Last Day in Charlotte and creation of the Annex

Hey friends. Today is my last day in fair poisoned air Charlotte. Oh it's been nice week relaxing with my cousin, but every time I try go outside and get some exercise, I feel completely toxic afterwords. I figured exposing myself to the Southern heat would be a good warm up for sweltering Thailand (only a week away!). I grew up in Georgia, so I know humid heat, but Thailand is Subtropical. That's a new kind balmy some would consider akin to hell. Personally, I thrive in the heat. However when heavy pollution is in the mix, I fold quickly just like any other mortal devoid of melanin in their skin. The feeling I get from Charlotte's air reminds me of how I felt once after I reheated spaghetti in a Styrofoam container, then ate it -- never do that -- I could feel the toxicity in my bones. So breathing in Charlotte summer air while trying to workout in the middle of the day is like that, well not as bad, but almost. Sleep seems to be a good cure.

It's funny that I'm actually looking forward to Atlanta based on the Air Quality. Now Charlotte is bad, but Atlanta has straight up smog. Still my mom whom I will be visiting lives in the vast shadow of Stone Mountain (it's that huge rock you fly over when you arrive at Hartsfield International airport) and it's many lovely trees. I think that big rock and it's surrounding forest (supposedly touted as the largest hunk of exposed granite on earth) takes some of the edge off the smog. My mom only lives a mile from it, so I usually go there to hike the trails and what not.

So three / four days in Atlanta, then three glorious (but ungodly hot) weeks in Thailand. Thailand: The Land of Smiles, inexpensive gold, silks, great food, hybrid motorcycle/moped bikes, and sandal wearing culture and did I mention that the food is outstanding! Fun Fact: Thailand is one of the few Asian cultures to adopt the fork and ice in their drinks. According to my mom, when the Portuguese built their short lived Iberian Empire in Asia, they brought the fork with them. The Thai (then Siamese) took one look at it, and thought, 'hey that's a great idea.' However, my own google search suggests that King Rama V instigated it after observing British table manners. At any rate they did adopt the South American chili peppers that the Portugese brought over as well (although India might have been the ones to cultivate them first) and that's why Thai food is so spicy. The peppers mutated in the Asian soils and spice has never been the same since. As for ice in their drinks, my Thai cousin, Todd, basically put it to me like this. "We get it, it's hot."

In other news, I've created the Stone Soup UU Annex. It's a pretty bare bones site. I've been kicking around the idea for years of putting my poetry etc in a central location up on the web, but never got around to it. Sure, I've dabbled in message boards and more experimental art type sites such as Project Aristotle (honestly, I should really have those poems taken down; they're really early work -- sing songy kid stuff), but I never got around to making a site of my own. Well thanks to the ease of Google Page Creator, I now have a respectable archive. Plus I think it will be a good place to store all my sermons and religion type research papers / projects. Honestly after three years in UNC's creative writing program (7 workshops!) if I never write another poem again, I'll be okay with that. Well maybe for a few years at least.

Oh and thanks to the influence of my free-culture crusading friend, Erin Watson, I've decided to open up my work as a open source type project. I've decided to blame her for any ghastly derivatives that come back to haunt me. Yes you Erin, it's all your fault.

My proposal to Google: Google Chaplains!!!

So I was feeling especially random today, so I woke up bright and early (9:30 AM -- College hours) boiled an egg and some yummy oat meal and hatched my Google needs a UU Chaplain scheme. It took me a bit to find their send-us-your-business-proposal form, but I finally tracked it down. This is what I wrote:

Name: Sean Honea
Your email address: sean.honea@gmail.com
Company Name: Graduate Student
Company URL: http://stonesoupuu.blogspot.com/

Company Description:

Seminary Student at Starr King School for the Ministry with the intent on entering a Unitarian Universalist ministry and or chaplaincy.

Proposal:

Has Google ever given any thought towards hiring corporate Chaplains? Chaplains are used to working on call to meet the spiritual needs of any and all individuals attached to the organization they serve. Chaplains provide counseling and comfort on a wide range of personal issues such as family emergencies, existential crises of identity / purpose, or just being a friendly ear.

I am about to enter a Unitarian Universalist (UU) seminary this fall, and I am currently considering what specific path of ministry I should take. I cannot speak for everyone in my faith, but I can offer my general impression of our intent.

Unitarian Universalist ministers and chaplains generally do not proselytize or seek to convert individuals to our faith. Instead we believe in helping others engaged in a free and responsible search for their own individualized concept of the divine (or lack there of). We are thus open to many different religious views and traditions and would fit well in a setting required to serve persons with different religious backgrounds or beliefs. In addition to the more mainstream religions, we also welcome in atheists, agnostics, and practitioners of non-traditional religions into our congregations.


We are very open to other forms of diversity in our congregations and leadership positions. Currently the Unitarian Universalist Association of Congregations (UUA) is headed by President William G. Sinkford, an African American in a faith whose membership is traditionally predominately populated by members of European American decent.

It is also now becoming common to find all variations of humanity in pulpits as well, which include gay, lesbian, bi and even transgendered individuals.

Members of my faith are also commented to countering all forms of oppression in society on every conceivable level, so would be a good fit for Google unofficial "Don't Be Evil" philosophy.

To give you a better idea of what chaplains of my faith could offer Google, I will close with the joke that first inspired me to become a Unitarian Universalist.

* * *

HOW MANY Unitarians DOES IT TAKE TO CHANGE A LIGHT BULB?

