Thanksgiving Thoughts from 1789

George Washington's 1789 proclamations of thanksgiving:

"...for the great degree of tranquillity, union, and plenty... for the peaceable and rational manner in which we have been enabled to establish constitutions of government for our safety and happiness... for the civil and religious liberty with which we are blessed, and the means we have of acquiring and diffusing useful knowledge; and in general for all the great and various favors which He hath been pleased to confer upon us. And also that we may then unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications... to promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue, and the increase of science among them and Us – and generally to grant unto all mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as he alone knows to be best."

May we continue to pray for tranquility, union, plenty, peace, rationality, safety, happiness, civil liberty, religious liberty, useful knowledge, knowledge sharing, God's favors however so defined, humility, truth, virtue, science, a cooperative notion of them AND us, and - how profound - temporal prosperity in our 2012 prayers of Thanksgiving.

Prayers of Thanksgiving maintain the power of any prayer: purpose. Pray to praise your every blessing and in so doing become ever mindful. Pray to enliven memories. Pray to prepare for action. Pray to propose the world you wish, and will work, to be.

24/7: 20 Poems for October

October's Twenty-For the Seventh post honors the poetry of past, present, and family. Reviewing my folders and files of poems brought back many memories. Poetry has long been a part of my life, and each poem captures a small part of who I was, what I was going through, what I was curious about, and so on. I have written and drawn in journals, but the necessary partnership between a poem and its reader forces interpretation and engagement; Reading old poems captures some essence in a way force-fed diary entries never could. It was interesting to observe changing vocabulary, trends, interests, people, and beliefs. Some common themes included language, spirituality, ambiguity, family, seeing the bigger picture across time or space, love, and home.

Also, my sisters wrote several poems on one of many family road trips to the summer cottage in New England. I like them a bunch, and I like their poems as well. Dad, a true poet and songwriter, has written many lyrics that loop in my ears and motivate my own writing. A poem he penned while visiting Tallahassee concludes this list.

1) Introduction
by James "MANGO, Bengal Timpani, Grampa Bomba Bombe Bebop" Eaton Riley

Opening my eyes as I’m leaving the birth canal
On a motorcycle jousting the setting sun
In Nirvana in my Mind in a Monastery in India
Is celebrating my Grandpa’s twenty-first with a beer in one hand and a cigar in the other
And opening my leaves to absorb the sunlight.

2) Bridges

When you vote for me, I promise to imagine you a bridge.
Serving as senator I brought together compound words and contractions,
And yes, there were a few mistakes.
Stillbirths. Blackmail. Even bagpipes hit the fan.
Who’ll ever use why’ll?
But our children will forever have bedtimes.
Superman and Batman reign in the comic book stores.
Businessmen and businesswomen alike will never go a day without briefcases.
And what about touchdowns or threesomes?
But all of these bridges are still just building blocks.
Yes, a bridge, a new bridge. A better bridge than ever built before.
My opponent likes to talk about money.
You, too, may be wondering what this great construction will cost.
And, well, would you like to know?
Nothing. 
It’s something these United States still can afford!
You see, I’d like to build you a few poems.

It’s time to bridge minds, people,
We can’t all die alone.

This fine man standing across from me may promise economic stability, 
But I’m here offering you a few glimpses of completeness.
Of true love.
Of heart-wrenching emotion.
I’ve got a lot of life to share, and plenty of death to muse.
As one final note this evening,
If president, I’ll push for sackpenciln’taphone and kinshipthroatknothole.
Thank you, and God bless America.

3) Metaphor

the grasses that blanket the field are the grasshoppers leaping through
the grasshoppers prancing about are the mice that squirming
the mice that explore the ground are the hawks that navigate the sky
the hawks that travel far are the fungi that never leave home
the fungi that live are the nutrients that give life
the nutrients that feed are the grasses that feast

4) A poem untitled and burnt so nobody would remember

Take something simple
And make it more complex
Why should he, have a house key
When he can have a key ring
It’s not a sign of knowledge
It’s not a sign of power
Maybe it opens doors

Maybe it proves possession
Lets him into his house
As if he had somewhere to stay
That’s what the doctor has proscribed
We could let him into the government
Maybe he has loose change
Teach him to speak new
Oil his rusted joints
Send him to a restaurant

What he wants is soup
All they have is lobster
He irritates the chef

He said, “I want the alphabet!”
And we said, “No! No! No!”
We called for the cops

Stole his artistic license
Fed him to the lions
Banished his corpse

Took someone unhealthy
And fried his brain

5) Colours of the Wind

Leaving the shadow where it belongs on the wall,
He creeps behind pictures when they are ready to fall
From grace to the skirmish of instant satisfaction.

