Ardenwood Historic Farm

I recently started up a family scouting group I named “BioScouts.” It seemed a meaningful way to spend time with Carolyn and the kids until I can land a job.

Last Saturday, the Bioscouts began a series of nature adventures with a visit to Ardenwood Historic Farm in Fremont. We didn’t plan on taking a guided tour, but we ended up hooking up with a group, and we enjoyed the tour thoroughly. Not only did we get to see the butterflies in one one of the eucalyptus groves, but we also got to feed chickens, turkeys, sheep, and goats. The tour was wrapped up with popcorn-on-the-cob, which is grown and dried right there on the farm!

©2013 Kaweah

America’s Last Chance

The year was 1966. The times they were a-changin’. In the Bahá’í universe, the pieces were falling into place. The first Universal House of Justice had been elected, and the world seemed to be ready for new answers and new leaders. It was the time of Martin Luther King Jr. and Muhammad Ali. Malcolm X had recently been assassinated. Black Americans were asserting their status and rights as full citizens. The time was right to introduce Black America to Bahá’u’lláh’s message of racial equality and unity.

I was just a year old. My family moved from south Los Angeles to Saint Helena Island, just off the coast of South Carolina. We lived in the town of Frogmore, the location of legendary Penn Center. Saint Helena Island, midway between Charleston and Savannah, had once been a sanctuary for free blacks (Union territory during the Civil War), and the location of a school for the same. It remains an active cultural heritage center to this day. In the 1960s, Penn Center was a conference center for some of the leaders of Black America. My parents even joined in a meeting attended by Martin Luther King Jr., Jesse Jackson, and—I daresay—even Joan Baez. Continue reading

A Going-Away Party

Doesn’t everybody get at least one party?

Jake got one when they found him with a gun in his bathtub.
It was a big one.
No. I mean the party. The gun was tiny.

Lots of folks showed up.
Family, neighbors, friends.
Some even came down from high places.

They even hired a preacher.
He looked good (Jake, I mean).
You should look so good, brother.
Those guys do magic.

Oh, come on! You’ve got friends!
I’m your friend, man.

Sure, anything you like, bud.
Name the place. I’ll set it all up,
but you have to make the guest list.

Whaddaya mean?
How about this:
Anyone who’s come to see you in the last, say,
five years.

Oh, come now. There must be someone.
What about your neighbors?
The delivery man?
The cable guy?
See. I told you.

Ten years, then.
Come on. You’re pulling my leg.

How about the wife and kids?
Him too? You sure?
Better run that by the kids.

You want a preacher?
Okay, then. How about a band?
Huh! They might be a little busy.
I can try, but how about a plan B, like a cover band?
Whatever you say, man. It’s your party.

Plugged or unplugged?
How about a playlist?
Xanaduunplugged?
Is that even possible?
Whatever you say, man. It’s your party.

How long you gonna give me?
No. I’m sure that’ll give me plenty of time.
It’ll be the best party you never had.
You have my word on that.
Cross my heart and hope to die.

What is fire?

No definition is perfectly concise. We associate words with images and pretend that we all agree on their meaning, but we are occasionally reminded that we don’t always agree. I remember, as a child, being surprised to hear that school buses are yellow, having been of the opinion that school buses are orange.

“Fire” is a particularly difficult word to corner. It is generally associated with the chemical process of rapid combustion, a chain reaction of oxidation reactions in a gas. This “fire” occurs in hearths, automobile engines, forests, and volcanoes.

I think we can safely agree that all such rapid oxidation events can be called “fire,” but one other phenomenon is very fire-like, though it has nothing to do with oxidation. It is the fire that we see burning on the sun. It is sometimes called stellar fire, stellar combustion, or astrophysical combustion. I’ve heard educated people say “the sun isn’t really a fire,” because they identify the word with chemical combustion, but the word is much older than combustion theory, which was first presented in 1777, a year after the American Declaration of Independence.

