Saturday, August 5, 2017

“Do you believe in miracles?”



...I've heard that yes, faith can move mountains--but bring a shovel. 
Better yet, says the King of the Mountains: turn them back into molehills, first
(then use a broom). 

The Real Me says that the world turns amazing with our true natures as the engine. 
I don't know if I believe in miracles, but I do believe in Einstein,
so of course I believe in miracles. 
Einstein is the Bomb. 

Then there are those things that nobody can explain
without positing an intelligence way beyond
what we give even ourselves credit for,
be it a theoretically existing Lawkeeper of Science,
made accessible by the scientific method,
or the theoretically existing LawBREAKER of Science,
made accessible by prayer.

If geologists were also poets, they would see that the heart,
and only the heart,
is capable of injecting miracles into solid rock
--after all the heart is a kind of large, self loading,
four-chambered hypodermic electromagnetic love syringe--Non, Monsieur Pasteur?. 

And another thing: miracles appear only where they are needed.  
miracles don't happen in Eden, before Death (and the ban on nudist colonies) intervened.
--It's the same idea as the Virgin Mary's appearing in massacre-torn Yugoslavia,
or a guy with hip half eaten by cancer growing it back after a dip in the Holy Spring:
The guy with good hips isn't going to get a spontaneous hip replacement;
Mary does not materialize in the royal palace, where contentment reigns.
 
In Heaven, actually, where miracles are the norm,
they're up there praying for non-miracles
--to relieve the boredom that they're never, ever dying of. 
And only if their boredom really requires relief by some extraordinary means
do they receive--with a gasp--the odd non-miracle
--Say, an archangel stubs its pinky toe on a cloud, and it does not heal right away!
("Look, I'm bleeding!")

Still, in spite of their urges and pleas for exciting access
to the dull processes of normal physics,
the Heavenly Host Itself's prayers for the novelty of non-novelty may not be heard,
lest odd non-miracles become too commonplace,
and thereby unappreciated,
and so, some do not even believe that they are real. 
The needy/worthy angels who do witness a non-miracle
feel themselves very lucky
--but many other seraphs and cherubs, alas,
think of them as wing-nuts,
and laugh at them in chorus. 

So, yes, I believe in miracles,
and I believe in non-miracles, too,
when miracles get too boring.
Bring them on!

Plus, I also believe in
the miracle of the mundane,
which is only so if you don’t observe it very closely: 
the complexity and harmony of microbiology, 
to name but one example,
features timing in which a godzillion microoperations fluctuate and coordinate!
This ought to be enough to wow the most cocksure anti-intellectual
[if only he hadn’t felt the icy steel of derision of
self-righteous science snobs and nasty-ass nerds;
if only he use his muscle-truck (and truck-nuts)
to climb the white tower just once;
if only he understood that, in so doing,
he is literally taking a dive into the living cell (begotten, not made)
where, true, he can NOT choose the music
—but man, can those organelles and biomolecules dance!
(like to everyone in New York doing a tango line dance,
and no one bum missing a single step)].

Faith in miracles, and non-miracles, and the miraculous mundane:
these three mean that I
—and you, who agree with me—
have three times as much faith as most. 
Oh, ye of faith times three!
You might just be able to appreciate this moment,
this one here,
right now.


Saturday, March 4, 2017

FOOD PARENTING MANIFESTO



Will kids find their own way if we cut them kids loose in a world of packaged crap?  

It's a nice thought:  let our children wander alone into today's world of nutritionally diluted, toxin-rich food, and they will find their own way.  If we just let them alone, they will spontaneously "eat healthy".  

For some kids, this works better than for others.  They grow up discriminating between foods that enhance their well being, and those that don't, and tend towards the former.  And I want to trust them completely, to have faith in their little internal compasses, to believe they will moderate themselves and seek out healthful foods no matter what is generally available. Even so, the laissez faire approach ignores the addictiveness and ubiquity of certain foods and personalities.  It minimizes, I believe, the health disaster which is the modern food system as well as the benefits of avoiding artificial chemicals.  

It's the WAY you try to influence your child that matters.  If you do it by modeling healthful eating with love and patience, then you don't lay a guilty shame trip on them.  If you share your own bad choices in real time, and their consequences, you move out of the position of absolute authority and into that of a fellow human trying to find his way.  The adults' taking this stance means the child has less to react against.