We choose not to make a statement either in favor of or against the need for a light bulb. However, if in your own journey, you have found that light bulbs work for you, that is fine. You are invited to write a poem or compose a modern dance about your personal relationship with your light bulb. Present it next month at our annual Light Bulb Sunday Service, in which we will explore a number of light bulb traditions, including incandescent, fluorescent, 3-way, long-life, and tinted, all of which are equally valid paths to luminescence.

-- from http://www.uuottawa.com/jokes_uu.htm

* * *

thank you for your time.

'best,

Sean Steven Honea
former Staff Sergeant U.S. Army,
Mensa member (they like hiring Mensas, so I just threw that in as an afterthought) , and
aspiring Unitarian Universalist minister

Brain Storms: Campus Ministry 0.1

I've been doing a lot of thinking since yesterday's epiphany about campus ministry. I had a really good experience with my group at UNC-Chapel Hill and think it's a worthy goal to not only try to recreate that experience for other others but to build upon it. It's all rather liquid now, but I'm thinking of shooting for a community minister position or even creating one at a University or college.

Campus Ministry 0.1 (Brain Storming Phase):

1. read everything at UUA campus ministry website:
2. Live in co-op housing while at Starr King (SKSM).
3. Go to Starr King get M. Div. / Ordained
4. Synthesize co-op values / resources with UUism and organizational skills gained from Army (it's a goal).
5. find university / college likely to support / nurture UU minded individuals
6. figure out funding / sponsoring congregational options i.e. am I going it alone, integrated with in local congregation and or university chapel, or an agent of a local UU district itself.
7. Assuming all other steps are accomplished -- take five to ten years to build / grow a local campus group. Five regular members is considered a success the UNC group had 15+, so that's my initial goal.
8. If group is ever capable of maintaining critical I-still-know-pretty-much-everyone-in-the-group mass (30 members max) consistently then create covenant groups (small group) structure: say groups of 8 to 10. -- Kudos to Marion Hirsch for the idea!
9. Once covenant group culture is firmly established take another 5 to 10 yrs to win over UUA, local district and or an alliance of local congregations (representing the local communities which feed the university population) with our collective charm and charisma.
10. Get funding to build a UU center on or near campus.
11. Once center is established consider creation of co-op living / public service annex for college type UUs.
12. Become jaded from politics as usual; have nervous breakdown and eventually ask UUA for replacement community minister for UU Center etc.
13. Go into seclusion and weigh retirement vs. starting from scratch at another university.

Well, that's what I came up with today, I wonder what tomorrow will bring.


In other news, I've been hired to do some freelance ghostwriting for websites. My friend happens to own her own business which connects writers with prospective content clients. I figure if nothing else it will be good on the job training for further harnessing the power of internet. I've never done this before, so pretty much I'm going to play it by ear. I'm not even sure what it pays.

If anyone else has a writing bent and wants a part time job she's currently hiring:

http://www.contentdivas.com/

Unitarian Universalist Campus Ministry?

Greetings all. I'm in Charlotte, NC hanging out with my cousin, Lisa, for the week before the big trip to Thailand. I'll be there for most of June visiting my relatives in Bangkok and Chiang Mai. Anyway, I starting to feel those first pangs of reentry depression from leaving all my wonderful friends at Chapel Hill. Okay college isn't exactly a foreign country, but it's not exactly the "real world" either, so you get what I mean-- I'm in transition.

That's life I suppose. The party has to end sometime. Or does it? Maybe instead of simply enjoying the scenery and having fun, I should look into helping create that atmosphere for others. Long story short, I've been kicking around the idea of going into campus ministry. It just occurred to me today. I was looking into the various non-parish options such as Military and Hospital Chaplains and non-profits even Americorp (I'm not sure if Americorp wants or needs Chaplains, but I could always use their generous student loan service credit). Anyway, while in the midst of doing that I kept thinking of all the good times I had with the Chapel Hill UUs, and how it helped to ground me. I had a pretty rough transition from military service to college. I should have taken more time off in between the two, but ever the impulsive I thought I could do everything and almost burned myself out in the process. I think the campus UUs gave me a place to finally relax all that false military bravado and just be me without having to hold anything back. They provided an ear, a sound board, and a place to reflect and be challenged while I figured out just what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. That and I also had a lot of fun.

I'm a relatively new UU and most of my experience with the faith comes from my time spent with the campus ministry at UNC-Chapel Hill. We had a really strong group with a core of about 12-15, which is pretty good since the UUA considers 5 to be a success. Really. Five people is seen as an overwhelming success, and just getting one person to connect with regularly is considered enough to justify the group's presence.

I think I'll start researching the possibilities of this. It feels right, but it's also a new feeling, so I must weigh it a while to see if it's real or only just the ethusatism of finding something new to obsess over.

Graduation vs Wedding vs Funeral

A friend of mine's (or rather a friend of mine's daughter's) facebook's status alerted me to the fact that she's not attending her high school graduation. She opted out early about a year ago and is blazing her own trail which includes domestic civil disobedience and world travel / relief work whilst taking classes part time at UNC - Chapel Hill; I even took a class with her. I admire her unconventional approach and envy her energy. Let me tell you, eight years in the Army really takes a lot out of you, and being 30 doesn't help either.

Her remarks got me thinking about my own thoughts on my own truncated commencement last month (it rained, hard). Sure, my family was happy, but to me I had already done my celebrating the day I finished my creative writing honors project. That was three years of focused work (I took 7 creative writing work shop instead of the requisite 5) whilst scrambling to prop up grades in order to meet the minimum grade point average (3.2 GPA) required to qualify for the honors workshop.

