Tag: Musings

RUPERT IN THE FRAY

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 4 Comments

One of the more curious twists in recent American history is the impact of Rupert Murdoch, the Australian press baron who became an American citizen to keep control of his then fledgling television network.

Politically conservative, he’s nevertheless lowered the social standards of mass media. So much for values. He introduced dirty words to television and thus made them more acceptable in otherwise polite public discussion. His tabloid newspaper journalism, meanwhile, focused on celebrities and scandal in ways that have eroded serious political debate and public policy. That’s even without getting into his influence in Hollywood.

Put simply, we’re a less polite society than we were before his appearance. Or should we just say, cruder? That’s even before we get into the Fox News role as the Republican Party mouthpiece. Or all of the Murdoch-related phone-hacking uproar in Britain.

Now we might wonder how he’s reacting in private to the Donald’s emergence as the GOP presidential race leader. Someone from another television network, free from the Fox connection, all the same rising and then riding on the confrontational entertainment celebrity approach to political argument Murdoch’s nurtured.

Still, Murdoch’s far from the faceless corporate existence we see elsewhere. He’s passionate about print journalism, for one thing, and has been willing to take risks. But when people complain about “the media,” he’s still part of the mix, the one that almost always carries negative connotations. And, for the record, let’s point out it’s really corporate media, focused on big profits, rather than liberal.

AFTER THE CAMERA BATTERY QUIT …

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

I was enjoying a leisurely trip back through Vermont, taking many breaks with my camera. All was well until approaching the New Hampshire line, I stopped to capture pictures of a Mennonite church – one of a few in New England – and was about to walk a block or two to take shots of a long covered bridge across the Ottauquechee River. Alas, my camera stopped working.

I assumed the battery simply ran out of juice, though back home I remembered (too late) sometimes you just need to remove it and put it back in – have no idea why that works, but it did on my old Kodak. Well, I’m still getting acquainted with my new Olympus from Christmas.

There would no doubt have also been additional shots of the “quintessential Vermont” general store, a bed and breakfast, and other quaint buildings clustered around the green – this was Taftsville, after all, which turns out to be a neighborhood in the iconic town of Woodstock.

The 189-foot-long span built in 1836 along what’s now U.S. 4 was severely damaged by the remains of Hurricane Irene in late August 2011 and for several years was left dangling precariously from a middle pier. (It’s listed as a Multiple King post and arch design, by the way.) Now, including a fresh coat of red paint, it looks dazzling. Alas, you’ll have to take my word for it.

More missed photo ops took place an hour later, when I stopped for lunch in Lebanon, New Hampshire – not down by the busy interchange along the Connecticut River but up on the hill, around the old green. It’s one of those New England towns that has an opera house as part of city hall, and this one has an actual opera season each summer. This year’s bill includes not just Mozart’s Abduction from the Seraglio and Bernstein’s West Side Story but also Aaron Copland’s rarely performed Tender Land. What I saw and heard of that, by spying through a crack in double doors from the lobby, was gorgeous. Well, again you’ll have to take my word for it. You would have seen the exterior of the hall from the common.

Finally, much closer to home, as I was stuck in a construction delay at the Lee traffic circle, I looked out my car window and saw three fawns grazing placidly at roadside. If my camera were working, it would have been a classic shot. They’re such small, fragile critters with such big pointy ears!

Well, even with the missed opportunities, I am happy with what I got that day. Now, to plan ahead to scheduling them for this blogging!

PLAYING UPON THE LOONY TUNES, TOO

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

As I said at the time …

One acquaintance, preparing to be married under the care of another meeting, finally concluded you couldn’t find so many loonies collected in one place if you tried. There are times I suspect most of us would agree, especially when we get jammed on an item of business. We are an intelligent, opinionated, independent bunch of people. It’s said of us, as I also heard Jews at temple refer to themselves, that where twelve are gathered on an issue, you’ll have thirteen points of view.

Our way of doing business, requiring unity but no voting, requires us to try to listen carefully to each Friend. In practice, this can be difficult, especially if someone opposed to a proposal refuses to speak up or speak fully or, perhaps more serious, refuses to attend the business sessions where the matter is being considered. Sometimes, knowing there is unvoiced opposition, we will lay an agenda over to the next session, hoping for better representation – itself an admission that low turnout for our monthly meeting for worship for the conduct of business may also indicate its low priority in our lives. Laying it over, in turn, can often mean beginning all over again as a different set of individuals addresses the issue. Moreover, being present is essential, because miracles can occur in the session. Sending a statement on paper or via another Friend avoids moving with the Spirit in the meeting. There are times when being uncomfortable in the context of business meeting is healthy, and a sense of agreeing to disagree for a while may in turn lead to a third way and innovative resolution.

