Beyond Words

Improvements come gradually to our casa here in our village outside Oaxaca, Mexico.

Solar panels on the roof have reduced our gas costs by about seventy-five percent. The tires that once formed steps from the driveway to our front door have been replaced with stone and brick steps that I built myself. A patch of dirt outside the back door has become a patio where we hang laundry. On the rooftop veranda, with its spectacular views, we installed a large shade cover. Trees and shrubs have been planted. And, of course, there is always maintenance.

Our most recent project has been the construction of a stone retaining wall along the driveway. At the entrance, where a large dirt embankment rose as high as seven feet beside the gate, there is now a wall of carefully placed stones capped with brick. It looks far better and gives the entrance a sense of permanence.

This is where Diego Vásquez enters the story.

A friend from the States recommended him. He lives in our village and had done work for her before. They had become friends.

Diego and I are about the same age. When we first met, he looked deeply into my eyes with a steady gaze. His eyes seemed to penetrate mine—as if sizing me up, but also revealing something of himself. The moment transcended words.

I speak only a little Spanish, and he speaks no English, yet we have become friends. He is always amiable, always ready with a smile.

Together with his helper, he did excellent work building the muro de piedra—the stone wall.

Years ago, I owned a masonry business in the United States, so I helped design the structure and checked on the progress often. As they worked beneath the blazing Oaxaca sun, Amy and I brought them cold drinks. There were always smiles and words of appreciation, even if we did not fully understand each other’s language.

One day the helper arrived with a gift for us—a stuffed squirrel—"ardilla." It now sits on our front porch.

Yesterday, Saturday, Diego stopped by to pick up a few tools he had left behind. Before leaving, he asked if I would be going to church in the village on Sunday.

In my broken Spanish, I replied, “No. God is in our house.”

He looked at me for a moment, smiled somewhat quizzically, and then departed with a grin.

I smiled too.

Muro Vivo—Living Walls

Mexico has been at the center of major international headlines recently after the government carried out an operation that resulted in the death of Nemesio Oseguera Cervantes, known as “El Mencho,” leader of the Jalisco New Generation Cartel — one of the most powerful criminal organizations in the country. Assisted by the CIA in the United States, an ambush was accomplished and El Mencho was killed, along with others on both sides. The immediate result was celebration but also a wave of violence that swept across Mexico. The images of burning vehicles were rather gruesome.

Since then, numerous of our friends and loved ones have been calling us, asking, Are you safe? Are you okay?

We are. Thank God we are well — safe and living our ordinary, creative life in our home outside Oaxaca City, in a region still regarded as calm and secure. Life here remains grounded in daily rhythms, the friendliness of neighbors, and the simple joy of sunrise light on the mountains.

We are even planning a short trip to the coast for a special celebration. Before making any definite plans, we asked a neighbor who runs a coffee cooperative near the Pacific and travels often along the new highway whether it feels peaceful. He checked with his daughter, who lives close to our favorite beach town — and the word was reassuring: the road is calm, the coast is peaceful.

In other news, this past week my neighbor Mayolo came over for a painting session with me. We set up a still life of sunflowers in a vase, with an alebrije set next to it. Over the course of two session we painted side by side. Very enjoyable and Mayolo, a creative person who makes the frames for many of our paintings, was very appreciative of the opportunity to paint together. 

And yes, my creative currents continue to pull me in new directions. I completed a short video titled Muro Vivo, or “Living Wall.” For years, I’ve photographed street art all over Oaxaca. In this new piece, an AI animation platform was used to bring those images to subtle movement, like walls awakening with breath — a little magic and a little experiment.

Meanwhile, Amy paints steadily, losing and finding herself in color and shape every day.

So — despite unsettling news and distant violence, life goes on here. We are safe. We are creative. We are grateful for friends near and far who care. And through it all, the sunflowers still turn toward the light.

More than Can Be Read In Books

 

I more clearly see an ending to this journey, with each day bringing me closer to a final scene. I want whatever time is left to be meaningful for myself and others. After seven decades on earth with myriad experiences, all inscribed in God´s cosmic records and my memory, I yearn for more wisdom, understanding and insight into life.