What is combustion? According to modern chemistry, it’s an electron transfer, but it’s called “combustion” because of its macroscopic character as an exothermic chain reaction. The word was not chosen because of any association with electron transfer, but because of its association with the phenomenon we have called fire since the Greeks called it “pyr”. The Latin root of combustion is a word that means “burning.”

What about fire leads us to call it fire? What are its characteristics—its phenomenology?

To understand the phenomenology of combustion, it helps to bear in mind that flames only occur in the presence of a gas, and that gas will not ignite without adequate heat. What is a hot gas? At the molecular level, a hot gas is just a cloud of accelerated molecules. It is the kinetic energy of free molecules colliding with each other that makes combustion possible. Molecules are broken apart in the melee, and the fragments recombine to form new molecules, often generating free electrons that will start further combustion reactions. The result of this chain reaction is a burning gas that we call “fire” and chemists call “rapid combustion.”

But how different is this chain reaction from what goes on in the sun? Sure, we know that the solar fire is driven by fusion reactions rather than molecular bonding, but that aside, we still have a chain reaction in a dense “cloud” of high energy objects breaking apart, forming new objects, and releasing light and heat. In both cases, we have a bright, circulating mass of convection, conduction, and radiation. Both phenomena are self-sustaining and self-replicating, so long as fuel is available. Given that the word “fire” predates our discovery of either molecular combustion or atomic fusion, it seems hasty to attach it to the former while keeping it at a safe distance from the latter.

Now that we can recognize the kinship of these exothermic, self-sustaining, self-replicating chain reactions as species of fire, we might consider what other processes can be recognized with similar characteristics. One obvious example occurs to me: life.

In what ways is life like a fire?

This is the thing …

I often remark, in contrast to one persistent cliché, that

I am religious but not spiritual.

By this, I don’t mean that I’m a heartless churchgoer. Who do I mean?

First, let’s look at the word “spiritual.” What I mean by “not spiritual” is that, so far as I can tell, the world doesn’t appear to be populated by spirits. I don’t see ghosts or gods. So far as I’m concerned, all I see is nature, and I don’t see any good reason to posit any existence beyond nature. To me, “spiritual” is a word that stands in direct opposition to “natural.”

But I am not simply non-spiritual. Even more than I am not spiritual, I am religious.

What do I mean by this? I mean that I see sacredness in the world. It would not be enough for me to describe my view as naturalistic, because that term is too often conflated with objectivistic indifference. I cannot describe myself as indifferent. I don’t even believe that indifference exists, for in every moment of my life I have cared about whatever I was experiencing, though it be only subtly. I care about everything I see, touch, hear, smell, taste, or imagine. Never have I experienced anything valueless, whether its value be good or bad. Never have I been utterly indifferent.

It’s simple: we care. We must see value in our existence, and we must behave accordingly. When I say, “we must,” I mean that it cannot be avoided. It is the nature of our existence. If there is any Great Power in our lives, it is this: caring.

This doesn’t mean that we’re always good or that we’re always right. It merely means that we are always engaged in a moral struggle, an existential sort of holy war—an existential jihad. Just as we may disapprove of others, we may disapprove of ourselves. We disapprove because we care.

It’s a simple religion, but it seems very hard for most people to understand. I do, however, know of a few who seem to have understood it.

  • The German existentialist Heidegger saw our “being in the world” as neither material nor spiritual, but a state of “caring.”
  • The American naturalist Henry David Thoreau saw “our whole lives” as “startlingly moral.” Thoreau’s personal philosophy of being has been described as an “ethical metaphysics.”
  • Zarathushtra, that ancient Iranian existentialist and revolutionary, recognized for his moral metaphysics by Nietzsche himself, spoke of two qualities in existence—the good and the bad—the two fundamental “qualia” of human perception.
  • The philosopher Heraclitus, a Greek subject of the Persian Empire, seems to have seen the world in a similar light. He saw all things in a kind of constant struggle, saying that the world is not composed of earth, water, or air, but poetically, of fire. “War is the father of all,” he said, but by “war,” he clearly didn’t mean violence between nations; rather, he meant that there is struggle in everything, and this struggle need not be seen Newtonian terms (in terms of opposite physical forces). It may be seen in a phenomenological sense, as ethical­, even esthetic.
  • Alfred North Whitehead, an English mathematician given to lengthy philosophical exposition, also appeared to appreciate this principle when he said, somewhat succinctly, “value is coextensive with reality.”