The painter’s intentions evoke eighteen dimensions.

Abstracting the meaning with the light just beyond,
Implying the subject and the silhouette correspond,
He leaves the shadow where it belongs on the wall.

Creeping through his paintings when spells of sanity fall,
The decorative mask that he wears for society’s satisfaction
Is not that face which resides within his private dimensions.

There is no truth and there is no art in his great beyond.

What is real and what is imagined will never correspond.

But even where the breeze is gentle on the cheeks of four-year olds,
All the hollow colors of the wind will still blow.

6) Go Outside and Meet Somebody or Do Something or Do Something With Somebody

There’s these walls!
These walls won’t fall!
No doors, no windows.
We hear how much fun the antelopes are having outside.
The birds chirping!
The worms wiggling, foxes having so much fun outside.
Everyone in this place is nuts!
This place is for hermits!
No whores, no widows.
We hear how much life the antagonists are swimming in.
The planet earth’s spinning!
The markets are mingling, the dollars buying so many lives outside.
Debts are being paid!
Paid with what the wide world was paved!
No Fab Fours, no yin-yang mojos were
We ever going to have if we didn’t fight the good fight,
Just to get some touch!
Tasting everything, fighting tools and brimstone.
O’ glory glory hallelujah!
Hell is happening!
No floors, no angles,

We’re four dimensions
           four dimensions
           four dimensions
           four dimensions
           four dimensions
           four dimensions
           four dimensions
           four dimensions
           four dimensions
           four dimensions
           four dimensions
           four dimensions
           four dimensions here in existentialist land.
Existing!
The exit.

7) Water

Puddle, tsunami,
River flowing but never changing
Carving landscapes, cradling depths, crossing the horizon
Awestruck, always, and becoming awesome
Gas in the atmosphere,
Ice hurtling past Pluto
          Always and forever an infant,
          Always and forever a guru

8) City Rain

Sometimes it’s nice
On a rainy day
In a detached sort of mood
While the skies are gray

When the college radio resonates like the soundtrack to your life
You hold it together like the clouds soon to pour
Still the air conditioning is comfortable, as usual
And you’ve driven this road before

You’re finished for the afternoon
And accomplishment leaves the heart half empty
It feels less lonely
Knowing the rain falls on everybody in the city

9) Would you walk around if you didn’t have hands?

We can live the life of a sun outside of the narrowing flashlight beam.
Broken clocks save the world just that much by removing their batteries in the morning.
Hospital visiting hours can last maybe a little bit later tonight.
We could all bear to breathe just a little deeper.

Alligators aren’t concerned about weighing over eighty pounds.
Nightmares never hurt once you’ve struck the ground.
Computers turn on by the time you’ve brushed and dressed.
What does it feel like to give birth to a baby?
Tell her the sunshine emerges from her face.
We could eat healthier foods and they taste better anyways.
We hallow our own ground;
Yes, you would still walk around.

10) Discipline Is Freedom

counting down to zero
and those that make it
stick around for the whipping
a whiplash so injurious it leaves them clinging for more
enduring the depths of the deepest oceans
they’ll learn what it is to fly

approximating this spontaneous flight for months
my wingspans reach and I am free
to explore in length this endless endeavor
so I write this letter all at once
for it is my resignation from irreality
into the liberating abyss of structure 

11) My Life Is Not My Own

I used to think we lived and died alone;
Now I know my life is not my own.

While my guitar sleeps under dust in the corner,
It is myself who is the estranged foreigner.
The shriveling garden is a sign
That the wilting responsibility is all mine.
What a child sees
Is what the family will come to be.

History and infinity designed this moment;
However it is consumed, forever the universe is something different.
I used to think we lived and died alone;
Now I know my life is not my own.

