December 31st, 2005

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Rain and Wind!!

I finally decide to rise as the sound of the wind and rain pound me awake. I read about all the flooding, pretty scary stuff. I look at the tide table, knowing Manzanita was closed yesterday, and surely will be today when a 7.0 tide hits at 10:46 this morning. We'll probably have to go up and back over the hill and out Blithedale today if we do want to go out. December here often reminds us that nature rules. It is a relevant reminder, and pulls us out of a scheduled track and routine. "I am here," says the wind, and the rain says, "Yes!"
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New York Times Today!

They title the op-ed page, "Closing Time," and offer a variety of poems.  I present a nibble, the shortest, and perhaps, most potent one.

In a Loaning
Seamus Heaney

Spoken for in autumn, recovered speech
Having its way again, I gave a cry:
“Not beechen green, but these shin-deep coffers
Of copper-fired leaves, these beech boles grey.”

Seamus Heaney, winner of the 1995 Nobel Prize in literature, is the author of the forthcoming “District and Circle.”
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Good Morning!!

I just received this. I missed it in July. It is an article on the power of poetry and the mind.

The original article can be found on here:

Sunday, July 17, 2005 (SF Chronicle)
Writing poetry was the balm that kept Guantanamo prisoners from going mad/Former inmates say they wrote thousands of lines Thomas Coghlan, Chronicle Foreign Service

Peshawar, Pakistan -- During three years in Guantanamo Bay, Abdul Rahim Muslim Dost says that poetry kept him from losing his sanity. By the time of his release this spring, he had written more than 25,000
lines in his Cuban prison cell.
During the first year of his imprisonment, the 44-year-old Afghan prisoner didn't even have paper or a pen. Instead, he scratched lines of verse with his fingernail into Styrofoam cups.
One poem reads: "Just as the heart beats in the darkness of the body, so I, despite this cage, continue to beat with life. Those who have no courage or honor consider themselves free, but they are slaves. I am flying on the wings of thought, and so, even in this cage, I know a greater freedom."
"Poetry was our support and psychological uplift," said his brother and fellow Guantanamo inmate, Badruzamman Badr, in an interview at the family home in the Pakistani city of Peshawar, where they have lived as expatriates since 1975. "Many people have lost their minds there. I know 40 or 50 prisoners who are mad. But we took refuge in our minds."
Dost was already a respected religious scholar, poet, journalist and author of 19 published books before his arrest about a month after the Sept. 11 attacks. His prison writings would significantly increase that number, he said.
Along with thousands of poems in his native Pashto, he completed a book intended for future poets with an alphabetical list of all the rhyme in the Pashto language. He also wrote a book of Islamic jurisprudence in verse form and translated Arabic poetry into Pashto.
Both brothers deny that they ever supported al Qaeda. They admit they felt initial enthusiasm for the Taliban but say they became disillusioned with the unworldly attitudes of the movement, particularly its opposition to the education of women.
Instead, they say, their arrest by Pakistani intelligence officers on Nov. 17, 2001, was an attempt by their political enemies to frame them. Both are proponents of Pashtun nationalism, a movement to create
an independent state for ethnic Pashtun tribes on both sides of the Afghan-Pakistan border, and wrote for three magazines that promoted the cause.
Ater their arrest, they were held for three months in Peshawar, then transferred to U.S. custody at Bagram Air Base outside Kabul and to a detention facility in Kandahar, in southeastern Afghanistan, before
being flown to the U.S. Naval base lockup at Guantanamo Bay on May 1, 2002.
U.S. authorities in Pakistan declined to comment about the case, but Pakistan Embassy spokesman Zafar Ali Khan said: "In late 2001, the Pakistani authorities had good reason to be suspicious of them. The authorities were receiving guidelines on people that the Americans wished to question. Many Afghans who had been involved in terrorist activities in Afghanistan had moved to Peshawar at that time. These two
men were arrested and passed to the Americans. The U.S. has subsequently questoned them and established during the past three long years that they were, in fact, innocent."
So far, 234 suspected "enemy combatants" have been freed from Guantanamo and 520 remain imprisoned, said Maj. Susan Idziak, a spokesperson for the detention facility.
Although Dost, who was freed in April, is happy to be home with his wife and eight children, he frets about the whereabouts of his poems. To date,he has received about 2,500 lines from the U.S. military.
His concern that his poems and other writings may never be returned is not surprising, since he took particular pleasure in composing satirical verses at the expense of his captors. In one 14-line poem, he compared Guantanamo to the monotonous bowls of boiled rice and black beans that made up the prison diet.
"He said that the food was like the prisoners. Black and white, good and bad mixed up together without distinction, without verification. It was expressed in a very comic way," said his brother. "Many prisoners
learned this poem. We whispered the lines to each other."
In another poem popular with his fellow prisoners, he satirized what the prisoners saw as the sexless appearance of their male and female guards. Short- haired women and clean-shaven men in their identical fatigues often seemed indistinguishable to Muslim prisoners, used to men with long beards and fully cloaked women, Badr said.
The last line of the poem read: "They may have weapons and missiles, but we can find no sign of manhood in this army."
U.S. Army linguists read all the poetry found in Dost's cell, Badr said.
"In interrogation, the Americans often said to him, 'We understand the allusions in your poetry.' "
Capt. Jeffrey Weir, a Guantanamo spokesman, said he could not comment on when Dost's writings would be returned to him but said documents aresubject to "intelligence screening." Petty Officer Chris Sherwood, a spokesman for Southern Command in Miami, which oversees Guantanamo, said "inmates' mail is translated, and any information considered sensitive for security reasons is blacked out before it is sent."
Dost says he was interrogated more than 100 times at Guantanamo but was never subjected to physical torture in Cuba. Although he never witnessed desecration of the Quran at Guantnamo, he said an Arab prisoner had told him interrogators threw a Quran on the floor and stepped on it.
Both brothers say they suffered harsher treatment at detention facilities in Afghanistan, including intimidation with dogs and sleep deprivation. There and on three occasions, they say, they were
photoaphed naked and had their beards and hair shaved. They also saw guards there kick the Quran. Such treatment was in contrast to the latter stages of their time in Guantanamo, when they say conditions
improved steadily.
"The Americans gave me books toward the end," said Badr, who speaks English fluently. "I read Ernest Hemingway and Charles Dickens."
He added: "We don't hate the U.S. for being Americans," he added. "Hating a nation for being a nation is completely wrong. We criticize America if we don't agree with their policies."
In his cell, Dost wrote thousands of lines in a strict Pashto form of poetry somewhat similar to the sonnet: 14 lines of 14 syllables, rhyming alternately after an opening couplet. A year after his imprisonment, when the detainees began receiving paper and pencils from the International Committee of the Red Cross, he was able to accelerate his output.
Other prisoners also composed verse, he said, including Mullah Abdul Salaam Zaeef, the former Taliban ambassador to Pakistan, who destroyed all his religious poetry before a room search by the prison authorities, fearing it might be used in evidence against him.
For the major Muslim feast of Eid last year, Dost composed a poem written from the viewpoint of a child of a Guantanamo inmate.
Part of it read: "Eid has come, but my father has not. He is not come from Cuba. I am eating the bread of Eid with my tears. I have nothing. Why am I deprived of the love of my father? Why am I so oppressed?"
When he read it aloud, many of his fellow inmates wept.
Yet as he received a steady stream of guests in the library of his large Peshawar home, Dost was surprisingly magnanimous about his experience in Guantanamo.
"The positives have outweighed the negatives," he said. "I was not unhappy for being detained because I learned a lot. I wrote from the core of my heart in Guantanamo Bay. In the outside world I could not
have written such things."
Copyrght 2005 SF Chronicle
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New Year's Eve!!