My first year at UNC, I was still trying to get my bearings after leaving the military service. I was discharged from the Army in August and I came to UNC in August. In hind site, I should have taken a few months off to acclimate to the college lifestyle. Anyway, my first year I failed Latin (took it over in Summer Semester and got a B+) and got a D- minus in Stats -- FYI there is not such thing as D- at UNC, the Professor basically gave me a F+, but that doesn't exist either, so UNC erred in my favor and assumed my Professor meant a regular D. The day I turned my project in I had a 3.2 something and ultimately ended up with 3.3. That's was a lot of hard work to recover from that first year. After my project was accepted. I just kind of walked through the rest of the semester and focused on my friends.

Sometime during all that, I concluded that graduation is overrated. That goes for class rings, years books, tassals, caps and gowns, etc, well at least on the college level. I used to say it was like a wedding; you're not doing it so much for you as you're are doing it for your family, but come to think of it, that's not really right. Technically you're still getting something out of a wedding e.g. a spouse and the life you have with them.

I guess graduation is really more like a funeral. You've already moved on for your reward (whatever that may be, if anything) in spirit if not in body, and some people need more help than others accepting that. Thus, the real reason for a funeral. I ended up writing something like this on my friend's facebook wall concluding with: Yeah, so you didn't want to go to depressing death mass anyway, did you? So the heck with people cashing in on your families need for closure (20 buck for tassel??!!) and just go to the parties.

Still come to think of it showing off for the family was kind of fun. Hmm, maybe graduation is not like a wedding or a funeral at all. Perhaps it's more akin to a spelling bee or a talent show or actually maybe more like a concert performance and even though you're only playing the cowbell, your family still thinks none of the music could have happened without you.

Well, I suppose if your doing it for them, you might well go out there and be the best damn cowbell player you can be. Either way, make sure you go to the parties. They may be overrated as well, but you'll remember them as legendary whether or not they actually were.

The Poetic Impulse and The Warrior revisited

I've been playing around a lot with YouTube lately, seeing what I could do as far as pairing my existing YouTube account (revery2043) with this blog. You might notice I've added a three more video players to the Stone Soup UU. The main one in green points directly to my channel. Doesn't it look spify. It took me a few minutes to figure out how to make Flaming Chalice repeat in the background. I got the idea from Katers17. The other two are dedicated to Jesus Christ Super Star (1973 version / Blue) and my very random favorites list (Red).

On June 8, 2008, I gave my first solo sermon / service at Outlaws Bridge Universalist Church in Seven Springs, NC. The podcast recording failed on the actual day I delivered the sermon, so I made this replacement for the Church. After recording that I was figured, well I went that far, I might as well figure out how to made a video slide show in Windows. Eight hours reinventing the wheel later (encoding sucks), this is what I came up with. Yeah, I know it could use some more work, and even my delivery is a little sub par, but I don't think its not half bad for a first attempt.

Part 1

Part 2

Original blog post of sermon.

Saying Good Bye to The Mighty Law Dart: Why I Sold my Prius

Tomorrow, I will be waving good bye to my shiny blue 2003 Prius Hybrid (a.k.a The Mighty Lawn Dart). Why did I sell it, you ask? It does seems like an odd time to cash in, what with gas prices going through the roof, and not to mention that I own it outright with no liens on it. Yet I figure, if I'm going to get anything back from it now is the time to act -- when demand for hybrids is up. The 2003 Prius is the bargain buy for people that can't quite afford to upgrade to the 2004 and up models. 2004 is the year Toyota decided to change from initial compact style to the mid-size sedan style for the Prius.

If you factor in that hybrids cost on average 4 to 6 thousand dollars more than comparable non-hybrid models in their class, then in theory, it would take most new hybrid owners 8 long years of driving to start recouping the cost of that 4 to 6 thousand dollar premium in gas savings. However if you buy a hybrid used (in good condition), natural depreciation will knock off about 5 thousand dollars if not more. Remember hybrids in the U.S. are at most 7 to 8 years old. So, if a person was to buy a used hybrid in good condition (factoring in deprecation), then they would reap the gas saving immediately. That's assuming they were going to buy a new car anyway. For example, the young lady that bought my prius payed almost 8 thousand less than what I payed for it initially in 2003 (I had to made a few repairs before I sold it, that brought the price down). I'm sure inflation also skews things, but who has time to calculate that, I mean it's only been five years.

Anyway back to why I sold it. Well the biggest reason is that I'm no longer in Army. I bought it new in 2003 when I thought I had 5 more years left on my contract. Yet fate intervened and took my brother from me. After he was gone, I just didn't want to play the Army Games any more. I did try though. I had been playing them for some time and after eight years of service, I was pretty much institutionalized (Remember the Shawshake? -- 8:50). By then the Army had me working reenlistment as an additional duty and I'd even worked it full time for a few months when my boss was in school. So, I knew pretty much all the ins and outs of my own contract by then. After a brief tryst with becoming an officer (which ultimately failed because the Army thought I was going blind -- I'm not; they screwed up), I decided to get out (honorably) , and got my last contract declared invalid (long story -- ask me about it sometime).

Anyway, I've spent the last three years finishing my degree at UNC-Chapel Hill, and I expect to spend at least three years (probably will be four) at Starr King in Berkeley. I've been living off my GI bill these last few years, and it is set to run out at the end of next semester. So it's time to make some hard decisions. It's time to face up to the fact that I'm no longer a Staff Sergeant drawing E6 (pay grade) pay, and I need to live within my means.

I figure worst case scenario, I'll have about 115 grand in student loan debt by the time I graduate from seminary. Half of that from three years plus of Chapel Hill's out of state tuition. Barring a significant revision to the GI Bill allowing me to collect 3 yrs worth of back-pay for the shiny new benefits congress wants to add to my current benefits (I'm not holding my breath), best case scenario would probably put me around 60 to 80 grand in debt. So even if I get some pretty decent scholarships in the coming years, I'll still have a good chuck of debt to deal with.