I am not a worthless speck
I am the design on the Jaguar's back.
I think in thoughts that will be said
I act in deeds I hope to spread
I am half of my every relationship
I am a vote defining my citizenship
I am the change I want to see in the world that changes me.

It isn't about about the child visiting their granma and grampy,
But the grandma and grandpa loving their grandchild grow.
I used to think we lived and died alone;
Now I know my life is not my own.

12) Picture-perfect, Beneath and Beyond

Meaning: a faultless image
Days are not water drops wasted
but coupled with sand and dribbled into
drip castles dabbling into memories,
the way water falls forever
is how love exists.
Even lullabies the children sing 
are less familiar than your touch.
As paintings convey reality,
          I look to the world and everything is my girl,
          I look to you and see everything in the world.

13) Love’s Years Flying

They smile, while cleaning
Dusty walls anchoring
Rusty nails suspending
Simple picture frames housing
Convivial pictures reminding
The older people forgetting
Golden memories playing
Childhood games laughing
While wood beams were shaping
The home where they are grandparents today.
It feels like they first met, justly yesterday.

14) Settled Grace

Old age has settled in
Reaping the returns of a life 'someone else' lived.
Creaking of the wheelchair
It's still warming to this brisk morning, too
I and it, waiting on the 'other side' of busy city intersections.

Thick meaningless comfort is fur
I pretend it still smells of partners long gone
Unreeling the memories of lives dear ones lived
And the winds whirling through the lines of my face
Still stir a smile, a faint brush with grace

15) Lullaby

vinyl records fill my ears with parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
before my eyes my parents travel through time
raindrops pit and patter as the dark of night settles in
the temperature drops and cools my skin
an aroma of moist earth is refreshing

pops and crackles accompany Paul Simon stomp, stomp, stomping
and to the beat my heart is swept
forever my comfort in the music will be kept
bass slaps and thunder cracks shake my stomach to sleep
I lay and let the moment steep 

for someday when I smell like a dusty album cover,
still I’ll hum along to Scarborough Fair
listening for answers to life’s same questions
(we know enough to know how little we know)
resting my eyes
mom, dad, the music, the rain,
this lullaby I will always remember

16) Whale Harbor
by Emily "Pandy Valley Moonbeam" Elizabeth Riley

Drops of dew tickle my toes
A woman walks past
With her little girl
They wonder why I’m in their lawn

17) Blackeyed Susan
by Emily "Pandy Valley Moonbeam" E. Riley
“Hippopotomonstrosesquidliaphobia,”
I reply to the teacher
Correct
Billy punches me in the
Face

18) Crucial Sounds of Hearing
by Erin "Otter Sundance Horizon" K. Riley

Oval shapes of browns, greens, and yellows.
More green.
All around, everywhere.
Five shouts from the head of Pippy Long Stocking.
We’re separated by cones of orange and white.
10 ft. maybe more, maybe less.
Tangled in the minds of the disturbed.
Then spilled out like the blood across the floor.
Mixed in emotions of color.
They trap us.
Cages around lions like lions in cages.
From the words of Pathway to Providence you say?
Says what? You hear? You say? I say? Who says?
Journeys passed packed up soaring across
Birds follow.
Who learns?

19) Hello
by Erin "Otter Sundance Horizon" K. Riley

Goodbye.
Like droplets of rain beating down on your skin.
Like a giant pulling out your insides.
Like a majician with the wrong box.
The blades slice.
Like a broken jack-in-the-box.
Like a shark who won’t let go.
Like a dead-end.
The rain stops.
The giant leaves.
The box breaks.
The doll pops out of the box.
The shark lets go.
It’s an open road.
Hello.

20) Sitting at the Black Dog Café
by Wayne "Jake" Eaton Riley

Sitting at the Black Dog Café
Café au lait
Lake Ella glistens
Morning cool air
Fountains spouting
Cool misty water
Blowing in the breeze…

Oak trees and dogwood
North Florida but deep south
Scattered palm trees
But mostly moss draped oaks
Sipping coffee
While old and young
Walk around the lake
Dogs and babies
Students and residents
Poets and folksingers…
Vibrant Tallahassee morning!

