A light among us

A Light Among Us

I don't know this young boy's name, but he was at Rabbi Singer's services on Saturday; he's holding the Havdalah candle to conclude Yom Kippur, the day of repentance. 

For me, this picture captures what Rabbi Singer was trying to impart to us earlier in the day. He talked about the honesty of youth, how young people see clearly without pretensions; they speak the truth and Truth transforms. That's what I see in this beautiful boy.

In the afternoon, the rabbi held a discussion group; we got on the subject of war and peace—and in extension, fear; how we can't tackle peace without first tackling the war within us. Each person must start inwardly to find peace; only from that position of inward clarity, Rabbi Singer insisted, can we begin to take on a wider agenda. 

That's why young people are so important to this movement, he feels; it's what he found in Israel (i.e. in the tent cities in Tel Aviv); it's what's happening in NYC on Wall Street and in Los Angeles around City Hall. Young people occupying streets and parks aren't angry or confrontational. They're discussing the problems we as Americans face; they're telling it like it is. They're speaking the truth.

I long for peace of course, but when I can't sleep, when I yell at the guy honking behind me, or treat my students with condescension, I'm aswirl with mixed-up emotions. Lately I've been having strange dreams—I'm carrying a little baby, but have no place to lay it down; I witness a killing and the dead man splits in two; a black figure twirls and twirls like the tigers in Little Black Sambo, or a black widow spider, but I can't stop the twirling. I'm anything but peaceful.

I walked this morning in Heidelberg Park after a restless night; I found myself afraid to go through the densest part of the canyon, where the path winds through brush so thick only coyotes can walk. I have never felt afraid before walking down there; why was I suddenly afraid? I started thinking about my fear—what could possibly attack me?—it was irrational, without merit. I made myself walk on, taking the path through the thickest trees, looking around, keeping my eyes open.

I noticed how peaceful everything was: butterflies hovering, squirrels chasing, birds hopping on the ground. I thought about Rabbi Singer's message, how fear drives us to protect ourselves, to build walls, to see blindly; it's what drives us to war. 

When I climbed out of the park, I looked down into the canyon where I had just emerged; all was quiet on the western front. I felt the warmth of the sun, I saw the distance mountains, I heard a tree full of chirping birds; I walked home.

***

Happy Birthday, Mekko, I can't believe you're 24!

Full Moon

 Full moon over Highland Park

I set my camera for 15 seconds, hand-held, which produced this blurry image shot by a drunk, but I wanted to capture the full moon while it was still relatively low in the sky, so here it is, overlooking Highland Park, and beyond.


I didn't work tonight, but instead of enjoying myself, I was walking a thin line of anxiety from being at home: should I rush downtown to see a program, call a friend for a drink, run to the bookstore? My heart was pounding and I was wishing I had something to drink, when I heard a strange sound coming from my neighbor Thea's yard. I looked out the window and saw five skunks—five!— walking up from the canyon below to grab some cat food and drink from the many bowls she leaves lying about. The skunks were everywhere, like circus clowns, dashing in and out of the garage, around the yard, challenging the one stray cat that found himself literally up against a wall, and I began to wonder if there were only five— maybe 20? 

After the skunks left, I decided to go for a walk but paused on the front porch, listening to a hoot owl on the other side of the house, in my neighbor Elliot's patch of tall Eucalyptus trees. What I hadn't heard before, but heard now, was another hoot owl, further up the hill, answering the first one: "hooo hoooo hooooot," and then the answer, "Hoooooooooooo," like that, back and forth. Walking, I continued to hear them; a million crickets were singing up from Heidelberg Canyon across the way, and dogs were barking at the traffic down in Highland Park, and a siren whizzed by, and somebody was talking sternly to their dog, and an old jalopy was putt-putting down the road as though it were on its last legs. It was only 7:10, and so much activity! What had I been missing these last two years, teaching at night? It was delicious: being home, hearing these sounds.

Heidelberg Canyon and a birthday

The other day I was on top of the hill looking down and saw something I hadn't seen before, reflecting off the sky and clouds...

I hiked into the canyon down a steep path that had been dug by a mysterious stranger. Nobody knows who's been digging these hiking trails but it's not the Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy, the land preservation group that purchased this California black walnut grove in 2003.


To my surprise, someone had built a little way station for hikers. It's perched on a wooden platform and looks out onto a grove of black walnuts, where you can spot red-tailed hawks circling overhead.


Is it the same mysterious stranger who's been digging these trails traversing the canyon—not to be confused with the coyote trails—that picked this spot for a respite? Most likely it is.

 coyote trail

When my dogs Ghostie and Reyna died almost four years ago, I had this sensation that wherever I walked they were right there, walking beside me. I no longer have that feeling, but I still think of my dogs. We used to explore this canyon regularly. I wish they were with me now so I could take advantage of this little way station. I'd sit and read while my dogs, in the manner they were accustomed, grazed the hillside like goats. And my books? A People's History of the United States: 1492 to Present, and Franny and Zooey. RIP, Mr. Zinn and Mr. Salinger.

Postscript: Today is my daughter's birthday and she's going to kill me but this is one of my favorite pictures of her as a child. Why? Because what she was here at two is exactly what she is today: tall, strong, determined (to get her bottle), brilliant, and an attitude that says, "Get out of my way world, here I come." That's my daughter and I love her madly. Happy Birthday Maya!