Having established that we care, or at least that I have a very strong conviction that we care, one might ask, “what ought we to do then?” My best answer to that question is that, paradoxically, we ought to do what we must do.

All ya can do is do what you must
You do what you must do and ya do it well
I’ll do it for you, honey baby
Can’t you tell?

—Bob Dylan

We must struggle for what we find worthy of struggle. As we are thinking beings, this struggle will inevitably be guided by thought (however imperfect), just as thought must necessarily be guided by that existential state of caring.

Given this position, it would not be suitable for me to suggest any particular politics, though I personally prefer particular values, strategies, policies, and so forth. When speaking from a perspective of faith, it is better to let the caring mind determine what is wise, rather than dictate wisdom to it, as it were, in a box.

“The mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be kindled.” —Plutarch

As I have implied above, the struggle is esthetic as much as it is ethical. A good thing, whether it be an idea or an action, is beautiful by merit of its virtue. Likewise, a beautiful impression is also a good impression. Religion and art are one. Ethics and esthetics are two sides of one coin—that precious coin of our value-centered existence.

Since Zarathushtra is generally given credit for the insight behind my religion, I call my religion Zoroastrianism. You may call it what you like.

 

How to Look at God

Sol rules the sky,
a celestial Medusa,
flames swinging and waving out into space
like so many yellow snakes,
the failure of the metaphor being
that we may look upon him,
though only through his companion;
a month being nothing more
than the time we must wait
to see the fire of heaven
as he sees himself, fully,
in his mirror
of wounded stone.

Catch the Sun

You don’t want to lose sight of her yet.
Follow her
across the beach and
feel it sinking with your feet.

Get them wet;
let her golden curls tumble
over you, let her rip you out
onto a sea dark
and deep as the approaching night.

Maybe you can keep up with her
for a while. Don’t
lose sight of the land.

Annual Update

It’s been over thirteen months since I last posted to this blog. There’s a good reason for my absence: I haven’t had much to say about Bahá’í matters. Perhaps this is because not much is going on—I’m in no position to say. I will say that I only created this blog because I wanted to remove the entries on Bahá’í matters off of my principal blog (now named Kindling, but with the original motto).

I never had any intention of blogging on the Bahá’í Faith indefinitely. I just didn’t expect to have that much to say on the topic.

Recently, I did contribute an article on my conversion to Zoroastrianism to the Project Conversion site—back at Naw Ruz time (Naw Ruz was a Zoroastrian festival long before it became a Bahá’í holy day). This article wasn’t about the Bahá’í Faith, but it might be of interest to anyone who’s wondered what a “native-born Bahá’í” like me might do in terms of religion after having moved away from the Bahá’í Faith.

Kindling

Burning Bush, by Dmitri Freund

Burning Bush, DmitriFreund.com

Chainsaw gardeners everywhere
believe gardening to be
the practice of keeping
the greenery away
from the path,
while deadwood
accumulates within,
where gardener and pedestrian
dare not stray,
the garden itself
slowly aging
into a woodpile,
waiting not for spring
but for fire.

Limbs

What some men seek
in haunted attics, others find
on abandoned trails,
the old man replied.

In the aftermath of an inferno,
amid the ash, baked soil,
blackened granite,
the fire-scalped ridge,
I greeted the naked skeleton
of an old pine with a hand,
and forgetting my brutishness,
broke off a scalded humerus,
heavy with marrow
and unspent fire.

Having taken life, weak with shame,
I avowed her disembodied limb
to be my companion, and timber
   and flesh strode away
through canyon and stream,
   arm in arm.