A successful blog should be short, stick to theme, and express strong opinions. I suppose one has to want to be a successful blogger. If I change my mind, I'll write in a brief, pithy fashion about IPhones, Viagra, the World Wrestling Federation, Miley Cyrus, wrinkle cream, penis growth, weight loss, Jesus, classic Elvis recordings, keeping out immigrants, guns, stopping abortion, making money without working, naughty housewives, and pork bellies.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Agent Provocateur
Agent Provocateur. From the 19th century French: literally "provocative agent". I can be really bad. Yo estoy malito. Right after the Shavasana final Yoga relaxation pose today, two male students start on baseball and their favorite teams. This is just where I want to go after meditation. So one says, "My brother loves the St. Louis Cardinals and I have a bet with him". I chime in, "the only thing you can bet on in St, Louis is how many more black teenagers the police are going to kill this year". He says," that's a little harsh." I say, "what's harsh is that they killed him with his hands in the air." I am très obnoxious; baseball fans deserve their practice, too. Obviously, I need more Yoga. Alas, said the Bard, "get thee to a [monastery]."
Sunday, October 5, 2014
See Paris First
SEE PARIS FIRST
Suppose what you fear,
could be trapped,
and held in Paris.
Then you would have the courage,
to go everywhere in the world.
All the directions of the compass,
open to you,
except the degrees east or west,
of true north,
that lead to Paris.
Still, you wouldn’t dare,
to put your toes smack dab,
on the city limit line.
And you’re not really willing to stand on a mountainside,
miles away,
and watch the Paris lights,
come up at night.
And just to be on the safe side, you decide to stay completely,
out of France.
But then danger,
seems too close,
even to those boundaries,
and you feel the timid part of you,
covering the whole globe again.
who learns your secret and says,
“See Paris first.”
The Moment
View of Little Bighorn Battlefield, Montana
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,...
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.
No, they whisper.
You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.
--Margaret Atwood
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.
No, they whisper.
You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.
--Margaret Atwood
Elena Brower
Belonging
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.”
- Max Ehrmann
- Max Ehrmann
Our Israelites
The question remains, do you remember the days of slavery?* At eleven I had no idea what "Israelites" Desmond Dekker was talking about, except, that in my little head, I was one of them. We had celebrated Passover only a couple months before and all I was thinking about were the Exodus and Promised Land stories. Well, it wasn't coincidence that so was Desmond Dekker.
*see Burning Spear.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Manny Padron: Autobiographical Essay
Manny Padrón
Mrs.
Garrity/ Mrs.Borrenstein
English
II
17 January
2014
Benchmark Essay
Atticus Finch said, “you never really understand a person until you consider things from his point view-until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” In my life this quote means so much; coming from a dictatorship like Cuba it’s harder than people think.
On the exact date of March 6, 1998 my life began, and from then on my life would be a rough rollercoaster ride. By the time I could walk and talk my parents were divorced so I never really had an idea of what a true happy family looked like. I still remember having to go from house to house between my mom and dad’s house. I would always cry when I was away from either one of them, I used to miss my mom when I was with my Dad and vice-versa. Between all of the moving, leaving, and crying I had a little bit of depression. As a little kid, I would love being with all of my family and it hurt me a lot knowing that it could not happen all the time. I remember being happier with my Dad instead of my mom because he would let me do anything I chose to do and he would always keep me safe. Being with my Mom would be rough because she, at the time, lived with an abusive boyfriend and he would mostly hit her in front of me and I remember doing everything I could to get him off of her and I would cry so many times a day because of that. Sometimes he would try to threaten me and my mom would yell and tell him not to touch me so he got mad at her. One time he told my mom that he would kill my uncle and that’s when my mom and I knew it was time to get out and put him behind bars. I remember exactly how we got him arrested because it was so cool to me. We went to the police and told them the story and they told us what to do. We were instructed to put a brick outside the steps when the guy was home. In the middle of the day he came home and I put the brick on the stairs. When we were all about to fall asleep we heard a helicopter above us and they said in Spanish “we have you surrounded come out with your hands up,” and then the ground troops came in and took him away. I remember being so happy I hugged my mom and we cried tears of joy. To this day I think about those days and say to myself I wish he would try to do something like that now.