A Breath of Fresh Air

The cleared vacuum filter swirls dust everywhere.
Hair dead skin and miscellaneous waste particles scoured from the fan and bookshelf, 
My own ashes are scattered in the air.
Breath in. 
Breath out.
Thoroughly cleansed as this home, I am reborn.



-MANGO

Transfer, Transfer, Transfer

"Bear in mind that we all are teachers,

we all are students,

and that to “Transfer”

is the process of moving an object, symbol, or idea

from one closed system to another,

when the two systems contain similar aspects or some similar relationship,

yet retaining a similar meaning (Madsen and Madsen, 1998)."

If you move an object such as a cheese grater from the kitchen into the bedroom, you can paint it and create an affordable earring holder. A symbol of the crucifixion has been generalized to represent Christianity. Because you remember memorizing the names of bones by chaining the information, you might transfer that same procedural idea to teach a new song to people and find success by presenting one line at a time and linking the lines together.

The theory concerning transfers of learning originated in behavioralism. A "transfer of practice" occurs whenever past experience informs and influences learning and performance in new and different situations. Slouching over your new guitar at home will later teach your body to sit with poor posture in a guitar class. You might transfer a learned confidence while playing guitar in front of your classmates when later performing publicly at a local coffee shop. Perhaps you observe how performing those different songs affected the audience, and so later choose to sing "What a Wonderful World" rather than "Yesterday" to elevate a patient's mood.

What is learned in one classroom should apply to another. And your life. And your future. Dressed in a suit and tie, Dr. Cliff Madsen grins while stepping through his classroom doorway and says everyday, "Ladies, gentlemen; take out pen and paper. Write a transfer!" Teaching yourself to think critically both in depth and creatively implies the ability to thoroughly understand a single topic and to also adaptively apply that understanding in endless functional purposes and intellectual pursuits. Rather then seeing the world as several distinct textbooks, practice seeing the world as the internet, rich with encyclopedias, video resources, social media and - downloadable textbook PDFs - that inform "vertical" depth with all possible "horizontal" breadth: connections, references, combinations, metaphors, theories, opinions, song lyrics, and so on. Barry Commoner contributes, "Everything is related to everything else." 

Madsen, Charles H. and Madsen, Clifford K. (1998). Teaching / Discipline: A Positive Approach for Educational Development. Boston, MA: Allyn and Bacon, Inc.

When are you an adult?

Concluding a class capping our undergraduate curriculum, and which prepared us for the next six months of full-time internship experience, our professor posed the question, "When are you an adult?" Perhaps it's when you turn 18 and vote. Or you leave home. Or if you go to college. Or turn 21. Or your brain fully develops around age 23. Or you reach your 'physical prime' around age 25. Or graduate college. Or get your first 'real' job. Or when you pay for all of your own bills, insurance, computers, cars... Or when you buy a house. Or when you get married. Or have kids. Or you take care of your own parents. Or you have grandchildren. Or you retire.


Or maybe it is whenever you accept the responsibility for your actions and their consequences, both good and bad. When you regulate or respond adaptively to your emotions, your body, the environment, and all sorts of changes. When you set and accomplish your own goals. When you define and live by your own rules. When you know how to expand your strengths and overcome your limitations. When people can trust you, and you can trust yourself. When you develop your own social networks, and when you are comfortable in your own head. When you can love, and others can love you. When you make sense of your life and your world. When you live towards a higher purpose. When you are filled with awe, wonder, curiosity, passion. Perhaps it is whenever you choose to be whatever you think an adult should be.

Why should you be an adult? Adults choose their destiny. Adults play with bigger toys. Adults can love other adults. Adults must change the world. Adults are not so different from children, or from parents, or from friends, or storybook characters, childhood dreams, or persona ideals. Adulthood subsumes childhood. Adults are everything they want to be, if they are adult enough to make such a choice. I have felt very low, and purposeless, and unmotivated, and helpless. And alone. As an adult, it is up to me, alone, to help myself grow up. To generate the motivation for creating purpose in my life. To soar high above the shortcomings of spoon-fed living. An adult embraces their burden of freedom. An adult goes about life building the playground of heaven.

Distant, From Somewhere Not So Far Away

Tell me what to do
I'll try to listen,
Tell me what to do

I'll try to listen over the city's grumbling
I'm not often patient enough to hear your words,
But I am listening

Your words are huge, too big to be heard
When I don't stop to pay attention
To the many signs I fail to observe

Where is my heart?
My courage?
My home?

