Can you help me? Math never has been my strong suit. Can you help me?
What is the sum of the following equation:
Number of People Killed in the September 11th Attacks x Terrorists Involved= ???
How many terrorists must be killed in order to avenge--inflict harm in return for (an injury or wrong done to oneself or another)--the deaths of any act of terrorism, or war?
Are we so caught up in justified grief that we are willing to engage in ill-defined actions of retribution?
CBS News is one organization of the Fourth Estate, who has used the phrase, "US hit list" to describe the strategy used to fight terrorism. What does that strategy say regarding the model democracy patriotic Americans strive to present to the rest of the world? Does that strategy speak with integrity?
I am not someone who can quote chapter and verse of the Bible. Innumerable problems have resulted from that practice. With that said, I offer for your consideration the passage from Exodus 21:23-26:
But if injury ensues, you shall give life for life,
Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot,
Burn for burn, stripe for stripe,
Exodus: 21: 23-26
I am not a biblical scholar, I have tremendous difficulty with how the term "patriot" is used in common parlance. I am at peace with how the term "pacifist" is defined. So much so that I describe myself as a pacifist.
Do those facts disqualify me? Do those facts strip me of any credibility, and integrity my conclusions might have?
I hope not.
Is it plausible that families of terrorists pursue peaceful endeavors? What would the effect of avenging death have on the families of terrorists? Are all family members committed to engaging in acts of terrorism?
I have so many questions.
Can you help me to understand?
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
Mermaid Chronicles: Weight of the World
The weight of the world. Goals. Cures.
Taking on the weight of the world is tempting. Being a civic-minded member of society. Being a world citizen. Being a productive employee. Being someone with a good work ethic. Each is a laudable pursuit.
Yet...each of these pursuits in excess dilutes the pursuits--negates the end goal.
This morning, this mermaid went for her morning swim. An hour immersed in clear water. Although I swim in one of four lap lanes, I do not count the laps I swim in numbers' measure. I do not set out to do a prescribed number of specific types of strokes.
I listen. I listen to my body. At a higher pitch than my ears can hear, lighter than my skin can feel, sweeter than any candy, and lighter--more ethereal--than any shadow to see. I listen to my body. I feel her need. Deeper than the deepest pool of water. I feel her need welling within me.
As I put flippers on my feet, to strengthen them further, my feeling of exertion changed. I did not feel the exertion I felt in my shoulders, as I had raised my arms straight up in the air from beneath the water.
I seek no cures. I do my best--not perfect, by any stretch--to live the life I am given each day. I set SMART goals, as they were dubbed in the corporate world in which I worked for more than 24 years.
I swim four mornings a week, one hour each morning. I volunteer doing research at a museum six hours a week, three hours on two afternoons. I work on my blog writing. I work the daily New York Times crossword puzzle.. I do it in pen. I don't finish it often. But...I do it. I enjoy it. I attend to simple household tasks. I use my time--my life's time--constructively. Not for grandiose purposes. But, for purposes that I feel I can give effective voice to bear.
My goals are SMART. Specific. Measurable. Actionable. Realistic. Time-specific.
When I was introduced to the concept of SMART goals, they seemed artificial--contrived. The SMART goals were not for me. They were to satisfy someone else's goals. I was not very effective in setting and achieving SMART goals.
My corporate work life ended--abruptly. Two years after that ending, I have set my SMART goals. Now I am living those goals--My SMART goals. With time, my goals may change. I will listen to the world around me. Yet, I will not allow my keen hearing be deafened by the white noise--the screaming voices ever present in our world
When I am in the water, I float. When I am in the water, I do not feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. Being graced with that privilege is not lost on me.
Taking on the weight of the world is tempting. Being a civic-minded member of society. Being a world citizen. Being a productive employee. Being someone with a good work ethic. Each is a laudable pursuit.
Yet...each of these pursuits in excess dilutes the pursuits--negates the end goal.
This morning, this mermaid went for her morning swim. An hour immersed in clear water. Although I swim in one of four lap lanes, I do not count the laps I swim in numbers' measure. I do not set out to do a prescribed number of specific types of strokes.