In other words, it's time to go back to basics and relearn how to be frugal again. Best way to start that off is to sell my car. Annual Car maintenance and insurance adds up, but it's mostly doable if you have steady income. I don't. Plus gas is going through the roof and even with a Hybrid that's going to take a toll, not to mention parking in Berkeley is a nightmare.

Still these cost are just the normal costs of car ownership. What I'm really concerned about is the car's "enabling" factor. Access to the open road at any given moment means get to there and since you're there you might as well spend some cash. I figure removing the car from my life will force me to think ahead and actually plan out my expenses. It's a lot harder to waste money if you can't get there whenever you want. I learned this in Fort Hood Texas (the largest Army Base in the USA doesn't have a Bus system) and while Stationed in Korea. I've learned for me the best way to budget is to make getting "there" hard. Well that's the theory at least. We'll see how it goes.

I've got a zip car account now, and I figure between that, public trans, and my bike I should be good in Berkeley. I'm also trying to get into the University Students' Cooperative Association(USCA). They've been housing students in the heart of Berkeley since 1933, and with an active membership 1200 beds strong, they can cut average room and board costs down by 1/3 ($1160.00 a month vs. $760.00) which comes out to even more savings when you factor in location. Most USCA housing is within waking distances to UC Berkeley and most of Starr Kings affiliates in the Graduate Theological Union (GTU). If I can get in that is. *Keeps fingers crossed* The waiting list is pretty long, but I'm optimistic. First year might suck since I'll probably have to room with an undergrad, but following year should gain me enough seniority to get into the graduate only houses where you get your own room /studio. But, heck I was in the Army; I've lived in 60 men open air bays (FYI Paulie Shore's "In the Army Now" is one the most accurate comedic takes on the Army, I've ever seen. If you want to join up, watch this movie!). I can deal with an unruly room mate or two for year if I have too.

So that's the current plan. Live more simply, and keep looking for scholarships.

The Warrior -- My first solo sermon

Today, I was invited to give a sermon at Outlaws Bridge Universalist Church in Seven Springs, North Carolina. I've given speeches and mini-sermons before as a part of a group, but this was my first solo sermon in which I was in charge of planning every detail. So I got to pick out the hymns, decide what readings to go over -- stuff like that. It took me a while to come up with an idea for a sermon. My friend, Joy, told me to write about poetry, because I wrote poetry, and I should go with what I know, so I followed her advice and decided using the poetry of Frances Richey. I ended up using four of her poems from the "The Warrior {A Mother's Story of a Son at War}" to write my sermon.

Since I have blog now I figured, here would be a good place as any to post up my sermon, but then I realized that since I used so much of Richey's poetry, I should probably ask her permission first. So I emailed her, and she responded -- within just a few hours!

* * *

Dear Sean,

I am deeply sorry about your brother. [My brother passed away, a few years ago.] It is heartbreaking to lose anyone you love, but to lose your brother in such a violent way must have been almost unbearable. You have borne it and continue to. I hear that. And you're right, the best poetry does come from that pure place, the heart deeply touched or torn open. The best poems come from love, even if the subject matter is tough.

I am so touched that you used some of my poems in your sermon. And it was lovely of you to send your sermon to me so that I could read it. Of course, you can post my poems on your blog. I hope they will reach other military families and anyone who is concerned about a loved one, and bring some comfort through the shared experience. I have a lot of respect for your decision to live your beliefs and I wish you all that is good as you go through seminary.

With warm wishes,

Frances

* * *

Wow! Wasn't that nice of her? Now everyone go out and buy her book. She's nice.