Our structure of doing business, in which each Friend is expected to participate in the operation of our faith community, can also be subject to breakdown. Individuals may fail to follow through on promised action, or not step forward at all for committee service. The work then falls back on a small core of Friends, who quickly become overburdened. Has there ever been a period when all of our committees were sufficiently filled and operating smoothly? It’s a lovely ideal, all the same, one that makes me all the more grateful for committees that are running well through the year.

Other dysfunctions arise in business meeting when we veer from the decision at hand, usually by trying to introduce a host of other problems and concerns – that is, trying to solve many of the world’s problems instead of replacing a furnace; when we forget the tenderness of the individuals involved and their motivations; when we try to redo work a committee has already labored over; when a committee comes forward to business meeting without finding unity on the proposal, hoping we can do what they couldn’t; or when we leap ahead toward a project we’re unlikely to give full support over time.

Once upon a time, reflecting on the traditional assumption that our business meetings would be led by Christ and that our job is simply to listen for the answer, I jested, “I don’t think Jesus cares what color the carpet is.” A decade or two later, when we were faced with that actual, prolonged decision, I had to add: “But he does care how we engage one another in deciding.” People can and do come away from our deliberations with hurt feelings, and it’s something requiring our mindfulness. Being opinionated doesn’t necessarily have to mean being heartless, even unintentionally. In the rug decision, the reaction of Friends in bringing heirloom Asian carpets to the meetinghouse for the wedding, while we were still deliberating the choice of permanent floor cover, remains a colorful reminder of the third way and its surprises.

We also need to be mindful that working through differences on small things is practice that strengthens us, as a body, for larger, more difficult issues.

WHERE SMALL TOUCHES ADD UP TO DELIGHT AND PLEASURE

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 2 Comments

My wife is big on “quality of life” touches that affect our sense of living. They don’t have to be big expenses, either, as many of her yard-sale finds demonstrate.

The concept hit me while changing the bed the other day in my gratitude regarding a new set of striped flannel sheets, unlike the old floral patterns.

Just wait till we slip in, I thought. Oh, the sweet anticipation!

WHERE ARE THE GROWNUPS IN THIS PARTY?

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

“No” is no way to lead.

That’s the lesson from watching two-year-olds or, for that matter, all too many parents.

The only thing the so-called Freedom Caucus members of Congress seem to know how to do is vote “No.” In that way, they’re two-year-olds. And don’t tell me, No, they’re not.

Just see what happens when it comes to voting for their own party leadership. No Speaker.

It’s no way to lead. The grownups in the room need to assert their authority. Perhaps, too, some parenting lessons are in order. If there’s anyone who can teach them.

DISPLACEMENTS

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 5 Comments

Any scholar of language will be struck by the ways some words drift from one meaning to something quite different. At the time of the King James Bible, for instance, “to prevent” meant “to precede,” from the root “to come before,” rather than “to hinder.” In our own time, we’ve seen “enormity” go from meaning “great evil” to simple “immensity,” and we’ve lost a powerful word in the process. Both “gay” and “queer” have lost timeless, innocent concepts. There are countless other examples where an author from the past tries to tell us something quite different from our current interpretation.

I’ve come to call these shifts “displacements,” especially when they happen by degrees over time and particularly as they relate to religious practice. For example, a cousin who was also a pastor in the Church of the Brethren likes to point out how the “Holy Sabbath” changed over generations to “the Sabbath” and then just “Sunday” before becoming what we know as “the weekend,” preferably of the three-day kind – each stage losing something along the way. I could argue how “my perception of the Truth” is quite distinct from “my truth,” one embracing the ideal of a single verity while the other presents an infinite array of conflicting, what, sensations or tenets, maybe? The “Inward Light” that early Friends proclaimed was quite different from the “Inner Light” version appearing two centuries later. Or “that of God in each person” is quite distinct from each person being a god unto himself or herself. Or even the way the quest for fun has displaced a work ethic and social consciousness. As for “Christmas” turning into “Holiday Season,” remember, it’s not far from becoming a more candid “Shopping Season” altogether. Keep your eyes open; these shifts are all around us, probably in every field of endeavor.

Returning to root meanings can be empowering. “Radical,” after all, comes from the word “root,” and Native American culture tells us, “roots are strong medicine.” Good roots, as gardeners know, are essential for healthy plants. In the world of thought and action, examining the roots can also restore the original vision. Hmm. “Look” and “see” aren’t exactly identical, are they?

WHERE’S THE HONOR OR ADVANTAGE?

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Once upon a time, being Speaker of the House of Representatives of the United States was an esteemed and quite powerful position.

For one thing, I never previously realized my hometown carried the name of the third speaker. Nor did I realize that Massachusetts had been the source of more of the officeholders, eight, than any other state. (In contrast, Virginia and Ohio provided the most presidents.)