I listen. I listen to my body. At a higher pitch than my ears can hear, lighter than my skin can feel, sweeter than any candy, and lighter--more ethereal--than any shadow to see. I listen to my body. I feel her need. Deeper than the deepest pool of water. I feel her need welling within me.
As I put flippers on my feet, to strengthen them further, my feeling of exertion changed. I did not feel the exertion I felt in my shoulders, as I had raised my arms straight up in the air from beneath the water.
I seek no cures. I do my best--not perfect, by any stretch--to live the life I am given each day. I set SMART goals, as they were dubbed in the corporate world in which I worked for more than 24 years.
I swim four mornings a week, one hour each morning. I volunteer doing research at a museum six hours a week, three hours on two afternoons. I work on my blog writing. I work the daily New York Times crossword puzzle.. I do it in pen. I don't finish it often. But...I do it. I enjoy it. I attend to simple household tasks. I use my time--my life's time--constructively. Not for grandiose purposes. But, for purposes that I feel I can give effective voice to bear.
My goals are SMART. Specific. Measurable. Actionable. Realistic. Time-specific.
When I was introduced to the concept of SMART goals, they seemed artificial--contrived. The SMART goals were not for me. They were to satisfy someone else's goals. I was not very effective in setting and achieving SMART goals.
My corporate work life ended--abruptly. Two years after that ending, I have set my SMART goals. Now I am living those goals--My SMART goals. With time, my goals may change. I will listen to the world around me. Yet, I will not allow my keen hearing be deafened by the white noise--the screaming voices ever present in our world
When I am in the water, I float. When I am in the water, I do not feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. Being graced with that privilege is not lost on me.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Zoomer Chronicle: She Rides Again
Zoomer rides again. With television cameras in tow, Zoomer and I rode again today.
We had better success, if you can call it that. I am a masochist, so I do:) Evidence of such is the driver who cut in front of me, who I gave the evil eye as I was crossing. Once I was safely on the sidewalk, I mouthed, "Thank you!"
The producer and photographer positioned themselves across the street from me. Together we documented four drivers, who cut in front of me. The producer indicated that one driver had Illinois license plates.
An unexpected twist left me feeling a tad embarrassed. I crossed Seventh Street on Sibley Street. The intersection is close to the YMCA I frequent. I proceeded across the intersection with little fanfare. Then....unbeknownst to me, a woman in a wheelchair was behind me. As I arrived safely on the sidewalk on the other side of the street, she was there. The woman's presence surprised me. I surprised her. I turned to my right quickly. My intent? To turn around and recross the street. Neither of us was hurt. She was surprised. In an instant, any smugness I might have felt that I was bringing attention to an important issue changed to personal enlightenment. I need to be deliberate in my travel, when I have deliberate intent.
I do feel good about the way today's downtown intersections expedition went.
Just now, the producer contacted me. He said that the story will be aired sometime late next week. I will keep you posted. For local readers--Minneapolis/St. Paul, Minnesota--the story will appear on KSTP TV. I don't know whether or not this will appear on the KSTP website. Zoomer is hoping so. [p.s. It did appear. http://kstp.com/news/stories/s2317400.shtml] After, not only did she appear on camera, but, she was a part of a brief interview. She had fun. So did I:)
We had better success, if you can call it that. I am a masochist, so I do:) Evidence of such is the driver who cut in front of me, who I gave the evil eye as I was crossing. Once I was safely on the sidewalk, I mouthed, "Thank you!"
The producer and photographer positioned themselves across the street from me. Together we documented four drivers, who cut in front of me. The producer indicated that one driver had Illinois license plates.
An unexpected twist left me feeling a tad embarrassed. I crossed Seventh Street on Sibley Street. The intersection is close to the YMCA I frequent. I proceeded across the intersection with little fanfare. Then....unbeknownst to me, a woman in a wheelchair was behind me. As I arrived safely on the sidewalk on the other side of the street, she was there. The woman's presence surprised me. I surprised her. I turned to my right quickly. My intent? To turn around and recross the street. Neither of us was hurt. She was surprised. In an instant, any smugness I might have felt that I was bringing attention to an important issue changed to personal enlightenment. I need to be deliberate in my travel, when I have deliberate intent.
I do feel good about the way today's downtown intersections expedition went.