At times in the last few months I have had the feeling, What am I doing with my life? What am I to do with my time?  I have been an artist, writer, photographer, traveler, husband, father and friend. All has helped define me. Now, what more? Of course moving with Amy to a little village in Mexico flipped our lives. My art changed and I ask , Where am I? Who am I?

An excerpt from the writings of Bahaú´llah has been as a lantern in the darkness for me for many years: “O My friend, listen with heart and soul to the songs of the spirit, and treasure them as thine own eyes.” – Baha’u’llah, The Seven Valleys.

An urge recently  took hold to go alone on a vision quest, forsaking food and routine in order to get spiritual clarity. There is a a nature reserve called Cuatro Venados, or Four Deer, about 45 minutes from our house and the road there is paved, with little traffic.

We drove and Amy left me alone, agreeing to return on the third day. An old man took my 500 pesos ( about 25.00 USD) for two nights, then showed me uphill to a cabin made of adobe mud bricks and timber. It could sleep 6 people and had a fireplace. Basically a big room with bathroom attached. Windows with curtains on three sides. Other cabins were nearby on the hillside but I was the only one staying there. Very quiet and I soon felt alone. 

Nearby, a short walk down a dusty road and into the woods is a waterfall that is fabulous. It is part of the attraction of the eco-resort. Also on the property are little trails I explored. A creek runs through on its way to the waterfall. Especially I thrilled at the pine trees and greenery all around. At home, everything is dusty and brown from four months of dry season and no rain. 

Curiously, I had no hunger, and if a small craving came I enjoyed quashing it. My energy stayed good, but eventually I tired more easily during walks. The last night I woke and felt very strange including my heart. If I spiraled into something dangerous I was stuck without help. So I ate a bowl of granola and coconut water.

Everything around was speaking to me: the pine trees, birds, temperatures that went from hot to cold, stars in the night sky, silence and nature. I wrote in my journal: Just being, no agenda—The sound of a gurgling brook. Inhaling pine sap that has been warmed by sunlight. Water flowing over land and through the woods, meandering serpentine until a cliff interrupts its course, causing it to cascade through air, splashing on rock, falling more in spray and thunder until collecting in pools⏤only to resume an inexorable journey. I sit on a hillside that is covered deep in pine needles, under pine trees, while listening to the waterfall. The forest is dappled in light. Air is cool and balmy with gentle breezes wafting all around.  

“Nothing do I perceive, but I perceive God within it, God before it and God after it.” – Baha’u’llah

“Sometimes a tree can tell you more than can be read in books.”  ⏤C G Jung

A Shooting Star

 

The mid wife looked up at me from where my newborn child lay and asked, “Do you want to cut the cord?” It was a special moment in the living room of our little house. The doctor stood nearby and my tired but happy wife lay on her back with the baby on her stomach.

Doctor, at birth of Naomi

Morning light streamed in the bank of windows nearby. I took the scissors offered me and cut the cord—separating mother and child. About a foot of cord stayed attached to my daughter’s navel. I hardly could take my eyes off her, marveling at her perfection. The day: January 11, 1980. 

Newborn

Tomorrow would be her 41st birthday. Naomi died when she was but nineteen.

There are countless mysteries in life, and most of them will not be unravelled. I will have many questions when I cross over to the other side to reunite with Naomi and my ancestors. Then, as I stand in the light of truth and divine love, understanding will be given.

Colored pencil drawing Naomi made hours after learning of her cancer

One mystery that haunts me is the dream I had when Naomi was 12. I woke up with a feeling of extreme sadness and dread and then wrote the details down. It was a marvelous dream in all respect—full of awesome symbols of power and beauty—yet in the end the death of a child occurred. I could not understand its importance and even went to a psychologist to unravel the meaning. I made a painting using its images. Then, when Naomi was diagnosed with terminal cancer at age 17, I thought about the dream again. 

I will carry this mystery with me until the end of my days.

In the dream, which occurs at dusk, after witnessing an amazing flock of birds fly by, I ask for a sign and it is given immediately—a shooting star racing through the evening atmosphere, fiery, fast and bright—just above barren winter tree tops. More events unfold, before the sudden surprise ending that left me gasping when I awoke.