I'm ready to sit still
And wait for the bus to arrive.
Help me be ready to meet the passengers on board
Someday taking the wheel to drive

Let me drive without being alone
The people will help you tell me what to do
I'm ready to drive your road home



-MANGO

Reaffirmation

To change the world,
I must change myself
Must repurpose unnecessary habits
Modify my life towards another wealth

To be paid only in friends and loved ones
To accrue fitness and health
And raise interest, long overdue, for creative pursuits



-MANGO

Haiti: a journal's POV

"Spring 2012 Haiti mission trip, a reward for the soul after my first semester of graduate school. The Intergenerational Rock Band concert finished past eight, then after stopping home, I hit the road towards my dad, the Peace Covenant Presbyterian team, and Missionary Flights International in Fort Pierce. We flew out (literally) a couple of hours later. We landed in Exuma and Cap Haitien (on earth and grass) before our final destination of Port-au-Prince. A missionary named Roger escorted us to the transport bus and drove the insanity he assured us are just normal Haitian streets. We were overwhelmed by the amount of struggle and hardship so apparent all across the city. The beautiful Baptist Haiti Mission compound was a miraculous sight after all we had seen.

"A house is your bank. It is your savings account. Houses are left 'under construction' for years as they're gradually able to be developed. Everything appears to be unfinished mounds of broken cinder blocks. The state of existence around the entire country is shocking. Words nor pictures could describe a third world country completely. Despite the conditions, I've observed the brightest of emotions. People seem so much more connected to one another. The cacophany is routine, but so is the the sense of community.

"Day 2 - We toured the compound, bartered for fresh vegetables in the local market, bought, loaded, and unloaded 600 cement blocks, and began construction on a home. Showers and food that night felt amazing. The food available to the compound is surprisingly delicious, and there's plenty of it. The BHM provides education (i.e., terrace farming), medical care, employment, housing, and more, but also nourishes our own American souls. We all bond and feel God's presence. We grow as humans and as Christians. We see what is possible in this world, pray before and after everything, and most powerfully, will sure savor the coming Sunday, the day of God given rest.

"I was much more awake this second night than yesterday, after a full day, rock concert, six hour drive, and a 4:30 alarm to get ready for the day's international transport. The evening devotional and reflective discussion was really nice, engaging and thinking aloud with a now intimate group. I'm much more spiritual than religious, and though I define God as the whole of existence, Jesus as the model symbol of and model for humanity, and the Holy Spirit as some learned intuition or phenomenological sense of morality with a call to action, I'm feeling very comfortable and connected with this Christian religion. So much depends on the company you keep. I believe religion is a human construct to explain and guide existence, but as a myth perpetually enacted, it becomes reality, and often a preferrable sense of reality. Religions keep us together, fills us with purpose, defines right from wrong, and establishes an everlasting humanity.

"Day 3 - We worked hard. Very hard. Heavy labor the whole day. It was a lot of fun. There are a variety yet limited number of jobs, and the group trades and works where needed. We depended on teamwork. We were a single machine, and each piece was necessary. After screening a pile of sand, I had the great joy of playing futball with a young boy and speaking pidgeon French-ish creole with the other kids. One human family.

"Nobody gives a back massage like a dad. After any strenuous day, I feel alive by stretching, and feel incredibly recharged after some breathing and opening up.

"Dinner featured a special pumpkin soup, with a slow spice. Locals celebrate independence with this soup composed of all things they were prohibited from eating throughout slavery. Such extremes of coordinated missionwork, discussion, and pure fellowship make us feel very unified and single-minded, through Christ. Mrs. Turnbull visited during dinner, a bright and clear witness of God. One memorable concept: Ask God not only for insight, but LONG SIGHT to think ahead.

"I'm excited to sleep because dreams have seemed so vibrant and frequent. I miss Katy very much; I think of her constantly. Well, quite often despite the cultural and communal stimuli. I sense her presence, even in the way I move and think, as if still with her.

