual abuse, many of them children; those being relentlessly hurt by the odious vicious prejudice and hate still thriving in America; those stuck in menial jobs unable to advance or be paid a decent wage and unable to provide for their families. I think of those countless souls along our southern border, caught in a cruel bureaucracy of political games. Fending off criminals and cons and struggling in the elements to protect their small children.

There is hard work to do in this country and across the world. We don’t have time for the nonsense of political sports, these inessential divisions impairing us, the degrading tactics of our President and the shabby, ineffective responses of those who oppose him.

Can we not at least try to be noble in our thoughts and actions? Can we endeavor to make endless attempts to end the demand that we all be alike and give ourselves the freedom to use all of our talents and passions to be good Americans?

We need hard tenderness. One of heart, but also comprehension. One of courage, and conscience. One of compassion, but steel will.

Paraphrasing the poet Anna Akhmatova, "we need a tenderness that is not quiet, but one that rings out, like the first waterfall, that crunches like the crust of blue ice, that prays with a swanlike voice and can break down in tears before our eyes."

We have so much work to do that requires just such a strong warmth and sympathy.

I want to live in a nation that inspires that. One that gets the hard, human work done. Don’t you?

If I had five minutes to evacuate--what would I take with me?

If I was told there was a bomb in my building and I had five minutes to evacuate my apartment I’d grab a grocery bag and quickly toss these items into it: 1. A photo of my grandparents, Mom and Pop and me, when I was 15 years old. I learned what love is made of from them. I learned what it is to be kissed on and hugged in arms so tender they felt like God’s arms. I discovered self worth from those two angels in human flesh. Of all the people in my life, they were the ones who made me feel I counted. Honestly, whatever capacity I have to love others came from them. 2. A sentimental, dog-eared, stars in the margin copy of Pat Conroy’s, “The Prince of Tides.” It is a book I have read three times and often return to for its wisdom. It is a harsh, profoundly tragic novel, the story of a family so broken and tortured by such flawed and wounded people that it is sometimes difficult to turn the next page. And yet it is the story of such Herculean courage and endurance that you want...

I Saw the Delicacy of Life

I was flying Across the deep And I saw the delicacy Of life Wrinkles on the faces Of the old So pure they glistened Like awards The joy of children Running with abandon Their laughter ringing Like chimes in the wind I saw the soft moving waves Across the sea And the trees releasing Their rainbow leaves Birds joined me on my flight And I saw the surface of their wings Adorned with patterns Glorious and unfurled I saw the tears of the sad And the smiles of the glad The suffering in mourning And the celebration of birth As I descended toward the ground Slowly, slowly, softly I saw the gentle grass of the field And smelled the fresh earth It was a perfect landing © 2018 Timothy Moody

Actions Make a Difference

“We make progress in society only if we stop cursing and complaining about its shortcomings and have the courage to do something about them.” ~ Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, Physician/Author Pictured here is Kikuko Shinjo, 89 years old, a survivor of the Hiroshima atomic bomb blast. As a 17-year old nursing student she helped nurse victims of the carnage back to health. Many of them died in her care. She says she holds no grudge against America and encourages interaction between the Japanese and Americans. She has devoted her life to peace, saying, “I want all the people around the world to be friends, and I want to make my country peaceful without fighting.” Today she makes colorful paper cranes and donates them to the Children’s Peace Monument at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park.

The Unclad Soul

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