And so too, Naomi’s life was short and bright, for especially in the two years of her struggle at the end, she incandescently shed light as her life burned up. 

I am filled with a wonderful sense of happiness. It is an indescribable sense of utmost freedom and joy. When I am in touch with it I just think, Oh, God, thank you for this beautiful body and life. I have learned how to use THANK YOU throughout everything.
  —Naomi, age 18

The book I wrote about Naomi is available in print and digital edition: A Heart Traced In Sand

What Stays, What Goes

Purge. This is what comes to mind frequently these days as Amy and I go through possessions, deciding what stays with us and what goes. Fortunately, we both are veterans of purges from before our marriage a couple years ago. Between the two of us, we have more than we want to take to live in Mexico. So we pack only the most meaningful books, and give away or sell those we may have attachment to but don’t quite reach the highest level of “essential”. This is the same with everything . . . there is some emotional wrenching—like when I just gave away a 40 year old jade plant. It had been with me since before I had children. In fact, it felt like I was giving my child away.

At one point, I gave up expecting certainty about the timeframe for moving. We haven’t bought the home yet, and I expected to have done so by now. But it looks as though this week it will happen. It is not like we are buying a house in our neighborhood. It is in another country. Many things could go wrong. So we have been working carefully with our American realtor who is also a Mexican citizen. His partner is a Mexican lawyer. The owner is a German senior citizen, living in Germany.

We must obtain a permanent residence visa from the Mexican consulate. A lot of paperwork there. Complicating matters is that Amy’s passport has her maiden name, but she changed it after our marriage. So she decided to apply for another passport with her new name.  

Then there is issue of moving our possessions. The border is closed.

I give it all to God. 

Spirit comes to me and gives encouragement. That is enough.

Chain of Life

When I go to my fitness club to swim I often meet friends who arrive around the same time. Furthermore, by the time I get to the hot tub, usually a person I know is there.

The other day during my routine of using the steam room, showering, using the tub and then swimming laps, I met Carlos and Daniel in the hot tub. We talk and relax. Carlos is an atheist of sorts. I used the word “God” and he objected that "God" is nonsense. Like many other non-believers, he insists God is an invention of man’s mind.

Carlos and I went back and forth about it for a few minutes before I went to the pool to swim, and he went back to the lockers, calling to me, “Steve! You are God!”. I grinned back at him, “And so are you!”

For a few moments as I swam laps, I thought of Carlos and I as God. It felt good to be so powerful. 

I am not under any delusion that I am God. 

When I was a young adult, I was a non-believer without religion. Then in my freshman year at college, my soul talked to my mind and asked, “Do you believe in God?” For days, as I walked the university campus and attended classes, I grappled with the question. Looking around at creation, including my own life, I thought, “Something Greater must have made this world and it’s beings.” Scientists cannot create even one blade of grass. I struggled thinking that many gods might exist throughout the limitless universes. Why not? 

At last, I concluded that if God exists, then His attribute of being All-Powerful would preclude any opposition—since if there were a power outside of Himself that existed it would mean He was limited. I knew from the philosophy class I was taking at the time that this would be an a-priori contradiction in terms.

As Carlos and I spoke in the hot tub, I asked, “Where do you think humans come from?” He answered from “nature” through “natural selection.”

A couple days later, while thinking back to Carlos and his view of evolution, an image came to my mind of humans evolving from worms. Simple forms had to evolve to more complex. Worms came into existence 518 million years ago. Man is only about 200,000 years old. 

So where did man come from? He descended from simpler life forms such as worms.

My view is God made humans and gave us powers not unlike His own. Our evolution is such that at one time we may have looked like a worm, or a reptile, or other mammal. Just like in the womb, at one time we looked like a tadpole, or something with a tail, not resembling human. But in time, a beautiful human being is born. 

This is the chain of life; by divine plan and the Hand of God.

