The Unclad Soul

There is a wonderful native American tale told in the Ken Burns series, The West. Seven siblings are playing. Six girls and one boy. The boy pretends he’s a bear chasing the girls and they pretend to be afraid. Then the boy actually becomes a bear and the girls are then actually frightened. They run past a tree, and the tree tells them to climb up, that it will keep them safe. The girls climb into the tree. The bear claws all the bark off the base of the tree. But the tree only rises higher carrying the girls into the sky until they become stars in the Big Dipper. The greatest lessons in life always bring us back to nature, to the land and the sky, to the place of our origin. What happens when our peers, our protectors, turn against us? We run to the safety of what we instinctively know to be good and right. We go into the arms of nature, to what we can see and feel. And, we also go into the mystery of the spirit world, into what we know deep inside us is of authentic value....

While walking the track the other morning at the large high school behind where I live, I saw something that disturbed me. As I was making a turn there was a small group of boys at the end of the football field that is in the middle of the track. Standing far above the others was a big kid, maybe 6’2’, 250 pounds. He was waving something in his hand. There was a much smaller boy a few feet in front of him with his hands up in front of him. From a distance, I thought the big kid had a small football in his hand because he was waving the smaller boy out onto the field as though to catch something. Just as I got near them, I saw the big kid had a cell phone in his hand. He threw it long and high in the air. The smaller kid was awkwardly running to catch it, but it hit hard on the ground and bounced twice. The big kid just laughed along with the others and walked off. The smaller kid picked up his phone, put it in his pocket, and walked over to the group and sheepishly stood wi...

Ingrid and her cousin Hannah and I walked the entire March For Your Lives in Dallas last Saturday. Ingrid was a bit hesitant when I invited her to join me. She was afraid there might be problems. Maybe a bomb. Or violent protestors. Or a shooter. I told her there would be plenty of police and security, though I knew in my own mind there are always risks at these kinds of events. She decided to go and Hannah came with us as well. I wanted the girls to have a sense of social conscience, to be a part of something historic and hopefully, a catalyst for change in our violent weary nation. The crowd was energetic, diverse, and respectful. There were chants and tons of creative signs and posters. There were ongoing conversations in the crowd. I sensed that people are genuinely worried about our nation. And they want change. Now. I never saw one protestor. There were no hecklers or angry people pushing back against the march. That says to me that most people realize something ...

What would a perfect world look like? I don’t know. Probably very sterile and boring. I don’t really want a perfect world. I’d be happy with just a humane one. Dictionary.com defines humane as, “characterized by tenderness, compassion, and sympathy for people and animals; especially for the suffering or distressed: acting in a manner that causes the least harm to people or animals.” When I was a boy I used to spend a few days with my paternal grandparents whom I called Nana and Granddad. They were both gentle souls, quiet, kind people. One afternoon after Nana had fixed me lunch in the kitchen and I had finished eating, I took my plate to the sink to wash it. I noticed a small spider on the window sill and asked Nana for the flyswatter so I could kill it. She said, “Oh honey, don’t hurt it. It’s not poisonous. It’s not bothering anyone. And it will eventually find its way outside.” I will never forget how at that moment I started feeling a deeper sense of compassion fo...

Now that the murdering of 17 students at Marjorie Stoneman Douglas High School, in Parkland, Florida, has more fully registered on us, most Americans remain stunned. We are stunned that in this country of ours we still have a government that refuses to do anything about gun violence. The flimsy, tone deaf comments of politicians about this horror seem worthless. They are finally starting to talk about mostly cosmetic changes in the law but I’m skeptical of anything significant. We are stunned that our president has been mostly silent, unwilling or incapable of a simple sign of outrage over the senseless massacre of helpless teenagers at school. He is beginning to make gestures about passing new legislation, but I'm waiting to see if any changes are made. We are stunned that an organization like the NRA (National Rifle Association) has the unlimited power to dominate and control our elected legislators. We are stunned by our political leaders’ greed and their cowardice. We are ...

Stephen Paddock, the mass murderer in Las Vegas, continues to puzzle law enforcement and investigators. He will most likely never be understood. As I mentioned in my last essay and blog post, I think we have to seriously rethink our humanity, and consider how vulnerable we all are both personally and as a society, to the deadly effects of mental illness. This is not something new, and it is not something that will go away. I have no confidence in our political system to do anything useful regarding gun legislation. Congress will talk about it, offer their empty prayers to victims, and say perhaps the gun issue needs to be looked at. But the NRA has a death grip on Congress and state legislators across the nation. The NRA controls gun manufacturing, gun sales, and the gun lobby. Nothing will change there. Money, and lots of it, fuels our political system. Not the safety of the nation. Not the value of our children. Not the security of special events outdoors or indoors. The...