Anyway if you're still reading this and feel like reading some more here is the text of my sermon:

~~~

Reading #1

Frances Richey The Warrior: A Mother’s Story of a Son at War

The Barn Swallows

My son is always leaving.

Sometimes he looks back

and waves good-bye. Sometimes

he just disappears.

Where is he now? In the air,

returning from Poland?

On the ground, training at Fort Bragg?

The day he graduated from West Point,

the sun was so bright I couldn’t see

the secretary of defense, a dark speck

under the white awning

on a makeshift stage, saying something

about the world, about danger,

a different kind of war.

No one else seemed to notice

the barn swallows swoop in

like a swarm of enormous black butterflies,

their throats bloodied,

marring the brilliance of the sky.

They arrived out of nowhere,

the way my son was suddenly a man.

As each new lieutenant shook

the secretary’s hand, the swallows dipped

and keened over the field, the barracks,

those gray castles of learning,

the dead generals bronzed on pedestals.

What had drawn them to their moment,

the red sash and the saber?

What had drawn my son to this life?

Where had it come from,

his certainty of purpose?

When I was my son’s age, I had no faith

Now I believe in the prescience of wings,

each bird, its presentation of colors,

bearing the messages we pray will never come.

Looking down through borrowed binoculars

into the perfect rows,

I searched for his face.

Reading #2

Frances Richey The Warrior: A Mother’s Story of a Son at War

The Aztec Empire

The Guggenheim, 2004

Listen, dearie, there is no world without war.

An unfamiliar voice in my head—

I stand at the beginning

before stone

plumed serpent, Quetzalcoatl,

celestial being of the dawning east;

wind and breath—beautiful,

if beauty can live where young men die

for kings. Does the voice mean

there can only be a world

if there is killing?

My son is in Iraq.

I see him

in the faces of soldiers on the news,

in the Times—

The voice

in my mind, like the tune of a song

I hate but can’t forget,

doesn’t care about the dark

circles around their eyes

or about the black alcove;

a stone altar shaped like a bridge,

a slave bent backwards

so the priest could slide a flint knife

into his ribs, extract his beating heart,

a sacrifice

for an Aztecs god,

the blood caught

in this exquisite bowl behind glass—

red, white, black—glyphs of gold,

the eye of night—

The warrior drank from it too,

for land, for women…

They used blood the way we use money,

to keep their world going.

Across the spiraled ramp,

an Eagle Warrior:

a man’s face shadowed

inside a beaked helmet. Slightly bent

at the waist, he could be bowing,

if not for the meanness

of his costume: talons

jut from his knees; the stucco edges

of ceremonial feathers spike

at his shoulders—

Before he was a warrior, he was a boy;

before he drank blood, he drank milk….

So what? says the voice. We’re all going to die.

Who are we to judge?

But I am dizzy, I reply.

Something knocked loose

inside my inner ear,

or perhaps it was the dark body

of the snake.

I walked its coil

to the cross of its destroyer.

I had to place my back against a wall

to keep from falling.

“The Poetic Impulse: Will You Understand?”
by Sean Honea

Hello, my name is Sean. I’m a recent graduate from UNC-Chapel Hill, and I attend services regularly at Community Church there as well as the campus ministry. A few months ago, I was fortunate enough to hear Rev. Barry speak at my congregation. He gave a very entertaining and informative sermon on the differences between Unitarians and Universalists and the legacy that has left us with. I found the three names vs. two name phenomenon particularly interesting. Louisa May Alcott – Unitarian / Clara Barton Universalist. He also gave me some advice on which seminary I should attend in the fall. He was rooting for Meadville, and for a time I was too, but honestly Chicago is just too cold. I’m from Georgia; I can’t deal a weather system chained to the Great Lakes. I’ll freeze to death. So, I’m going to Starr King and I’ll see if those Red Woods are really as tall as they say they are. Later he asked if I would like try my hand at a giving a full service before the big move to California, and then he said he’d pay me, so here I am. And, yes this the first time I have ever stood up here by myself, so be gentle.

Today, I would like to speak to you about poetry or rather the impulse to create poetry. I’m not certain of the exact facts on this, but while I was a creative writing minor at UNC--Chapel Hill, I heard it said by more than one professor that every spoken language has something resembling our conception of poetry, whether it’s in written form or passed down orally every language sings with its own voice. Another way of looking at it is that when poetry flourishes, it’s a mark that that language has come into its own. I consider it a universal impulse if you will. But where does it come from? Is it just ego, people crying out look at me, look at me? Perhaps on some levels, but I think it goes a little deeper than that.

Recently, I heard a broadcast on a National Public Radio program “The Story,” which featured the poet Frances Richey. She’s published two books, but her most recent work is The Warrior which is a kind of memoir written to and dedicated to her son, Ben. Ben is a Special Forces operative that has been deployed to Iraq on more than one occasion. The two poems I read earlier were from this book .

Frances writes on her website that “Most of this book was written while Ben was deployed. Writing became my refuge and a source of hope while I waited for him to come home.” It isn’t hard to pick up on after reading a few of the poems that Frances herself is strongly opposed to the occupation of Iraq and war in general, but she loves her son very much.

In the interview, Frances suggest that her poems where never meant for publication but for her son. She said, she felt she was losing him to the war, and wrote the poems as a last ditch effort to reconnect with her son before it was too late.

After I heard her story, it got me thinking about my own process of writing poetry: my best poems were also the most painful to write. They deal with the lose of my brother after he was violently murdered four years ago in Atlanta, and nearly all of them are poems written to him and me trying to make some sense out of the senselessness of his passing.

I think there is an inherent longing in writing poetry: a longing that goes beyond ego. It’s not look at me, or hear me, or even see me. I believe the longing ask only this: will or could you understand?

I believe this is the Poetic Impulse. I believe at some level poets writing, singing, or chanting in all tongues have struggled to compose with these questions in mind: Will you understand? Will you understand what I’m trying to say, show, do or just be? Yet, before a poet can do that they must ask themselves and do I understand it myself or just as importantly am I able to understand what you are trying to say, show, do, or be? Just as Frances was trying to understand her son’s chosen professor, she wanted him to understand what it was doing to her and their relationship.