Fists Against The Wall

Last weekend was the 75th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, the notorious German concentration camp in Poland where in just two years over 1 million innocent people were put to death: men, women and children. The anniversary comes and goes each year and there are memorial events at the former killing grounds that attract fewer and fewer survivors and many visitors. For some reason, this year I began reviewing more about what happened. In high school, during a period when I read dense and important world literature, I also read The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, by William Shirer, (1245 pages). It is mostly forgotten in my mind after 50 years. 

Amy saw that I was studying and getting emotional about what had happened. She pulled a book off of her bookshelf, a small hardback. Saying nothing, she put it on my dresser. Within a day I had begun reading Night, by Elie Wiesel (September 30, 1928 – July 2, 2016). "In Night," Wiesel said, "I wanted to show the end, the finality of the event. Everything came to an end—man, history, literature, religion, God. There was nothing left. And yet we begin again with night.” ( In the above picture, he is in the second row, seventh from left.)

Simultaneously I looked online at pictures of the holocaust and the Nazi perpetrators. Photos of mothers and children being herded off boxcars to take them to the gas chambers, of skeletal forced laborers in horrid conditions, of despicable ghettos imprisoning isolated Jewish populations before being wiped out. I found myself getting angry and researching what became of the Nazi commanders, then seeing them hanged and thinking, “It serves you right.”

A page from Naomi's journal

“Auschwitz is outside of us, but it is all around us, in the air. The plague has died away, but the infection still lingers and it would be foolish to deny it. Rejection of human solidarity, obtuse and cynical indifference to the suffering of others, abdication of the intellect and of moral sense to the principle of authority, and above all, at the root of everything, a sweeping tide of cowardice, a colossal cowardice which masks itself as warring virtue, love of country and faith in an idea.” 

― Primo Levi, (Italian, 31 July 1919 – 11 April 1987)  Auschwitz survivor

I grew up in a non-religious household. No mention was made of God or religion. My father worked hard as a social engineer, alongside Robert Kennedy and Sergeant Shriver. HIs time was spent constructing solutions to injustice and implementing them. Once when a teen-ager and I had recently found God, he quoted Karl Marx to me: “Religion is the opiate of the masses.” I took exception, noting all the good that has come from Christian charity and the spread of principles of equality and love.

At nineteen I became a Baha’i, a religion teaching the essential worth of all religions, and the unity and equality of all people. Established by Baháʼu'lláh , (Persian, November 12, 1817 – May 29, 1892) in 1863, it initially grew in Persia and parts of the Middle East, where it has faced ongoing persecution since its inception. 

A beloved Baha’i prayer by Abdul-Baha, the son of Baha’u’llah includes the exhortation, “I will not dwell on the unpleasant things of life, nor will I let trouble harass me .” But what if life itself is cataclysmic without hope? What if there is no pleasantness to enjoy? 

Certainly there were those in the concentration camps who had seen their loved ones marched to the gas chambers, had felt the sting of smoke in their eyes from the furnaces incinerating bodies, and lived without hope in wretched unthinkable existence. Some, like Job’s wife might have thought “Curse God and die!” They are forgiven. Wiesel himself, after surviving the death camp spoke in an interview: “Some people who read my first book, Night, they were convinced that I broke with the faith and broke with God. Not at all. I never divorced God. It is because I believed in God that I was angry at God, and still am. The tragedy of the believer, it is deeper than the tragedy of the non-believer.” (See https://onbeing.org/programs/elie-wiesel-the-tragedy-of-the-believer/ )

When my beloved daughter Naomi fell victim to cancer at seventeen, I had to watch her endure her own holocaust. Dreadful pain spread itself in her body. Doctors said she had little chance to live and she began torturous chemotherapy treatments, locked away from the world at large. Many times, during my own “dark night of the soul,” I found myself thinking, beseeching, how could a loving God allow this? Alone, I beat my fists against the wall and wailed. 