I sit today with local news of flooding. All is quiet in this moment. All is intact in my little piece of the world. Mandu sleeps in one of his chairs. He is not impressed with his new heated cat bed. Why would he be, when he has a house full of places he chooses to curl and sleep?

I consider what this day, the end of 2005, means to me, and what I have learned this year. I believe I have learned to be quieter, more reflective, to listen more clearly to myself, and others. I have been forced to surrender, and sometimes, I feel my ego dissolving like a bar of soap slipping down the drain. And then, it re-forms; a brand new bar sits waiting for my shower cleanse. The lesson is acknowledgement of change.

Currently, I am learning to eat when I am hungry, and to sleep when I am tired. I am kinder to myself, more accepting. I am learning to find the pulse in confinement; I am learning to be.

What is my intention for this new year? More connection with myself and others, more sunrises and sunsets, more time spent with the wind and the moon.

I am reading a wonderful book, "The Mind in the Cave," by David Lewis-Williams. His intention is to understand the consciousness of those who produced the cave paintings. What inspires art, spirituality, religion, and when did it begin? Are the paintings ego, or are they communion? What is consciousness?

He sees consciousness like a spectrum, like the colors of the rainbow, a range. Yes, he also points out that we see the color spectrum of the rainbow as comprising seven colors, when other cultures acknowledge fewer. It seems that Isaac Newton decided on seven colors. (Oh, my, the sun comes out, and it is blinding me. Wow! It feels like a miracle, it has been gone so long. I actually have to close the blind to see the computer screen. How strange! I turn off the lamp. There is light! Wow!)

So, Isaac Newton having poor colour vision himself, asked a friend to divide up the spectrum. The friend split it into six colours. "Newton insisted on seven colours because of the significance of the number seven in Renaissance thought, and, as Newton himself said, seven corresponded to the seven intervals of our octave. Newton therefore asked his friend to add indigo to the spectrum, it being a popular dye at that period."

