The Unclad Soul

“When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me / Speaking words of wisdom, let it be / And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me / Speaking words of wisdom, let it be… And when the broken-hearted people living in the world agree / There will be an answer, let it be / For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see / There will be an answer, let it be… And when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines on me / Shine until tomorrow, let it be / I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary comes to me / Speaking words of wisdom, let it be / Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah, let it be / There will be an answer, let it be…” That is a song written by Paul McCartney after the death of his mother, Mary. She had come to him in a dream at a difficult time in his life and told him to let it be, that things would be okay Let it be. For the longest time, I thought that was all the song was about, ...

I saw him as I pumped gas in my car at the Shell Station. It was hot outside and he was sitting in the shade in front of the convenience store. An older man, thin, African American, with a scruffy two or three-day growth of white stubble and shaggy salt and pepper hair. As I walked into the convenience store to get a soft drink he smiled at me with uneven teeth. There was a warmth in his smile. He didn’t ask for anything. But I knew he was there to accept any change anyone might give him. I returned to my air-conditioned car and stared at him for a minute. As I drove out I went around to where he was and rolled down my window. I motioned for him to come over. He slowly got up and walked to my car. “Yes sir?” he said. I handed him some cash and said, “What is your name, friend?“ He said, “Carl.” I said, “You have a good day, Carl.” He smiled and put his hands together and bowed and said, “Oh, God bless you, sir. God bless you.” I don’t know his situation. But whatever it is I f...

I admit I’m in love with Lady Gaga. I know, it’s silly to say it, and of course when I say, “in love,” I mean something more than a foolish fantasy. I’m convinced she has one of the purest voices of today’s crowded talent of musicians and performers. When she sang the National Anthem (you can see it on youtube) in 2016 at Super Bowl 50, I was mesmerized. Patriotism and all the pseudo hype that goes with it these days falls flat for me most of the time. But her performance made me want to cheer or salute or something. It was a powerful moment. Her song, “Joanne,” which she performed at last Sunday’s Grammys, was dedicated, she said, to her father’s sister, Joanne. Again, it was sung with so much passion and precision, while she played the piano and was accompanied on guitar by her album producer Mark Ronson. In spite of her past outrageous outfits, masks, wigs, get-ups, and other brazen acts of defiance, protest, or whatever else she was feeling at the time, she remains a phen...

One of my Facebook friends posted a comment about my recent essay on the HBO series, Deadwood. He stated that he stopped watching the program because of the excessive use of the f-word in the episodes he saw. He considered it a sign that the writers don’t “have the skills to express thought other than shock. ” I agree that the series overuses the word as well as some other pretty raunchy ones. But I cannot agree that it is because of any lack of skill from the writers. In fact, I think the writing is brilliant.   Deadwood is about a raw, unruly town of endlessly muddy streets, soiled revolting men, the subjugation and debasement of women, corruption and scheming so widespread hardly anyone is honest. It’s a drab, filthy town of derelicts and degenerates, con men, and crackpots. Al Swearingen (Ian McShane) owns the Gem Saloon and Brothel and he’s about the vilest character you’d find in an HBO series. He seems invincible in spite of a brutal beating by Sheriff Seth...

"I've learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow. I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. I've learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life. I've learned that making a ‘living’ is not the same thing as making a ‘life.’ I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance. I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back. I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision. I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one. I've learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a ...

I visited my brother, Jim, in Oklahoma City this week. I have mentioned here that he has myotonic dystrophy, a slow degenerative disease of the muscles. He fell a few months ago and has been recovering. He is now in a nursing center and will not be able to return to his home where he lived alone. Because the lungs are muscles too, his are weak and failing. So he is on oxygen now around the clock. He wears one of those small tubes inserted in his nostrils that wrap around his ears. You don’t notice it after a while. I hope he doesn’t either, though at times, his breathing is labored. He does notice that, as I do, and my heart wilts momentarily for him until the air returns smoothly again. We had a good visit. We of course talked politics, how does anyone avoid that after the national shame we’ve all endured? He did not vote. He was struggling with his injury and simply was not able to absentee vote. But we talked about how he would have voted and how I voted. It was a good disc...

I Took My Daughter to the End of the World I took my daughter to the end of the world And showed her the carnage and death We walked through the ruins of Syria and Iraq And we saw things no humans should see There were children in blood and mothers in tears And fathers alone in the streets Bombs were falling not far away While the rubble and chaos   were   near There were screams of pain There were screams of fear And my daughter said, Daddy, Why is this happening here? And back in the States where the power resides People don’t think of the end of the world We’re taking vacations on beautiful beaches And buying new cars and sleeping in peace Our homes are intact and there’s plenty of food There are concerts to attend and ballgames to watch Our politicians grow old in their greed and indifference While the Church sings its empty hallelujahs The people with influence who could make something happen Do nothin...

“When I got home I mixed a stiff one and stood by the open window in the living room and sipped it and listened to the groundswell of traffic on Laurel Canyon Boulevard and looked at the glare of the big angry city hanging over the shoulder of the hills through which the boulevard had been cut. Far off the banshee wail of police or fire sirens rose and fell, never for very long completely silent. Out there in the night of a thousand crimes, people were dying, being maimed, cut by flying glass, crushed against steering wheels or under heavy tires. People were being beaten, robbed, strangled, raped, and murdered. People were hungry, sick; bored, desperate with loneliness or remorse or fear; angry, cruel, feverish, shaken by sobs. A city no worse than others, a city rich and vigorous and full of pride, a city lost and beaten and full of emptiness. It all depends on where you sit and what your private score is.” ~ Excerpt from Raymond Chandler’s The Long Goodbye

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. In Jesus’ day mourning was serious business. People suffering loss or some inner wound would go out into the streets and tear at their clothing. They would scream and weep in agony. They would gather a handful of dirt and pour it over their heads and let it mingle in their tears. It was a sign of their connection with their mortality, their belonging to the earth where sorrow breeds. They would wrap themselves in the arms of others. They didn’t lose themselves in mindless work or distract themselves in foolish activity. Grieving hurt. Mourning meant something. And I think what Jesus is saying here is: be open to the wounds of the world and to your own. Mourn the hurting of people and when you yourself hurt. Weep over the suffering of humanity and your suffering, too. Don’t hide from it. Don’t attempt to chase it away with meaningless clichés or empty escapes. Feel it and be moved. We are to mourn the deaths of those we l...

