ray's blog

TO TELL ME - a poem

He was a man, this I knew;
The visitor with Down Syndrome;
A vital human being inside his handicap.
Though his eyes separately roamed
And his thoughts were all scrambled
He had an urgent message.
I listened to him intently
He hoped I could understand.
I did not lsugh; made no assumptions
Like his affliction was some kind of joke.
But clearly it was vitally important
And his eyes went everywhere
And he struggled, mouth wide open,
Trying hard to form words into an idea


         I was reminded this morning of something by my wife which concerned our cat Conner. We sent him on his way around last Christmas; he had stopped eating and was wasting away. There was nothing we could do but summon the Vet. He had been in our charge most of the fifteen years of his life.
         That was not the memory, though. This went back to when we first got him. He had been brought in from a farm where he was born, and we accepted responsibility when he was approximately a year old.

About a Pencil

         It's funny, isn't it, how simple events or actions can trigger profound thought? I was shapening a fistful of pencils to begin working on another creative project. As I ground their points to sharpness, it occurred to me that I regard a pencil as a sacred object; as a culturally sacred - what is it? - icon?


          Look, I frequently see this world through music. It is an elemental art form, and I deal in art forms. It is a basic part of all human cultures, sunk deep in our DNA. It is one of the distinguishing characteristics of being humsn.


August 14, 2017
          I love the Blues. It is my preferred form of music, and not because of any over-identifying with Black culture. I love it because it is the music of survivors, and it literally sings American history.

the March Rant

March 26, 2017
(late in getting this aboard)
          With the month of March, it is time to ruminate on some things; things like an amazement at what turns my path has taken in recent months...and years too, I suppose.

Big Lake

      I was sitting alone last Spring in the new lunchroom of the Plaza Super One, looking out on a beautiful afternoon on the Big Lake, when a feeling came over me. (A feeling often does, looking out on the Big Lake,) I am not sure if Ii can put this feeling into words, but I want to try. It was the shank of the afternoon, and there was no one else around. I was simply killing some time before I was to attend an unpleasant social event - thed kind of gathering for which I am not particularly well-designed.

Just Thinkling

I know it has been a bit of time since the last blog - busy, you understand. For the benefit of the CIA, the FBI, and anyone else, public or private who gives a damn about what I have to say, herre goes:
           I was just thinking about humasn ignorance, especially including my own. I thought that all the national systems and procedures (created by mankind, of course) worked like they were supposed to. Oblivious to history, I never thought that these systems could be so easily corrupted, and work against a secular democracy.

Slaughter in Paris – Friday the Thirteenth, November 2015

I was hit with a serious, awful realization today. It is dispiriting and frightening to watch as the world marches ever closer to another international conflagration. This one that’s coming will be worse than anything yet seen. Few of us will walk away from it. There will be no winners; only ugly death. For one thing, it is an evil god that commands its subjects to kill others for not joining the club. Thus any god so directing is evil, and it produces chaos and barbarity. I sit here watching the news reports about today’s slaughter in Paris.


It’s funny how things can come to you sometimes. Unexpected light can shine through years of opaque memory. One of my Friends Meeting colleagues was scheduled to give a talk about the development of his spiritual path after meeting today. He titled it “This I believe”, without an awareness of the Radio show and two volumes of like-titled international essays. What a talk it was! His life, as he eloquently and perceptively described it, touched similar points in mine all along the line.

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