I should mention that shame and guilt trips on the part of parents are to be avoided as rigorously as monosodium glutamate or chemically altered meat laden.  But let's not confuse mental and emotional clarity with passive acceptance of the most FUBAR food system the world has ever seen, in terms of overall and long-term health.  In order to be loving, we have to actively oppose it.

Ourselves, we don't absolutely restrict our son or force him to drink healthy nauseating food that he doesn't like.  He is allowed a small "treat" on special occasions.  When my son tells me he ate something not so good, I ask him how he feels, etc.  He often will volunteer the information of his own free will.  Sometimes, he will even connect a tantrum with earlier consumption of a carb-heavy food.

...My own parents did not lay any kind of trip on me about food (my mom hid the granola, but that was only to make it last longer), but I really wish they had made carbs much less available.  I went through my childhood spaced out from eating too much sugar (and starch—which is just sugar in a different form).  For that matter, I went through much of my adulthood spaced out from eating high-carb, 'healthy' food, which did not jive at all with my metabolism—Half a loaf of whole wheat bread spread with half a bunch of whole organic bananas and organic butter, anyone? Half of my life was a non-stop roller coaster of rocketing/crashing blood sugar.  I was bingeing on the hair of the dog, thinking it was a plate of golden noodles.

If I had been exposed to the idea that protein food and vegetables were my most fortifying foods, and/or if my parents had simply supplied me with those foods three meals a day, I would not have been in such a fog.  But "energy" food is addictive and cheap.  What to buy?  Do the children decide?  And do you not tell your kids about things like insulin resistance and carcinogenic pesticides, for fear of laying a 'trip' on them or seeming too rigid or uptight?  

There is always a level of "control" that parents exercise—that is, choices offered, decisions made, education supplied (not to be confused with shaming or browbeating).  I guess I would call it "influence".  I have witnessed many families uninformed about  nutritional value, who therefore could not have dreamed of oppressively lecturing about it, and yet their children invariably tend toward high-octane, low nutrition foods (white bread, mac 'n' cheese, candy, pop, etc.), even when presented with other choices.  More often than not, those children resist more healthful foods, when it's left up to them, because those foods would not give them the addictive hit and over-the-top flavor of processed foods.  And without some kind of intervention, they will most likely continue to do so all the way through adulthood and a relatively earlier death.  

Many processed foods these days are designed to be addictive.  The creation of these foods involves extensive taste-tests focusing on flavor, texture, aftertaste, etc.  Any chemical that enhances any one of these factors, if legal (and lots of them are), becomes part of the recipe.  With children who are reasonably balanced in their metabolism from the get-go—that is, children whose metabolisms are better adapted to a modern diet unnaturally high in starches and sugars—perhaps the issue is more psychological:  if unpressured, they will spontaneously make better choices in the main.  But for others, whose metabolisms more closely resemble those of our ancestors, who ate lots of protein and 2 lbs. of low-starch veggies daily, and to whom even whole fruits were available only seasonably, eating modern 'foods' will be an addictive, unhealthful experience—a vicious, cycling roller coaster which they won't willingly leave behind.  

I think of the bears of Yellowstone National Park:  in spite of being in an entirely natural setting, in spite of the noxious effect of junk food on them and the availability of good, whole food all around them—they chose to go dumpster diving.  They ate our garbage,  which was available to them in the form of accessible dumps.  No one was lecturing them about nutrition, it wasn't peer pressure, they weren't rebelling against anybody at all—they were simply responding to the addictiveness of our sugary, white-flour-based foodstuffs.  The only intervention taken at all to rehabilitate the bears, who were becoming unhealthy, was to make our garbage inaccessible to them.  No longer having recourse to junk food, they began to hunt and gather full time again, preying on elk and digging roots.  They also went back to bingeing on nutritious berries—in order to gain weight meant only to be lost as it feeds them through hibernation.

Everywhere you go, at parties and play dates and school, etc., people, even strangers, will offer sugar to your child.  Should you just stand by and let the kid decide?  If you know that it will be quite tasty for your child even as any long-term effects go unnoticed?  If  your child has a peanut allergy, but likes peanuts, would you stand by and watch while he ate as many handfuls as he wanted in the interest of his freedom?  Would it be any better to let one's child eat his own, slowly manifesting premature death, the cause of which will forever be obscure given the sheer weight and number of possible factors present in the foods you are allowing, and of which he has no knowledge?  