 "It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it." ~ Oriah Mountain Dreamer, Writer/Mystic

“You are that which you are seeking.”  – St. Francis of Assisi, Catholic Mystic

“For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn't understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.” ― Cynthia Occelli, Author/Attorney/Blogger

In a magnificent poem by Stephen Dunn there are these lines: “The world thought I didn’t understand it, but I did, knew that to parse was to narrow and to narrow was to live one good way. Awash with desire I also knew a little was plenty and more than I deserved. And because I was guilty long before any verdict, my dreams unspeakable, I hunkered down and buttoned up, ready to give the world, if I had to give it anything, no more than a closed-mouth kiss.” It is that closing off to the world, to people, to ourselves, that diminishes life. The world thinks we don’t understand this, but we do. We just too often don’t admit it to ourselves. It is a scary business to live wide open, exposed, accessible, revealing our true thoughts and living by longings and knowledge, insights and beliefs and identity we own and refuse to deny or disguise. How easy it is though, how tempting, to give in to the pressure to live “hunkered down and buttoned u...

For a long time I have been taken with Whitney Houston’s 2009 video of her song, “I Look to You.” I often return to it for some kind of connection which I’m really not sure of.  I think it must be her vulnerability. Or mine. And there is something that feels so fragile about her in this one. I feel compassion when I watch it. The video has a simple setting. She begins in shadows sitting in a chair. As the song opens soft light reveals her in a flowing silk dress. Her head is bowed. Her features troubled. And though her face is luminous, there is weariness in her eyes. She sings, “As I lay me down/Heaven hear me now/I’m lost without a cause/After giving it my all/Winter storms have come/And darkened my sun/After all that I’ve been through/Who on earth can I turn to?/I look to you” The most awarded female performer of all time, according to Guinness World Records, she nevertheless often lived a life tormented by inner urges she could not control, by an injured soul that ...

This comment is the best I've seen so far regarding the Boston tragedy. It comes from retired Anglican Bishop the Rev. Steven Charleston. It was posted on my friend Dale McNeil's page. "Why? Why the pointless cruelty, O God? Why the premeditated evil that comes to bring death, pain and sorrow to innocent lives and leaves us stunned to imagine a heart so cold it could conceive such an act? We cannot understand it, God, we cannot make sense of the senseless. And how should we respond even if we did understand? Tooth for tooth, eye for eye, would it end the madness or return the lost to live again? Come, Spirit of God, come stand with us in this darkness. Hold the fallen in your arms. Heal the injured. Comfort the broken-hearted. And if you cannot tell us why we do this to ourselves, show us how to love more deeply, that such pain will never be the final word, but rather mercy that needs no explanation."

While looking out my office window the other day a Cardinal landed very gracefully on my window sill. Dressed in its flaming red feathers with its black mask around its face it just sat there staring at me. I waited for it to say something. Most birds bob their heads around in a kind of jerky way looking up and down and around. But this one kept its head very still and just looked right at me. It seemed very intent as though it was bringing me a message. I couldn’t help thinking: what a majestic creature. I said hello and it flew away. Only the male Cardinal is covered in brilliant red. The female wears a very fashionable tan and gray and they are beautiful, too. Cardinals are considered songbirds because they love to sing. They are very social, too, and are often found in groups of other birds different from their own species. I guess that striking color gives them a sense of presence. Like one of those people who always seems to fit in any crowd. I suppose it would...

There is a new television series on FOX that aired this week called “Touch.” It is about a broken man whose wife died in one of the towers on 911 and about their 11-year old son who is autistic. The boy has never spoken a word and lives in a world of numbers he writes incessantly in one notebook after another. He is brilliant and loving but lives isolated inside his mind. His father tries desperately to connect with him. The first episode reveals that the boy possesses remarkable gifts and through a series of related events is able to influence the destinies of others. In his own limited way he wants so much to include his father in his silent life and make him a partner in his gifts. His father’s love and determination pays off and allows him to understand these gifts and eventually find a way to communicate with him. I totally bought into the show and to the heroic attempts of this father to connect with his son. Our children are our greatest personal resources. They a...

I saw “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” over the holidays. I had already seen the original Swedish movie. In fact, I’ve seen all three of the Swedish films and they are all terrific. The English version of the first one is equally good. I liked Daniel Craig as Mikael Bloomkvist, the intrepid journalist and owner of Millenium magazine, a magazine that gets at the truth of things and exposes all of those nasty realities that most people don’t want to read about, like corrupt politicians and corporations and how they destroy people. I thought Rooney Mara, who plays Lisbeth Salandar, the genius geek and computer hacker who is not to be messed with, was excellent. I didn’t think there was any way she could be as good as the original Lisbeth played by actress Noomie Rapace who is in the latest Sherlock Holmes movie. But Mara held her own. The story is complicated and filled with endless fascinating details but basically Bloomkvist and Lisbeth eventually team up to try and find out...