Naomi had to meet her own point of no return. Many times in fact. Did she not wonder perhaps if God had forgotten her? She once said, “I hope not to die a slow, painful death.” But that is exactly what God had in store for her. That was her fate. She fought hard for life, weeding out any semblance of negative thinking that might interfere with her healing. Yet the slow, inexorable death march toward the gas chamber continued. At one point, exhausted, she sought to take her life and be done with it. Like in the Jimi Hendrix song, Castles Made of Sand, where he sings: 

There was a young girl, whose heart was a frown,

'Cause she was crippled for life, and she couldn't speak a sound

And she wished and prayed she could stop living,

So she decided to die

She drew her wheel chair to the edge of the shore, and to her legs she smiled

"You won't hurt me no more"

But then a sight she'd never seen made her jump and say

"Look, a golden winged ship is passing my way"

And it really didn't have to stop, it just kept on going.

And so castles made of sand

Slips into the sea, eventually . . .

One fateful evening in Santa Barbara, California, Naomi swallowed pills, arrived to a lonely beach and walked into the Pacific Ocean to drown. She was saved when she saw a stranger walking and her conscience would not allow her to take her life in front of an innocent person.

She went on to live another seven months before dying at home with peace in her heart. Just before, she had a dream of being on a blissful cruise. In feeble handwriting she managed to write it down on a scrap of paper.

A number of times during the ordeal I found myself down on knees praying fervently for help. I could see the innocents being herded toward the ovens, clutching their little ones and asked, “Please help.” Several times the veils parted and to my surprise I saw angels, in complete tranquility, smiling. Over in a flash, I thought, “but how could you be smiling?” 

After Naomi died, we bathed and dressed her in her bed and put a ring on her finger. It is part of the Baha’i ceremony for the deceased. The ring says: “I came forth from God, and return unto Him, detached from all save Him, holding fast to His Name, the Merciful, the Compassionate”. 

And this is my belief, that this life is a sort of veil and it is lifted when we die.

For those millions who died during the holocaust, the experience was inscrutable. 

Death reaches us all. Some are born and live but a few moments, others longer, but in eternity, this life is but a blink of the eye for everyone.

On that glad night,

in secret, for no one saw me,


nor did I look at anything,


with no other light or guide


than the one that burned in my heart.

This guided me


more surely than the light of noon


to where he was awaiting me


— him I knew so well —


there in a place where no one appeared. 

Excerpt:

ST. JOHN OF THE CROSS, 16th Century

The Dark Night of the Soul

Gentlemen

At the corner of a public parking lot on Water Street, adjacent to an expensive downtown hotel is a small stone fountain with patio and stone benches. It is where vagabonds hang out. The parking lot offers public toilets. I have passed by the motley congregation many times because my little gallery is in a building nearby. They don’t harm anyone, but sometimes show signs of mental instability—talking to themselves or shouting. They are disheveled, unkempt—mostly men, but sometimes females are in the midst. 

It would be easy to write this band off as vagrants and ne’er-do-wells. But something remarkable happened not long ago that confirmed the fact that we cannot judge people.

The circumstances involved my wife Amy. She said, “I work downtown, but park at the free Capitol lot and walk the blocks to the Plaza. I was schlepping several items and as I approached Water St. Parking lot, I set my bags down to rearrange them for easier carrying. I was running late . About an hour later, I wanted to make a phone call , but discovered my purse was NOT anywhere in my possession. I had gone to the bank prior to coming downtown and had taken out 600.00 to purchase tires for my car. My wallet contained all my credit cards and I.D. ...I was horrified. I ran outside to Water St. near the lot—the last place I recalled seeing my purse. I realized the odds of it lying there were 0 to none. Three homeless men were sitting near the area. At first glance, my heart sank. I asked them if they had seen a blue purse, which I may have left near the place where they were seated? "Why yes, we took it to the shop across the street for safe-keeping." I ran into the shop, and after a brief Q and A from the clerk, I had my purse back! Not one cent was touched. All cards and ID were there. The phone, too. I crossed the street and gave them each some cash in thanks. One replied, " People don't acknowledge us as human, when actually...We are gentlemen.”

I spoke with two of the fellows, Leaton, in the picture above, and Robert who said he found the purse. "I was startled seeing all the 100 dollar bills! I am not interested in a reward or recognition." 

There is love abiding in these beings, though it may not be apparent at first glance.

"…consideration shown to the poor is one of the greatest teachings of God."

"Join yourselves to those who work for the poor, the weak and the unfortunate; this is greatly to be commended." – Abdu’l-Baha