A poem is a window you see, a deeply venerable view into mind which has composed it. A modern poet has a variety of devices to finesse this view: symbolism, allegory, metaphor, wit or just plain bravado, but I believe that buried beneath all the layers of ornament, in every poem there is that same longing plea: Will you understand why this is important to me? Will you understand why what I say, sing or chat matters to me, or not just to me but to the ones I love, to our memories both individual and collective, our community, or any number of beings that inhibit the world and beyond.

Yet, who is the mysterious you, I keep taking about? Well it could be anyone or anything, I believe that whoever or whatever this “you” may be, it is a real someone to the poet. Whether a loved one, a group within society, a god, a force of nature or an idea that strains the bounds of their imagination this “you” is real. For Frances and me it was more concrete. Her son; my brother.

You can hear her plea to her son in title poem of her book, “The Warrior,” as if to say ‘can’t you understand it’s not that I hate that you may die a warrior, it’s that you may die no longer being my son.’ She writes

* * *

It was easy to think of warrior

as a yoga posture, until my son

became a Green Beret. Green:

color of the fourth chakra,

Anahata; it means unstuck—

the heart center—

the color of his fatigues’.

When Arjuna rode into battle

the disguised Krishna by his side,

he looked out from his chariot

over the field of familiar faces,

cried out, I cannot do this!

Krishna said, You must fight!

Where is the solace in my warrior

if my son is lost?

If he returns another man?

OR

in “Thetis,” you can hear her subtle plea to her son, to her understand that her protesting the war is not a protest against him, but a way of protecting him.

She writes:

Her son was going to do

what he was going to do.

He was head strong and beautiful

and couldn’t imagine

he would ever die. From

where she slept in the depths

of the sea, she heard his cry

and did what sons despise:

she intervened,

commissioned divine armor,

lobbied Zeus….

It’s all the same

when you see your son fall

in with a bad crowd:

he’s thirteen and won’t listen,

so you stop by the school

on your way home from work,

tell the principal, and quietly.

he takes an interest in the boy.

Isn’t that your job?

To whisper in the ear of

any god who’ll listen: Please,

protect him.

Why do poets ask these questions? Speaking from my own experience, we do because we have to. It is an affirmation of our being or our fears and of ours dreams. Whether offered with a fist shaken in the air or as a humble plea it is a way of saying to that preverbal “you” to that “other:” I matter. Or by extension you matter. Yes, you. Look, I took the time write it down, edit it, proof read, I even spell checked it. Twice. So for good or ill, “you” have made a difference in my life or I hope I have made a difference in yours. Do you understand? Could you understand? Thank you.

Richey, Frances. The Warrior {A Mother's Story of a Son at War}. New York: Viking, Penguin Group, 2008.

The Story from American Public Media: Poet and Soldier. Dick Gordon interviews Frances Richey. 22 May 2008. American Public Media, Chapel Hill, NC. 8 June 2008 .

What purposes does religion serve?

What purposes does religion serve? What first comes to mind for you? A fellow seminary at Starr King posted this question on our student forum, and slave to the muse that I am, I felt inclined to answer it.


Good question. I think it come back to down to answering a few of the big primal questions such as:

* Why are we here?
* Where did we come from?
* How come women have babies and men don't?
* What exactly is that Big Orange Ball (B.O.B.) in the sky, come to think of it what is the sky, and how about the Silver one with all the little twinkly things.
* Why is there suffering?
* Do I/We really matter?
* What's that over there? Really, okay what's it for? 'Suppose that's important? Truly? How come?
* Why should I lift this Rock for you? What is a pyramid and why do you want to build one? Authority, whose authority mate? Oh, you're a god / emissary of a god. Got it.

* * *

I believe it offers a way of providing a frame of reference or grounding for someone's early conception of their identity and by extension their community in the face all the chaotic "vastness" which is outside of that person's control.

Now-a-days, Science and Secular/Christian Humanism (in the scholastic sense, Yay Greeks!) has given more weight to the natural being natural for natures sake vs. natural being an expression of divine or supernatural whim. There are of course shades of gray here, but our current society seems based more on rational empiricism vs. creation myths.

So what is the purpose of religion today? Well I think all the big why questions are still on the table. However for me at least religion is not so much answering them for me, as is helping me deal with the all "answers" that our modern society has given me.

I don't mean it helps me forget the earth is round or that we are not the center of the big bad 'verse, but that it helps me put things in perspective.

Disciplined observations of the more rational in society has taught me, I'm just a tiny molecule in a drop within a vast sea that I can never fully see or hope to comprehend. If I was keep this in mind constantly, it would be a real downer, since nothing I would do would seem to matter. Yet, the practice of belief or religion (and it's misuse) tells me that yes everything I do does matter. Inspiration goes both ways, and if Newton's laws states that "for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Likewise, my belief tell me that this can also apply to my own life, not just abstract constructs.

Well I could go on and on, but I think you get my drift. Think I might turn this into a paper one day.

Mimeographed Memories: Eric's Story

My older brother Eric passed away four years ago. Every now and then while sifting through my various possessions, I run across something he drew or wrote or even recorded. My brother was one of those annoying jack of all trades that was pretty decent at just about any thing he tried his hand at. The exception being car maintenance. He just didn't have the patient required, and I should know, because I was Humvee mechanic in the Army for my first tour. Still even with that caveat I swear he made me feel like Simon Tam to his River before Josh Wheaton ever even dreamed up FireFly, let alone Buffy.

Today, in preparation for the big move to California, I've decided to go through all my old files. This includes Taxes, old love letters, journals, various warranty documentations for electronics I no long own, Army records, pictures, greeting cards, brain storms for poems, and any misc information I thought might be important. Well as they say, always save you're old love letters, as for the rest, I'm going down to the bare minimal. I'll keep certain permanent records of course, but if I don't need it, it's got to go. If it is really that important to me, I'll just digitize it.
Well that just happened.

While sifting through my files, I ran into a short one page story by my brother. I think the genre is called a "short, short." As far as I can tell, he hand wrote it one day at work, mimeographed it, and sent a copy of it to me on mimeographed paper. Wow, I've never even seen a mimeograph machine before except for on TV. 1998 wasn't that long ago, where was he working??? The print on the page was very faded and hard to read, but I think I've managed to retype all of it.
