Pay Attention to the Vertical

In Albuquerque NM visiting SW Acupuncture College, I had planned to stop in Taos for awhile. Something changed my mind. Instead I went to Los Alamos.

This painting is leaving Los Alamos, heading west into the Jemez Mountains where I went for a long hike by myself up into a Juniper forest. I stopped just past a stream for to meditate and rest a bit. I fell asleep and when I awoke the sky had changed. The air had changed. It was pregnant. Oh my it is going to snow. I better book.

When I reached the car, my glasses fell apart and one lens fell into my hand. Mind you this wasn't out in the woods. It was in the car. Somehow I put the lens into the frame and was able to drive down into Jemez Springs where there is an incredible spa with hot, healing water. I got a massage and a meal and when I started back, the rain started.

Now I had done some research in NYC and gotten a contact person ahead of time in Los Alamos to attend a meeting if I wanted. I had called the night before and been told where the meeting was in town. As I was driving down Route 4 the rain intensified. By one of the big mesas, the sky opened for a moment and ethereal light poured through and then shut off and the rain was immense. I got to Los Alamos and realized I had no real idea where I was. The directions, as they do, had no meaning in the heavy rain and the dark.

I was lost. I pulled into the parking lot of an apartment complex and drove through a couple of sections of the lot and pulled into a spot and got out of the car to get oriented. Another car pulled up next to me. A man got out. He said "You're Jon Tupper aren't you." I said, "Well, yes, I am." He said "Follow me."

We went into a comfortable modest apartment and talked about truth and consequences.

Years later, in Orange County NY, because of meeting my friend and brother Dennis B., I had begun to do volunteer work at Mid Orange Correctional Facility.

I thought I'd bring them some wisdom. Ha! What arrogance.
They were allowing me to participate in their healing.
One night a man came in with a really silly grin; he was singing and dancing, yeah, just like Mr. Bojangles. Jimmy Do said "meet Carmine."

Every week, same deal.
At first I just thought he was nuts.
We began to talk though and he listened to me talk about what I thought was going on in the world.

He said "You pay too much attention to the horizontal. The world has always been, is now and always will be corrupt and filled with betrayal and deceit. Pay attention to the vertical, to the Divine, to the Light Of Christ."

That my friends is a daily walk.
I still sometimes pay too much attention to the vertical.
Not tonight though.
Not tonight.

Four inches of snow fell in Los Alamos that night.
Next day I went for a hike in Bayo Canyon to take some photos.
The lady at the B&B said "Just follow the wagon tracks from the last century and you won't get lost." I got lost; there was a series of intersecting loops and I couldn't tell where I was.

So, I did what the guys at the meetings told me to do: I asked for help.
Within ten seconds, two people with a beautiful golden retriever appeared up ahead.
I walked toward them and said I'm lost. Where do you want to go? On the loop or back to the cars? I walked back with them to the cars.

To top all of this off, these folks had been major league anti nuclear folk in Berkeley in the late 60's and had lived in a big commune in the desert in southern NM.

Now, they were both working at the Los Alamos Lab in Nuclear Non-Proliferation.
Grace.
All these God-Instances, formerly known as coincidences are simply Grace.
No thing else.
It behooves me to be grateful.
This is only the start of the story.

Reclamation Project

In the midst of my version of adolescent angst in my hometown, Niskayuna, NY, I somehow served others on the Student Council, and enjoyed it. During my senior year, while I was Student Council President, John Kennedy was killed. The school was completely silent as we left, no one spoke a word on the bus. Somehow, I was able to speak to the student body about it, what he meant, what he left, how we were left and what we could do.

Then Martin and Malcolm were killed.
That was harder.
I didn't do so well.
By that time I had seen a movie called "The War Game" which troubled me terribly.
Then Bobby got shot.
I remember distinctly we were at McIntyre's house across the Genessee River from campus.
We were listening to Blood, Sweat and Tears and somehow someone had a radio or TV on and the news came through.
I remember distinctly I said, "I quit".
And I did.
My heart was broken.
So much loss.
I may have been weak.
I don't care.
That's my truth.

I went far, far away.
Where and how and who I met there is perhaps another story.

It has taken a long time to come back from all the rage, grief and loss, personal as well as public.

Now something is reborn, I am reborn, I am born again.
My heart is being softened.
The antagonism and animosity I bore is being dissolved.
The anxiety lessens daily.