Just now, the producer contacted me. He said that the story will be aired sometime late next week. I will keep you posted. For local readers--Minneapolis/St. Paul, Minnesota--the story will appear on KSTP TV. I don't know whether or not this will appear on the KSTP website. Zoomer is hoping so. [p.s. It did appear. http://kstp.com/news/stories/s2317400.shtml] After, not only did she appear on camera, but, she was a part of a brief interview. She had fun. So did I:)
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Epilepsy Chronicles: The Pill
Not as you might think, I took The Pill. Not The Pill, but, The Pill, nonetheless. Not as a young woman, but, as a young child--a six-year-old, perhaps.
Born not of an egg, but, of tissue wrapping my left brain--scar tissue. Five times, at birth, my umbilical cord was roped around my neck. Five times, my umbilical cord--my Boa--constricted the flow of oxygen to my brain. The Boa choked the left side of my brain lifeless. The Boa wrapped my brain in tissue--scar tissue.
The Boa damaged my brain for life.
The Boa chokes me. Not satisfied to choke me once for all time, the Boa wraps around my neck
again and again. He charges my brain with surges of electrical energy. Bolts of lightning travel from my brain down through my right arm to my right leg. In thunderous storms, the Boa wraps himself more tightly around the left side of my brain.
As the winner of a bad Miss America contest, the Boa falls into a satin Miss Seizure America sash. Through the satin sash surges the seizures electrical energy. From left side of my brain down across to my right arm and right leg the lightning bolt travels.
Not concerned with my eggs' cycles, my eyes see no further than The Boa's wrap.
Not as you might think, I took The Pill. Not The Pill, but, The Pill, nonetheless. Not as a young woman, but, as a young child--a six-year-old, perhaps.
Not as you might think, I remember, "The First Time."
With great anticipation of an unimaginable "present," I received a gift I did not request--a gift I needed.
I sat at the round, teak, dinning room table. With my brother, sister, and dad, I waited. I looked out the window. On the long driveway, my eyes were fixated. The Saturday morning sunshine lit the auburn, teak dining room table. We sat. We waited. Beyond the blond pocket door, Mom prepared a special breakfast. Pancakes, perhaps. Something to soften what was being forced down my throat.
Before me was presented a pale, yellow-faced pill. A small, triangular pill. Dilantin, Mom tells me. It is chewable. Hmmmm.....What will it taste like.
I place the pill into my mouth. I bite down. Not bad. Not sweet. Not candy. I never liked candy, anyway.
Born not of an egg, but, of tissue wrapping my left brain--scar tissue. Five times, at birth, my umbilical cord was roped around my neck. Five times, my umbilical cord--my Boa--constricted the flow of oxygen to my brain. The Boa choked the left side of my brain lifeless. The Boa wrapped my brain in tissue--scar tissue.
The Boa damaged my brain for life.
The Boa chokes me. Not satisfied to choke me once for all time, the Boa wraps around my neck
again and again. He charges my brain with surges of electrical energy. Bolts of lightning travel from my brain down through my right arm to my right leg. In thunderous storms, the Boa wraps himself more tightly around the left side of my brain.
As the winner of a bad Miss America contest, the Boa falls into a satin Miss Seizure America sash. Through the satin sash surges the seizures electrical energy. From left side of my brain down across to my right arm and right leg the lightning bolt travels.
Not concerned with my eggs' cycles, my eyes see no further than The Boa's wrap.
Not as you might think, I took The Pill. Not The Pill, but, The Pill, nonetheless. Not as a young woman, but, as a young child--a six-year-old, perhaps.
Not as you might think, I remember, "The First Time."
With great anticipation of an unimaginable "present," I received a gift I did not request--a gift I needed.
I sat at the round, teak, dinning room table. With my brother, sister, and dad, I waited. I looked out the window. On the long driveway, my eyes were fixated. The Saturday morning sunshine lit the auburn, teak dining room table. We sat. We waited. Beyond the blond pocket door, Mom prepared a special breakfast. Pancakes, perhaps. Something to soften what was being forced down my throat.
Before me was presented a pale, yellow-faced pill. A small, triangular pill. Dilantin, Mom tells me. It is chewable. Hmmmm.....What will it taste like.
I place the pill into my mouth. I bite down. Not bad. Not sweet. Not candy. I never liked candy, anyway.
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