He sent it sometime it while I stationed at Fort Hood Texas. I believe I was a Private First Class then. He might have been selling cell phones part time while going to GA State, but that doesn't explain the mimeograph machine.

I'll just post it up here for posterity.

***

Untitled.
By Eric Franklin Honea.


"It was taking too much time trying to think of the right words to put on paper," Alec thought to himself while patiently trying to tie his memories into something creative and interesting. There he sat reading, and rereading the words, back and forth, back and forth, until something flowed together naturally. The space Alec occupied made it easy to want to recap on something. He sat hunched over like an old man with aging posture on a most uncomfortable four legged stool made out of dark, hard wood with a tiny cushion for support which made other customers curious as to see why this youth was constantly fidgeting, getting up, sitting down, moving his hips to change the pressure of the creeping pain one would attain, as the circulation is cut off. His knees, too, ached, due to the leaning against cabinets with bright, shiny, metallic handles. There he sat, at work, working in nothing, nothing but work. He didn't care at all if no one wanted to buy the electronic technical toys pushed on the masses as personal communication devices. He basked in a Kiosk that was inside a market on the North side of town, adjacent to a popular and by crossroad intersection where the commuters traveled daily to and from work, working for pay, working to pay for their feudal lifestyles they unconsciously developed for themselves. See, in this reality, the reality at the present moment in time, the time defined by the year and day, the day where no Kings rule on a land that was once created by a creator --, there are two types of people. No, not Rich and poor, but consumers and producers. And he that produces
governs.

Now, everyone is a consumer, even producers are consumers. But, producers only consume quality, while forcing the other consumer to get by on their lesser consumption, by helping the producers produce consumables of a lesser quality, to be consumed by the consumers while
wanting to consume quality like those of the producers. Such a simple and orderly process that held everything together like sand and water held in the tiny hands of a very curious and creative, little child playing at a beach, building castles, worlds, and shapes, all with
water and sand. Almost godlike in comparison.

Muslim Bashing

So, I'm listening to the Diane Rehm Show today and of course the topic of the day is all about Clinton and Obama and to a lesser extent John McCain. I'll try to avoid getting into the political infighting that is currently sweeping both parties as politics is just plain too exhausting to delve into at the moment. However, something did come up that think is worth exploring.

One democratic party caller on the show recalled a conversation she had with her friends -- a working class married couple who supported Clinton -- would not back Obama in the coming general election. Why? Because they distrusted him because he was a Muslim and that he had sat in a church for 20 years that hates white people. The caller then pointed out to her friends: "How can he be a Muslim, if he spent 20 years in a Christian Church." They replied, "because he is a spy."

Okay granted this conversation is second hand hearsay at best, and I might have discarded it had I not had a similar conversation with someone a few months ago. An acquittance of mine said she felt nervous about Obama because of he was hiding that he was a closet Muslim, and he was only waiting until after the election to revel this. Where is this coming from? The Fox new comments about Obama and the madrasa happened well over a year ago and were withdrawn as unfounded, yet still the specter of the Islam religion still clouds him. The facts of Obama current religion aside should it really matter whether or not he is or ever was a Muslim? Everybody is hesitant to embrace the race issue in this election, so I'm thinking that religion has become the new big irrational fear.

Hmm, but is this anything new? We've only had one Catholic President and never any Jewish ones. I think this points to something. The USA's legacy of racism brought about and reinforced through past doctrine of White supremacy has morphed into plain old xenophobia. Maybe, just maybe Americans have finally grown enough to accept a perceived African American man as president. I say perceived because that perception is everything. For example like Obama, I come from mixed heritage. I'm half Asian, half Caucasians where as Obama is half African American, half Caucasian. I'm usually perceived as Hawaiian or an Hispanic, but I've had people come up to me tell me that once they gotten to know me they thought of me as "white." I believe they think they're giving me a complement by saying that.

Anyway, I believe for much of "White America," no matter how well they get to know him -- Obama will always be perceived as an African American over a "white man." This perception goes back to the very beginnings of Slavery in Colonial America.

"A 1662 law decreed that the children of slaves took on the status of their mother, in contrast to common law, which conferred the father’s status on a child. The law was intended to enslave the increasing number of children fathered by white men."

Fast forward 340 years and America is finally at a point in which by even considering a perceived African American as a viable contender for the highest office in the land then the negative perceptions of "blackness" brought on by the legitimization of Slavery and later Jim Crow may finally start to truly unravel on the visceral reflexive and deeply emotional level of the American psyche. Maybe.

Okay we've come a long way. Yay us, but what about the Muslim tarring? Are we really at the brink of getting beyond race, or has religion become it's proxy, or just as disturbing, has race been supplanted by a even greater fear? I'm thinking a combination of all three. We fear the unfamiliar and I believe people that sincerely fear that Obama is a Muslim (not the ones doing so merely for political gain) are having a "too much too soon" reaction. A kind of culture shock. So, they make Obama out to be sinister and foreign. He does have a foreign Muslim sounding name after all: Barack Hussein Obama, so it's really convenient to do so. Well given that then, I think best case scenario, people that are fearful of an Obama presidency are experiencing a kind of culture shock induced xenophobia. Worst case scenario it's racism masquerading as xenophobia. Still it's probably a combination of the two.

I wonder if the first viable Hispanic or Gay presidential hopeful will face irrational scape-goating attacks on aspects of their religions rather than taking about the 900 pound elephant in the room?

Interestingly, I haven't talked much about the sexist bias against Senator Clinton. I haven't because that's really another issue. Race and Religion seem to be being used as indirect proxies, where as the sexism has been pretty much straight forward and out in the open. Makes you think huh? I think because Sexism hasn't reached the same shame factor that Race and Religious intolerance holds in the American consciousness. Whether you choose to believe it or ignore it, equality for all men and all religions was written into the Declaration of Independence and Bill of Rights. Sure the definition of what is a "man" had to expand to include African Americans and other non-white males, and that took some doing, but the foundation had been laid. The same goes for religion as is being demonstrated by the on-going struggle to include non-protestant Christianity in the that definition.