"Day 4 - We attended a bible class. Residents sat against one wall, we upon another, Haitians at the center table, and the leader at the opposite end of the table. Though I appreciated the proverbs (and definiton of 'wisdom') we opened with, I did not agree with the didactic religious constructs discussed. Church service began while we sat in the class, and my focus was fully entertained. When we stepped out, I was carried to the sanctuary, wholly filled with the Holy Spirit. The music was so beautiful and divine, empathic and human. Truly, filled with the Holy Spirit.

"We spent our Sunday afternoon of 'rest' hiking down the mountain to a waterfall. Arduous trek, but gorgeous taste of true Haiti. I can't imagine this much effort just to access a source of water, or going all the way down and up to another peak altogether in suit and tie for church. We went to Elsa's for a third service. I got to play a baby grand piano on a mountain in Haiti. Roger joined us for dinner (and hot sauce) and brownies (with peanut butter) after the service. We've a tight group, and even Roger seemed to enjoy the intimate fellowship.

"Day 5 - We worked really hard. Always. Samedi was the roughest labor, but I definitely hit a wall today, fighting my muscles to move.

"This journal has certainly been a personal account, a selfish point of view, which has been the utter antithesis of my whole deeply social experience. When we first landed in PAP, I tried to photograph the trash and devastation, but now I hope to convey the inner simple beauty that one must experience to understand.

"How fitting that I open the bible to find Proverbs 24:3.

"Day 6 - BHM has pre-sifted sand, fine enough for stucco. Thank God, perhaps literally. Steve and I stayed on the compound to replenish the sand while the team (Dad, Bill, Niels, Randy, Libby, Jen, our translators Benjamin and Able, plus the hired construction crew) headed to the work site. My arms bore the heat of a thousand suns! Even without hyperbole, it was rough and I chose over and over again to exceed my limit, just to go on. I appreciate and do thoroughly enjoy the trip, but have reached a point now when I'm thinking of home more often than not. Especially during repetitive physical labor, I can think only of Katy. It is really tough to be without even any form of communication.

"Day 7 - The true day of rest. We dedicated the house through scripture, message, and song. The interior floor was inscribed with 'S 118,' meaning Psalm 118. Dad, Neils, Steve and I went to the schools afterwards. We met Valdo, the young boy Dad has begun supporting throughout primary school.

"After lunch with a gorgeous mountain view, we walked the streets nearby the BHM compound. I fell in love with one painting and knew how to settle on a $20 deal. I wanted a necklace for Katy, but all the jewlery was made of leather, braided, or beaded, and nothing befit my Katybaby. The painting is 'ours,' and either in Tallahassee or New Orleans where we will very soon visit, some small token will speak and serve as a physical reminder of my care and compassion while she studies abroad in London this summer. After laboring as hard as most Haitains do and knowing how little they earn, the thought of international travel is an astonishing miracle to be praised.

"We dined with the other BHM missionaries as usual, and tonight they shared another ongoing project: cereal boxes rolled, schlacked, and beaded into necklaces and bracelets. Several of us followed Elsa home for delightful conversation and to hear her incredible experiences with Vudou and with Christianity in Haiti.

"We've dedicated time to: a very enhanced awareness of universely human features, cultural differences, and all that is God's body; gorgeous human beings, the power of community, and the sum of a symbolic Jesus Christ; and a tempered will, heightened compassion, and a magnified communion with the Holy Spirit within us.

"Day 8 - A day of travel. It began with a double rainbow, a last hearty breakfast with coffee (oh! and we bought some bold mountain grown coffee to brew back home), and a newfound sense of spiritual growth. Dad took better note of names and details. Pictures will inspire memories. The bible will further inspire and offer a common language, however we may choose to speak it. The world will seem very different. Amongst the culture shock of returning home may we be wiser, more loving, and always strive to establish finer fellowship.


"Post Script - Haiti's history of leadership is rough. As an example, Papa Doc, who declared himself President for Life and convinced the Pope to appoint him Archbishop of Port-au-Prince, had the Lord's Prayer rewritten to be the catechism of the revolution: 'Our Doc, who art in the National Palace for life, hallowed by They name by present and future generations. Thy will be done in Port-au-Prince as it is in the provinces. Give us this day our new Haiti and forgive not the trespasses of those antipatriots who daily spit upon our country. Lead them into temptation, and poisoned by their own venom, deliver them from no evil. Amen.'"