After that problem was out of my life I still had more problems. I never really had my own bed; I would sleep on hammock and I also could not drink the water because it was dirty. My mom used to be so stressed that when I did something wrong she would hit me and scream at me but my Grandma would always save me because I was her favorite grandson. I would see my dad only a couple times a month and my feelings kept getting hurt over and over. After a year or so I was suddenly getting happier; I began seeing my father more and being with all of my family and having fun.
Then suddenly a man my Mom met by the beach came to our house one day. He introduced himself to me as David and as soon as I saw him I loved him; he made me happy. When he was around I would never cry; I would always laugh and smile; even when I got mad and put a frown on my face he would sing me a special song. The song would go something like this, “you cannot cover the sun with one finger; the truth is the truth; so don’t frown at me.” Although it sounds better in Spanish it always put a smile on my face. From the day my mother met David she would always be happy and calm. As the days passed I would see him regularly and I began to love him as my real dad, he would show me so much love and affection that not even my own family could give me. He was basically my savior and my new hope for a better life.
My mom later got serious with him and ended up marrying him. I, of course, was the ring boy at the marriage. A year or so later he told us that he wanted to take us to America. I was not happy leaving my family but it was up to my mom and my dad also agreed because he knew I would have a better life there. My father spoke to David about keeping me safe and making sure he makes the right decisions.
Later in the year my Mom, David, and I got on a plane to the U.S and when we got there I had a weird feeling. For some reason I was feeling cold. As a boy from Cuba where it is always hot I thought I was sick. When we got out of the airport I saw white colored drops coming from above. I stuck my tongue out and tried to eat them. David laughed and told me that it was not food and we got into his car and left to some place called a house. At this place I had my own bed and room! I was happy being in America.
After a few years in America it all seemed to be going so well until my mom decided that she wanted to live with her cousin instead of David. When she was about to leave she was crying and looked at me and said the most painful words I have ever heard, “are you coming with me or are you staying with David?” I didn’t know what to do. I loved them both. I was stuck between my mother and my stepdad. I wanted to go with her but I had friends where I lived and I had started school already, plus I had better opportunities with David so I ended up saying “David.”
At present, I barely see my mom but we speak every day. My father lives in Cuba still and so does the rest of my family. David has been my biggest supporter throughout my hard life and we get along fine. But the things I deal with still hurt. When people look at me they automatically assume that I am a delinquent and that I don’t care about anything. To be honest I am none of that. I am just a person who has been to hell and back, so like a turtle, I keep my outer shell hard so that my inner weakness does not show. So this is why the quote, “you never really understand a person until you consider things from his point view [and] you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it,” means so much to me because people think they know what I am all about and try to judge, but they have no idea what I have been through and still am going through.
Works Cited
Lee, Harper. To Kill a Mockingbird. New York: HarperPerennial (1930]). p. 85-87
Sunday, December 15, 2013
A Review of "Sacrificial Ceremonies of Santeria: A Complete Guide to the Rituals and Practices," by Ocha' Ni Lele (2012)
A Review of "Sacrificial Ceremonies of Santeria: A Complete Guide to the Rituals and Practices," by Ocha' Ni Lele (2012). By David H. Brown (original for Amazon).
The list of works in English on "Santeria" (alt. Lukumi Religion) has become extensiv...e. Newcomers value careful introductions, yet the majority of works published have given us introductions. The historiography is reasonably rich and the offerings reasonably accessible via Amazon and libraries. The writer has provided a number of clearly written, though controversial, prior books on Santeria. Arguably, now, priests and lay-people hunger for depth, nuance, and development of theme. Hence, "Sacrificial Ceremonies" and "A Complete Guide to the Rituals and Practices" in the title and subtitle quickly drew my attention.