The foundation for sex and gender role equality was not as clearly laid out in this country. It's an older fight I think, one that goes back to our primal core. Sometimes I think it's a worse fight because it easier to dismiss because if all things are equal, people as a last resort to dominate can always fall back on having their gender identity. Now for people that fall out of traditional gender ids it's even more complicated.

Isn't life interesting?

Zen and the Art of Pit Bull Maintenance

So my room mate's in Mexico for the Summer and the person that was Dog sitting her dog, Ruby, decided to join her, so pretty much I got stuck with the bulk of the responsibility for caring for her while roomie and co are away. That's about 2 to 3 weeks in which I'm directly involved. Why? because I'm a nice guy, and I like dogs. However, Ruby could test even the most saintly of dog lovers.

Other than being house broken, this dog is utterly untrained. She's one of those types once she gets away from you, it becomes a game with her. She wants you to chase her. I know this, in fact in large part because of my father's laze fair attitude towards well everything -- he admits even today that he can't not spoil a dog. Anyway, when I was a kid I had a spoiled boxer just like Ruby.

When dealing with a runner, you have two options. Chase the dog until it runs out of energy, or make the dog come to you. I spent most of my childhood trying out option one. I chased Prince (my boxer) across creeks, woods, and whole subdivisions. I once crisscrossed three different neighborhoods waiting for him to give it up. On that occasional he just plopped down in someone's yard and refused to move until finally my brother had to go get the car. Chasing is one thing, but limo service for a dog? That's a new kind of spoiled. On more slow days, my mom would pile us all into the car and we'd get Prince to chase us. My memory may deceive me, but I recall clocking that dog at 20 miles per hour once. FYI: Boxer's have insane amounts of energy. That's why their good with kids.

Knowing all this as I did about chasing, I resolved no more. I will not chase an untrained dog. Instead, I ignore them. Does it work? More or less. Usually, I just take a seat somewhere and wait for the dog to get curious -- if I'm lucky the dog will let me grab her. Tonight things got more interesting. Ruby had been loose for at least five hours on account of a friend's Mom inadvertently letting her out while carrying things to her car.

The people that live behind me where getting really P.O. because Ruby has a habit of attacking their dogs when she escapes and this is the second day in row she's gotten out. So a few hours ago, I just parked my butt on the porch swing and went into Zen mode. The usual count your breathes up to 10 and start over while practicing point fixation method, eyes open (I learned it at a Dharma Center near Hotsprings, NC). Sure enough after like 10 minutes Ruby came up to me and even put her nose in my hands a few times. Alas, she was too quick for me to grab her. This went on for another 20 minutes until my legs started going numb. Oh well, I thought, she can just sleep outside.

So after watching a replay of Obama's win speech, checking emails, and deleting freecycle spam -- I hear scratching on the door. Okay I figure, she's tired of the game and wants to come in. Nope, she just wants me to try to chase her. As soon as I open the door she bolts. Fine, I thought and shut the door and caught up on some more news and deleted even more freecycle spam (it's simply amazing how many people are interested in free large plastic storage containers -- amazing). Thirty or so minutes later, I decide to try again. I find Ruby snoozing in the bushes at the back corner of the house. Predictably she wakes up and bolts again. I knew this would happen I just wanted to get her attention.

I ended up deciding to try the Zen method with food. I assumed the Buddha position (the lazy man's lotus position) with food in one hand. I have to point out that Ruby has body image issues. Perhaps she dreams of one day leaving fair Carrboro and becoming a model. That would explain why, she never begs for food and rarely eats what's offered to her in her bowl. In the two years that I've known her, I've never once seen her at a weight appropriate enough to keep her ribs from showing. I swear the dog is anorexic. Anyway, I don't know what I was thinking, thinking the food would work, but I figured what the hell.

After about five minutes of sitting palm outstretched she came up and clomps a bit out of hand only to run off before I can grab hold of her. I should point out that my reflexes have never been anything approaching quick. In the Army, people in my section were amazed by my catching technique during various impromptu games during down time: "It's like he's moving in slow motion," a fellow soldier once said. So, after about 5 more minutes of baiting Ruby, I try the Hansel and Gretel maneuver. I start leading her with little pebbles of dry dog food. This works with varying success for about 20 minutes. Finally, I hit upon the correct technique.

1. Open door, until door is at a right angle to the door frame.
2. Sit along side door, so you can easily swing it shut.
3. Throw dog food in successive waves until Ruby is lead bit by bit past the door.
4. Slam the door shut.
5. Chastise an un-remorseful Ruby for wasting your entire afternoon and evening.

Well that's the how it should have happened. What really happened is that it took like 15 attempts with her poking her head in the door or maybe a paw or two. Twice Ruby got the door slammed on her (not hard -- she's fine), but she still managed to escaped. Finally, I just started throwing out the food pell-mell until surprisingly Ruby's hunger got the best of her, and the door slammed shut behind her.

Well, thats a few hours of my life I'll never get back. If hadn't been for all the Zen mediation in between the games, I might have lost it something fierce. Thank God for Buddhism!

Flaming Symbols

Hmm, did anyone else notice that the UU symbol, the chalice, is not just any old chalice, but it is the "The Flaming Chalice." Wow, in the three years that I've been a UU, I've never noticed that. I just thought of it as the chalice, not a full on flaming one. Well sure why not, if you're going to be associated with a chalice, it might as well be a bold and flamboyant one. No boring and timid chalices here, buddy, we only have flaming ones that emit bright eye-searing rays! That's what all those circles and rays are for, they represent the bright eye-searing rays -- it all makes sense now.

Okay maybe I'm a bit immature, but I find this hilarious in a wonderful sort of way. Cool, we're right up there with The Flaming Lips in google searches, just barely beating out The Flaming Grass Hopper and Lotus Girls. Hmm, unfortunately The Flaming Fire Illustrated Bible project beat us out. I'm not making this up, try it. Google, "The Flaming" and see what you come out with.

Personally, I think the Flaming Fire Illustrated Bible is equally hilarious (not to mention ambitious) but for more ironic reasons.