I do remember finding family postcards of the Missouri mansion of Champ Clark, who was Speaker 1911-1919, and being told, in reverential tones, that one of my great-great-grandfathers had somehow been in charge of his affairs in this native state. Not that I’ve ever followed up to confirm the story. Maybe it was a cousin?

Curiously, though, despite all of its prestige, only one president – 0ur 11th – ever served as Speaker. That was James K. Polk, who led the House, 1835-39, before landing in the White House, 1845-49. In that election, he defeated another Speaker, Henry Clay. (For the record, Gerald Ford had been only Minority Leader before becoming president through Richard Nixon’s resignation.)

Looking back, though, the last reference to the position with any general air of full respect from both sides seems to invoke Tip O’Neill, 1977-87.

That’s three-plus decades ago.

For someone with the ambitions of Wisconsin Representative Paul Ryan, these factors have to come into play as he considers Republican Party calls for him to run for the Speaker’s gavel. Even without the current toxic situation, it would add up to a dead end. Or, at best, a final step.

Let’s see how long reason holds out in the end.

ARE THOSE SEAMS TURNING INTO TECTONIC PLATES?

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

Only weeks ago, I wrote on the longstanding seams in the Republican Party and wondered about their coming apart. (Here’s what I posted.)

Since then, in the dizzying developments in the party’s inability to name a new Speaker of the House of Representatives, along with the mystifying field for the presidency itself, it’s now possible to ask whether those seams have become tectonic plates – the kind that are about to erupt as a very destructive political party earthquake rather than simply ripping apart.

The so-called Freedom Caucus is being called the “kamikaze congress,” one that would rather see the Capitol blown up than do anything for the good of the country. The more moderate or more mainstream Republican congressmen, meanwhile, are awakening to the fact that their party can’t govern in its current state – whether they align themselves as a Reality Caucus with a core of moderate Democrats is making for some fascinating discussion.

As a blogger without insider information, I can only watch all this from a distance. Keeping up with the news, much less digesting it and relaying any conclusions, is exhausting. So here we are, following a big drama. Who knows how many acts there will be or how much figurative blood will be shed. It’s that, or comedy, but I can’t see anyone here laughing anytime soon.

ON ART ABOUT ART

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 3 Comments

As I said at the time …

I largely distrust art about art. It’s not that I haven’t written poems about poetry, much less music or paintings. I think we all do, sometimes as a matter of reflecting on the practice we pursue as artists. Why do I write what I do, in this voice or style? Where do I fall in the stream’s current?

The danger is that such work can become incestuous. Artists of all stripes can easily perceive themselves as high priests of the mysterious or marvelous. We are inspired, or so we think. Or at least super-sexy. We have special visions and heightened awareness. We speak our own jargon. So what if the masses cannot understand if it heightens our niche? What sells is commercial, and we point to its cheap tricks, unless it’s feeding our wallets.

What happens, of course, is we speak more and more to each other, rather than the world we inhabit. We celebrate ourselves, rather than searching outward. We become artistes, caricatures who flock to cafés and late-night bars, rather than hard-working creators. Paris wasn’t Paris when it was the expats’ hot stomping ground. Their old photos look more than funky.

Consider, for a second, the opera. Let me argue that Butterfly, free of the artist halo, is a more fascinating and touching character than Tosca, the opera singer. Parsifal or Lohengrin, than Meistersinger. Orpheus moves me as a widower, rather than for the power of his music. The magic flute, fortunately, becomes a mere footnote in Mozart’s cosmic comedy.

That’s before we even get to the application of “poetry” to describe another art. A pianist whose playing is “poetic,” for example, or the “poetry” of a piece of architecture. Again, it becomes incestuous or self-celebratory and essentially meaningless. Do we mean pianism that’s introspective and not flashy? Then what about humorous poetry? Do we mean architecture that instills a sense of awe or one that’s lean and understated? And so on. Should we even ask which poet the critic had in mind?

This might also have something to do with the fact that I’ve spent most of my adult life as a journalist, rather than in a full-time literary profession. I don’t teach writing or literature. Even in religion, where I am actively engaged, it’s not in paid ministry – which can seem somehow tainted by the fact it’s a job or employment. They overlap, of course.

Despite that, I have written collections that remain homage. My unfinished Corridors arises in the experiences of visiting art museums over a lifetime, as well as making art: while individual pieces are named after various artists, I should point out there is rarely a direct connection between the two, other than the spirit of life. Likewise, the Partitas and Fugues cannot employ a direct correspondence between musical form and language – if anything, in acknowledging the wonder and joy such works stir within a listener, my poems only admit the chasm between pure music and an aspiration for a pure language, apart from literal meaning.

Now, out into the field beyond the field across the stream below the house, as it were.