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.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Zoomer Chronicles: A Door Opens
Just now, I responded to a survey from Macy's. I left my name number, and my willingness to address a problem.
Several months ago, Zoomer and I tried to leave Macy's Department Store. First, Zoomer had great difficulty navigating the clothing racks that masked the handicap door open button. Once we found our way through the forest, we wheeled back to the door to exit the store. Before we could get out safely, the door started to close on us.
We were stuck. I sat there for a bit. How is the best way to move?
Slowly and deliberately. Slowly, I back up. I press the button again. We hurry to get back into position. We got through the door. But, I was scared. How much I can I trust this door? How much can I trust this door to get outside?
I recognize that Zoomer and I have been together since mid-April of this year. Many, many individuals have navigated these issues for years.
There is a balance to be found between being frustrated, and seeking a constructive resolution. I think I am closer to the constructive-resolution end of the continuum.
Wintertime. I don't know whether I will move more toward frustrated end of the continuum, or beyond frustration. Memories of last winter--last winter's snow, particularly--concern me. I don't know whether I will be able to get out.
I don't want to become embittered by fear, and be blinded to the glory of a fiery red maple tree.
Several months ago, Zoomer and I tried to leave Macy's Department Store. First, Zoomer had great difficulty navigating the clothing racks that masked the handicap door open button. Once we found our way through the forest, we wheeled back to the door to exit the store. Before we could get out safely, the door started to close on us.
We were stuck. I sat there for a bit. How is the best way to move?
Slowly and deliberately. Slowly, I back up. I press the button again. We hurry to get back into position. We got through the door. But, I was scared. How much I can I trust this door? How much can I trust this door to get outside?
I recognize that Zoomer and I have been together since mid-April of this year. Many, many individuals have navigated these issues for years.
There is a balance to be found between being frustrated, and seeking a constructive resolution. I think I am closer to the constructive-resolution end of the continuum.
Wintertime. I don't know whether I will move more toward frustrated end of the continuum, or beyond frustration. Memories of last winter--last winter's snow, particularly--concern me. I don't know whether I will be able to get out.
I don't want to become embittered by fear, and be blinded to the glory of a fiery red maple tree.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Information
What information do governments share? To natives, to world citizens? Do we listen? Or, do we presume that government information is suspect, by virtue of its connection to political bodies?
The less coverage given by our own media, the more important it is that we know what information sources are available to natives of a foreign country.
I am fascinated by the many sources of information. Discerning the veracity of that information intrigues me.
I was raised in a democracy. Within that democracy, my family, friends, and culture instilled in me the belief that there are channels of government--channels within the community--to address problems. I witnessed civil service close to home.
Cynicism about government is not a part of my composition. Any cynicism I might have is channeled into my votes for candidates with more positive--more constructive organizations. Any endorsements I give to voting against a candidate, rather than for a candidate with a different view only serve to delay resolution of the problems at hand. Time is precious. We may ill afford such delays. That is not to say that decisions should be made hastily. Quite to the contrary. Decisions need to be made with due deliberation.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
A Mermaid's Tone
Muscle tone. Not of a body builder. Muscle tone. A Mermaid's Tone.
I hope for it. I will it to be. I pray with fervor that it be--all mine. Yet, hope, will, and prayer are not God's promise to me. Yet, I must hope. I must will it. I must pray.
Arms arise skyward. Into the pool's water they plunge. Alternating. One, then the other, as oars in a river's current. From my shoulders, this mermaid's oars are anchored.
Arms outstretched. Wrists pulled together. With the force of a magnet, their cymbals clash. With a strong will, her wrists resist the temptation of a lifelong embrace. The force of her forearms cry out.
"Strengthen me. Use me. Believe in me. Do not waste my muscles. Use me. Do not will my muscles to be withering, dying willows. Use me. Teach me to reach outward--to branch out-- to blossom in full glory."
The Mermaid's biceps believe. Though not her eyes, the Mermaid's biceps believe in the vision--A Muscle's Tone. With their tissues, the biceps connect the oars to the force of the forearms.
The Mermaid's calves circle on the water's unicycle. On her back, she floats. The Mermaid's ankles pedal. Her feet flutter. The Mermaid's thighs push toward a toned spirit. Not atrophy. The Mermaid paddles toward a Muscle's Tone.
I seek not the strength of the Bodybuilder. I am the Mermaid. I seek the strength of a Muscle's Tone. No boorish bravado do I seek. I seek a softer strength. Not submissive. Not boastful.
I am a Mermaid. I seek a Mermaid's Tone.
I hope for it. I will it to be. I pray with fervor that it be--all mine. Yet, hope, will, and prayer are not God's promise to me. Yet, I must hope. I must will it. I must pray.
Arms arise skyward. Into the pool's water they plunge. Alternating. One, then the other, as oars in a river's current. From my shoulders, this mermaid's oars are anchored.
Arms outstretched. Wrists pulled together. With the force of a magnet, their cymbals clash. With a strong will, her wrists resist the temptation of a lifelong embrace. The force of her forearms cry out.
"Strengthen me. Use me. Believe in me. Do not waste my muscles. Use me. Do not will my muscles to be withering, dying willows. Use me. Teach me to reach outward--to branch out-- to blossom in full glory."
The Mermaid's biceps believe. Though not her eyes, the Mermaid's biceps believe in the vision--A Muscle's Tone. With their tissues, the biceps connect the oars to the force of the forearms.
The Mermaid's calves circle on the water's unicycle. On her back, she floats. The Mermaid's ankles pedal. Her feet flutter. The Mermaid's thighs push toward a toned spirit. Not atrophy. The Mermaid paddles toward a Muscle's Tone.
I seek not the strength of the Bodybuilder. I am the Mermaid. I seek the strength of a Muscle's Tone. No boorish bravado do I seek. I seek a softer strength. Not submissive. Not boastful.
I am a Mermaid. I seek a Mermaid's Tone.
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