I was sitting outside at a Taco spot downtown in the Farmer’s Market area having lunch. I could see the Dallas skyline just a few blocks from me in the background and I thought of the chaos in our city last week in the aftermath of the killing of five police officers by a deranged gunman at the end of a Black Lives Matter protest walk. He was not a part of that peaceful demonstration. But on this day the sun was shining and there was a nice breeze. All seemed quiet and normal. People were coming and going in the usual routines of the day. A small Farmer’s Market bus pulled into the parking lot and picked up a couple of riders. As it drove away I saw a slogan on the back of it that said something about the Market’s fine produce and foods and then, in big letters, there was this: “Cultivating Life.” That’s a lovely brand for a produce market and restaurant area. It would also be a terrific theme for all of Dallas or any great city. The work of a large urban metropolis should be ...

The world today aches. It trembles with pain. It longs for something kind and good and human. People are tired. Worn down by the hatred of cold and calculating tactics of the powerful. Weary to the point of despair because of an unfair and unjust system that works only for the few, for people with influence and wealth and who alone pull all of the essential levers of life, always in their favor. Most of our modern world, including America, is lost in a sea of corrupt financial vandalism. The greed of the powerful knows no limit. Although that greed is primarily carried out by polished men in expensive suits whose lives glitter in luxury and extravagance, their greed nonetheless oozes out of them like a foul discharge. Their Joker smiles betray any attempt at normalcy. Their giddy gluttony is not the attractive superiority they boast or they presume. Instead it pollutes and harms and ruins. And for many if not most of them their wealth is by no means a sign of high intelligence or ...

If we have any feelings at all injustice has a feel to it. It digs deep within us and causes pain. It gnaws and twists and our insides growl in disgust. It feels ugly and foul and obscene. We see it and we wince. We think to ourselves, God, look at that. That is viciously wrong. That is grossly unfair. That is inhuman. We feel that. We feel it deep within us. If we don’t then injustice is ignored and injustice ignored allows evil to exist. It shrugs its shoulders at the sight of monstrous wrongs. It is bored with something being right, being fair, being equal. It yawns while the blood of the innocent spills slowly in front of it. Injustice is not moved by violence or death. Injustice turns away disinterested. Injustice thrives on excusing itself of responsibility. It elevates itself above laws or rights or decency. It struts. It grins. It believes it is invincible. It was injustice that cleared Ferguson, Missouri police officer Darren Wilson of any crime for killing unarme...

I am a prisoner of Richard Martinez’s haunting words at the brief press conference last Saturday where he poured out his heart about the senseless death of his son Chris who was murdered last Friday in Santa Barbara, California. I cannot escape his emotional words. Choking with grief, consumed with rage, he passionately asked why his son had to die for nothing. Christopher Martinez and five others killed by a gun obsessed, volatile and deranged classmate, were all students at the University of California, Santa Barbara.  Chris was 20 years old. At the press conference his father said, “Chris was a really great kid. Ask anyone who knew him. His death has left our family lost and broken. Why did Chris die? Chris died because of craven, irresponsible politicians and the NRA. They talk about gun rights. What about Chris’s right to live? When will this insanity stop? When will enough people say, ‘Stop this madness!’ Too many have died. We should say to ourselves, ‘Not one more!’” ...

Ingrid and I were strolling through Macy’s on our way to the food court in NorthPark mall. We walked by the men’s cologne section and I decided to stop to see if there was anything new on the shelves. I sniffed around a few things and finally sprayed on a little True Religion. It’s been around for awhile but I liked the scent. The rest of the afternoon whenever I would get a whiff of the cologne I kept thinking about the whole idea of true religion. I spent a lot of years studying religion, talking and writing about it, trying to figure out its mysteries and contradictions, its deep thoughts and arbitrary rules, its beautiful ideas and ugly prejudices. I am a Christian by family tradition, by parental influence, by focused exposure, by environmental coincidence, and as an adult, by choice. Had I grown up in India or Iran, Africa or China, Russia or Israel, I’m sure I would be something else. I do not believe any of us are destined or foreordained to be a Christian or to fo...