Systematic treatments of this particular subject are few; what exists is dispersed among numerous hard-to-find "treatises" of the Lukumi religion, most of which are in difficult Cuban Spanish, which few can read at all; moreover these authors intentionally withhold crucial information to guard their knowledge base and exclude others.
In the book at hand, the terms "ceremonies," "rituals," and "practices" denote the actual doing of sacrifices, plural. And "complete," if it were possible at all to provide an exhaustive treatment of the religion's vast sacrificial technologies, raises the expectation, at minimum, of thoroughness.
The author devotes twenty four pages of this 242 page book to sacrificial ceremonies/rituals/practices, following a brief discussion of sacrificial "preparations" (Chapters Six and Seven) Chapters One and Two discuss cosmology and divination; Chapters Three and Four deal with Santeria's history and "globalization"; Chapter Five discusses the famous Santeria (Lukumi) animal sacrifice Supreme Court triumph of 1993. And the final Chapter Eight provides mythological stories (Pataki) on the theme of sacrifice. The two chapters devoted to practice are admirably detailed and systematic, though narrowly confined to a single paradigm.
It might be inappropriate to critique a work for what it does not do, rather than praise it for what it does. However, a number of other authors have already outlined the same basic paradigm in Spanish and English (e.g., M. Ramos and J. Mason).
A cursory review of the more esoteric treatises (not to mention, the ceremonies themselves, in which we all participate) and of which the writer is certainly aware) indicates that sacrifices significantly differ with respect to the kinds of offerings, deities, pertinent ecologies (e.g., inside, outside--road, forest, ocean, river, hill, tree, etc.) and other variables, though the basic paradigm is observed--though significant variation exists. For example, who should use only their hands and who a knife? What offerings require the hands or the knife? How do you give a conejo to one deity, an ayapa to another, an eure to yet another, an igbin, ekute, aya, or agbani, eran...? How many of each offering; what colors should they be; in what sequence should they come? When should the ceremonies take place in the sacred room and when in a joro-joro in the forest? How do the particulars of the preparation for these acts change depending upon the deity? When do a coconut, thunderstone, bamboo knife, a golpe, and/or a romper enter as additional sacrifical tools? What are the implications for the ritual sequence for dos patas or cuatro patas? If it is the latter, what is the crucial relationship of "sacrifice" to the "acheses" taken out, and how are the different classes of transformed offerings and bodily reconstructions (not to mention the prayers and dances that accompany them) presented and represented to the deities? If you're concentrating on the Dead or upon Yemaya, how should the particular litany of the names of the deceased differ in the moyuba prayer?
In short, a thorough guide (covers the principal bases) would help me and many others a lot. An exhaustive guide (perfectly "complete") would probably exhaust anyone's patience.
For many reasons, I cannot claim to have mastered any of the questions just alluded to. As an author, I am guilty of writing long and wide-ranging books, which do not cover what some readers would like to have in their hand. Hence, I do not expect the author of "Sacrificial Ceremonies" to do it all. However, someone with his experience in writing for lay and priestly constituencies, as well as whose author's persona has always attempted to project great expertise, should attempt to focus more intensively on the topic at hand. It appears that the knife is not only too short, but also requires significant sharpening.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
David, Gem Gem, and the Two Waters
Gem Gem never set foot on a beach in her five years. She hunkered down and padded through the sand like it was extraterrestrial--moon dust. The boom of the surf surprised her more than scared her. Looking at me wide-eyed, she leaped up and down like a gazelle as if to ask, "where in the world are we?" Neither would she enter the fresh water brook that runs to the sea on the same beach, where I go every day for the magical place of the two waters. We returned the next day to find that the brook had cut a lyrical meander, leaving a tear-drop spit, like a hand inviting us closer to the gentle current. Sniffing diligently, she led me out the spit and nonchalantly crossed the brook three times. It was tranquil, cool, and safe there. She discovered she could drink. So my new companion, bit by bit, will come to love this beach too.
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