David Lewis-Williams then goes on to describe six states between waking and sleeping. I consider all of this. My sense of it is for each of us to see if we can see what we see, without our acculturation. That is my intention for this year, to see the colors of the rainbow as I see them, to see how far I can stretch and contract my seeing, my being, my sense and non-sense.

It seems the right intention, in this moment, for me.
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Poem by Margaret Atwood -

from Variation on the Word Sleep

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

Margaret Atwood (b. 1939)

"Variation on the Word Sleep" from Selected Poems II: 1976-1986 by Margaret Atwood, published by Houghton Mifflin. Copyright © 1987. Reprinted by permission of the author.
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Poem by E.E. Cummings -

love is a place

love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places

yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
all worlds

E.E. Cummings (1894-1962)

"love is a place" by E.E. Cummings from Complete Poems 1904-1962, edited by George James Firmage. Copyright © 1935, 1963, 1991 by the Trustees for the E.E. Cummings Trust. Copyright © 1978 by George James Firmage. Reprinted with the permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation.
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Rainbow light!!

I find a moment of sun and let the sun and the wind play with my bald head. Ooooooo, that is Fun!! Tap, tap, tap, flow! The clouds are back.

I remember reading that children today differentiate fewer colors than children of the past. It was a significant statistic. Our eyes are being trained by computer and television screens, rather than lakes and trees. Ack!

Another intention for me in 2006 is to really notice color as vibration, and to use all five senses in seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, and touching color.

I want to see how many colors wing the rainbows that cross my skies with pots of gold.
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Drugs and Advertising!

I am happily reading the Sunday paper on Saturday, when my eye is caught by the words, "I'm ready to take on chemotherapy." There is a picture of a bland looking woman in a blue-green sweater holding her hands together in front of a yellow mug, presumably containing coffee or tea. It is an ad for Neulasta, the shot I am given the day after chemo to bring my white blood cell count back up. On the back of the almost-full page ad with the bland looking woman is another almost full page list explaining the drug and its formidable list of side-effects. I'm sure this is a fine drug, but it feels odd to me that it is advertised in the Parade section of the Chronicle. Are there that many people on chemo? Can this drug be of universal appeal? Obviously my oncologist knew about it. It is part of my treatment program. I'm not quite sure why I find this so troubling, but I do.

I don't think I should be paying with my insurance money to advertise drugs that are clearly for a very select market. I find that troubling, but what do the drug companies care. They just add it to our bill.

So, now, I decide to look at my bill, and see what Neulasta costs. Just take a guess. My injection of 6 mg. of Neulasta, my shot the day after chemo, is the one that costs $5000.00. And on the day I get the shot, and am there for three to five minutes, I am charged the $300.00 hourly facility fee, and a $75.00 injection fee. I see now that when I added all that up for the over $10,000, I had not caught that it was two different dates, the dates of the chemo drugs, and the next day for the shot. I had not thought the shot day was a big deal money-wise. I thought it was a shot to boost my white blood cell count, but I see now that the chemo day is around $5000.00, and, the day after that is equal in cost. I walk in, sit in a simple chair, not my fancy one with a table and an IV, and I lift my shirt and someone gives me a shot.

Anyway, I see I mis-reported before on December 23rd. Also, on the bill, there is an adjustment, and I am assuming that adjustment is what my insurance company will pay, and so is a lower cost than is reported as the charge. I am sorry to be so grumpy about this, but it is all of our money, and I do not see why Neulasta needs to advertise to the average person. They are already courting the doctors royally. Isn't that enough?

Anyway, if the adjusted balance is what it is, the cost for the two days will be $5300.00. Hopefully, that is it, and maybe that is not so much. I am just struggling to understand the big business of pharmaceutical companies. I am finding it a bit unpalatable, in more ways than one. : )

Thank you for listening to my rant! It is good to get everything out before the new year, so I can start fresh. I'm sure this will be my last rant. It is certainly the last one for this year. Only a little over eight hours until the new Year!! I'm sure I will find nothing else to complain about in that time.

Happy New Year to All!!!
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A way to consider the new year -

Do not look for rest in any pleasure,
because you were not created for pleasure:
you were created for joy.
And if you do not know the difference between pleasure and joy
you have not yet begun to live.

Thomas Merton, 1915-1968
American Monk, Author and Poet

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Weather -

It feels oddly quiet as the sun softly sets, and I read that Mill Valley had 4.57 inches of rain in the last 24 hours, and certainly none of that in this day-time. The tide also turned out to be an 8. Quite something, and it is disturbing to read of damage in other areas. I hope the storm tomorrow is light. It has been quite a year!