The Real Role of Faith in America

It’s not about religion, it’s about having faith in one another, in our leaders, in our military, and in the system of laws and government on which we all depend. And it is this faith that is most shaken across our country.

There’s a story on CNN about the possibility that soldiers brutally raped a young girl, killed her and her family, and burned her body to cover the evidence. The whole thing is under invesigation, but I have a strong feeling that the story is true and that the soldiers are guilty. It’s not that I’ve seen evidence or heard a convincing argument, it’s that I have lost faith in our country.

A few days ago, the House passed a resolution that condemned the New York Times for releasing information that damages the credibility of the White House. The White House has been going after the "liberal media" for exposing the ways in which the administration is rolling back the Constitution. Basically, this administration bristles at the thought of any kind of oversight, investigation, or revelation of facts. They are unaccountable and proud of it.

That’s why I’m betting that those soldiers did those crimes. Why not? There’s nothing to fear. After all, the American way seems to be that we do whatever we want to do and then complain about those who would question us. This may sound as though I’m overstating things, but when we consider that the United States governement is surprised and confused that others would complain about us committing torture, can anything really be an overstatement? I don’t think so, but I’m hoping that the government doesn’t lock me in a cell without any chance of a trial just for saying so.

Chasm: A Marked Division, Separation or Difference

I stop walking in the woods of autumn
to stand in the river flowing through Ausable Chasm.
I look to the distant hill thinking of you,
the time and distance between us.

I imagine that it is unbridgeable, but this water
started there and now washes over my feet
as I stand thinking of things I choose not to control.
I see the turning leaves still hanging to the branches
not letting go until the wind demands it.

That hill is not so far and not so high,
I can be there before sunset if I go now.

[photograph "Ausable River #1" copyrighted by Chris Murray, prints available on request]

Communing With a Dirt Splattered Statue of The Lord in a Field Near the Barn

Look here, he said, gesturing
delicately at his own chest,
and all of us looked at his
mud-smeared garments and cursed
those who had not washed him and
desperately searched for deeper
symbolism in the position of his hands.

I watched a tear form in his eye
and wondered if we had gone
so far afield that we
could no longer understand
even the most basic
of his ideas, the very tenets
of his, of our faith and love.

[originally posted as a comment to Dustin Neal's poem "stone jesus parable" at Magnapoets which, in turn, was based on a photograph by Whitney posted here.]

On the Lighter Side: Cleanliness

I have found a good test for checking the level of someone’s cleanliness. Offer to take their kitchen garbage out, take the bag out and have a look at the bottom of the can. The level of cleanliness there will accurately reflect the owner’s own cleanliness. I just finished washing ours not because it looked dirty but because the kitchen smelled after I had taken the trash outside. By my own test, I’m a few hundred miles away from Godliness. Oh well.

What to Eat

Marion Nestle’s book What to Eat is a good book. I just borrowed it from our local library and have been browsing through it ever since. The beauty of the book is that it sees what we are being sold as a political struggle–that is, a struggle of power–which is what it is. Of course, this tactic invites criticism and searching for the author’s name provides a quick look at the hornets nest she has stirred up. Regardless of any controversy, the food industry is a business and businesses are all focused on selling their product whether or not there is a need. The goal of all advertising is to establish and develop wants regardless of what we need. It’s a good book. Agree or disagree with her ideas, it’s a good argument to be having. 

Deep Thoughts: Ballerina Cat

Last night our cat was stretched across the bottom of our bed, one leg extended up and out as she licked herself. She looked just like a ballerina dancer stretching against the barre, except for the ass licking part.

Having a Conversation With Myself at the Bookstore Coffee Shop

That, I say, pointing to the evening sky
is my favorite shade of blue.
I stare through the window into
the depth of summer, nine pm
watching it darken into my new favorite.
A star appears over the gas station
and I like that too.

I’m about to say, pointing at the star,
that it is my favorite point of light,
when I remember that you aren’t here
and the woman sitting at the next table,
a stranger, nodding slowly at me
doesn’t understand the color, the star,
the feeling that you would share.

I raise my hand just a bit,
to say I’m sorry, my mistake,
and put my head back down.
I put pen to paper and write of
that shade of blue above us
and the tiny point of light which is something
so much larger than we can imagine.

Searching for a Metaphor

I went to a site that randomly takes bloggers to other blog sites. I found a site about goal setting, another about the Civil War, and lots of personal writings. It seems to me that we are all (myself included) calling out into the forest and hoping that behind one of the trees is another person who will listen to what we have to say, talk back to us, and tell us something that we want to hear.

It occurs to me that this sounds sad if not pathetic, but it’s not very different from when we were kids and stood on the playground wondering who would play with us, who would be safe, and who would become our friend. It’s the same feeling that I’ve had on the first day of every job I’ve ever held as I looked around the orientation room, the sales floor, the teachers’ lounge and wondered if any of the people there would be my friend.

Some people become popular, it seems, right way. Others of us struggle on looking for a few good friends who will read what we have written, write back to us, and maybe even click a link or two so that we can feel validated and possibly make some money. Either way, this is the new world and we’re all trying to find a way to be ourselves and be accepted.

I’m going to go write about someone else’s blog now.

I Pledge Allegiance to…

I used to say the pledge of allegiance every morning before school. That was elementary and middle school. Then, in high school, I forgot about saying it as I stared at the wondrous shapes of girls’ bodies and faces. I remember pledging allegiance to Amy (who never noticed), to a handful of other girls, to Gina (who did notice) and then I graduated.

It’s been a while since then, I’ll be at my twentieth reunion in a couple months, and while I still don’t pledge allegiance to any fabric, I find that I am still devoted to the shape of my wife, the faces of my children, and the ideals of this country. The flag itself is colorful and nice, but it’s a bit of cloth and I feel no reason to have any strong attachment to it or the flag of any other country, team, or college.

I pledge allegiance to the ideas of freedom of speech, of the press, and of the people to disagree with one another. I pledge allegiance to the ideals of personal privacy, public openness, and peace in our time. As for the flag, burn it, wave it, fly it high from a pole and salute it, but remember that it is merely a symbol and that ideas are much, much more powerful than any three colors ever will be.

Call your Senators and urge them to vote against a ban on flag burning. While you’re at it, ask them to do some real work that matters. Take your pick.

Why I Write Poetry

Because it’s short and so is my attention span.

In the middle of one thought,
or of a poem answering
why I write poetry,
I see a woodchuck
standing by the road
and think of my wife
who calls them Harveys
after the rabbit in the movie.

And I imagine I’m Jimmy Stewart
preferring the company of a rabbit,
or a woodchuck, or a poem
to that of anything else.

If this were a longer piece
I would have forgotten
what I was doing
which was to say
why I write poetry.

It’s because poems are short
and otherwise I would find myself alone
instead of here thinking about the people–
and rabbits and woodchucks for that matter–
waiting for me to join them.

That’s why.