I am seeing anew.
I am grateful.
I have a choice, moment by moment, despite what others may think, say or do.
Yes.

You Can't Say That

It's indeed a transitional time we live in.
Maybe the most dynamic in the history of mankind.
Although, it may be presumptuous to say that as we don't have a record from Atlantis.

Language is fluid now, more changeable than I ever remember it having been.

It is fluid because of e-dialogues: as - online Facebook chatting, internet connections available in hand held devices, satellite connections that span the globe, tweets from Benghazi being monitored by former Special Forces personnel to establish decisions and policy, blogs being created by Christian ministers on the road while participating in teaching seminars and revival prayer meetings.

That is all quite startling, quite beautiful and perhaps alarming.

Alarming like this:
I am a very good driver.
Actually I am a driver by profession.
I drive an International 66 passenger school bus.
Operating that safely at 300 pm with 50 elementary students who've just been released from school is an amazing experience.
However, just because I'm a good and professional driver doesn't mean that if you put me behind the wheel of a Porsche 911 at Limerock that I'm going to ace the course.
On the contrary. A sit down with Tommy, my mechanic who sells and drives Porsches, at least a once through on all the controls and a little bit of time to feel the suspension, the steering, the clutch, the brakes, the gear ratios, the power - that's all a good idea.

Just because I'm a good driver in a school bus doesn't mean I can handle a Porsche 911 at speed.

In a similar fashion, just because we all can dial 999-999-9999, the number for the Indian Point Test Alarm Alert System doesn't mean handling the power of unlimited access to all images, total instant communication, and all information at all due speed at any time from most places on the globe is an easy adaptation.

There are some things you can't say:
Do not say "I talk with God" while at the psychiatrist.
That's something to say while witnessing or sharing with a trusted friend or a fellow choir member.
Do not say "I have chest pain" while at one's yearly physical.
Without, that is, being prepared for a four hour stay in at least the emergency room.
Do not say "Hezbollah" anywhere.
Do not say "Nuclear energy" at a party.
Do not swear on the school bus, unless of course, you are a student,
in which case there will be some warnings given about appropriate language on the bus.
Do not say "I am a member of ZZ, the twelve step recovery group" on the radio.
Do not say pejorative ethnic slangz unless one is of the ethnicity.

Here's what I can say:
Unplug the TV;
Talk with each other;
Listen to each other;

Have a garden, everyone, a victory garden - for heaven's sake we're in a war on terror - everyone's involved in that - so grow a garden - grow your own food. Yes, everyone can do that. Take some lawn and rent a Roto Tiller and get some cruciferous seeds and plant them and water them and eat the food you've grown yourself.

Buy stuff from locally owned shops, on purpose - go there on purpose - make it a point to choose the small pharmacy guy - CVS won't disappear - they've got plenty of customers.
Go to that new cafe and have a smoothie with some espresso and run home.
Write a song
Sing
Read
Slow down on the highway
Get a Bicycle
Start your own business
And by all means, text your daughters and sons and tell them you love them.
Get an amen?
Om Shantih?
Servusz?
A tout a l'heures?

Boundaries

We're on a bridge.
Between Manchuria and Russia.
It's cold outside and snowing.
Too many people are texting.
They're missing something: we can't figure out which language to use.
Russian or Manchurian.
There's a Tibetan monk here, Tzochen Rimpoche.
He's laughing.
The one culture espouses one set of beliefs and the other another set.
It's confusing.
There's a Green Beret ODA here too.
They're on horseback.
"Hey, you guys, what's up? How do you know?"
"You have to inquire within yourself. Then you can stand still in the earthquake
and radioactivity."
Odd, that is virtually what Tzochen Rimpoche just said.
It's not exactly self reliance.
It's knowing one's own heart that expands one's soul to include others.
Then the language is facile and people get it even if the words don't quite fit.
The sense comes through the tone, not the particulars.
They can be worked out in the relationship.
No one has to be left on the bridge, or caught in the cultural intersections
that are occurring everywhere at once.
Staying with the e-devices and texting, messaging, gaming, linking, googling
all lend to being stuck on the bridge and hurt at the intersection.
Holy Cow, I didn't see the light change and that truck just nailed my Lexus.
Easy Does It.
Singing works when the power is out.
We can get along without email and the net.
Just observe.