Think about all of the unnatural chemicals present in factory-farmed meats: 1) antibiotics, 2) the bacteria themselves, which the antibiotics are meant to counter, present in huge numbers in any building crammed with livestock and their excrement, 3) growth hormone, 4) herbicides (sprayed on the fields where the feed is grown), 5) pesticides (ditto) and 6) artificial fertilizers.  The sinister six.  No one knows exactly what long-term effects they have individually, much less as a combination 1-2-3-4-5-6 punch.  And your child won't taste them, even if the food on their plate is not slathered with sugary barbeque sauce.

Food choices can be life-threatening in the short or long run.  We are in the middle of a cancer epidemic, a 40+% lifetime cancer rate in the general population.  FORTY PERCENT!!!  If you believe that agricultural chemicals are a cancer risk, do you let your child decide whether to eat the non-organic (but still tasty) food offered at his friend's house?  What if he feels "left out" and sad when others eat foods that are not immediately toxic, but very probably are in the long-term, chronic sense?  Are you abusing and confusing him by discouraging those foods?  Definitely, if done in punitive fashion.  But it's not the boundary itself that you draw, in this case, but the punitiveness which would be abusive.  Given the surety of some negative long-term consequence(s) from eating factory food, perhaps allowing them to eat it, to participate in the culturally-sanctioned sacrament of communally ingesting an array of risky chemicals, is more confusing and damaging in the long run. 

It's a sticky situation—what do you say to a fellow parent who offers such food to your own child?—Is it organic?—No.—Well, I don't want my kid to get cancer….It's the truth, but downright insulting to say to someone gracious enough to offer to feed your kid.  So you plead moderation, and foster your own child's awareness instead.  The way of letting the children themselves decide every time sidesteps all that, in the process sidestepping the stress of conflict, but I am not sure that such a parent is not out of the frying pan and into the fire.  Pay now or pay later, anyone?  

We cannot actually control our children, but we can create an environment in which making healthful long-term choices is more comfortable and natural.  Originally, Mother Nature created a bounty and variety of whole, organic foods for us to eat, and their presence—not to mention the absence of addictive, health-eroding foods—plus our hunger, encouraged us to eat them.  In such a context, there were few bad-vs.-good choices for children to sort out, aside from the glaring exception of poisonous plants.  And in that regard, I am quite sure that the parents of those times did not teach their children about poison hemlock or certain mushrooms by allowing them to decide for themselves whether to eat it, because a dead child would be no wiser for it.  Presumably, as naturalistic societies still do, they gave them information, they modeled avoidance, they actively prevented children too small to understand from eating their death. 

A pure environment is not at all the case today.  Less healthful, inorganic, processed, visually attractive, sensually appealing and artificially tasty foods are literally the order of the day and nearly impossible to avoid entirely.  For typical country- and city-dwellers alike, the world which offered nothing but whole organic foods growing in deep, undisturbed soil is history, or rather pre-history.  Our only recourse, if we are to participate in the larger culture of schools and ballgames at all, is to make the home environment as pristine as ecosystems of yore, nutritionally speaking.  Also, we inform our children of the "new" poisonous foods in a matter-of-fact, non-controlling, and non-punishing way, so that they can hear us—and hopefully their own internal reactions to those foods—clearly.
Having said all that and being human, I don't think my little family has gone about this perfectly, but we've done pretty well….So, what's in the fridge?  Organic everything, basically: fresh veggies and fruit, goat yoghurt, home-fermented sauerkraut (which has yet to receive our son's stamp of approval), diluted fruit juice, nuts, eggs, some condiments (including my wife's homemade spicy mustard).  In the freezer, local, mostly-organic meats, frozen fruits (much of which we picked ourselves) and veggies.  No ice cream, although on the boy's birthday it's a tradition to have Grandpa come and make some homemade.  In the cupboard we have some whole-grain products: oatmeal, granola, buckwheat flour, and such.

We usually present our boy with healthier versions of junk food, made of whole, organic ingredients in our home, following Michael Pollen's precept that, if you're going to eat treats, let it be whole-food and homemade.   Raw peanut butter, coconut oil, carob powder, stevia and fresh/frozen fruit, mixed and left in the freezer for a bit, makes "frozen fudge".  A bowl of yoghurt with frozen berries qualifies easily as dessert, as does the old standby—an apple. The fact that there is no ice cream in the freeze means no I-scream, you-scream, we-all-scream going on—and in the case of our natural desserts, no suffering by comparison.

In a calm, loving environment which satisfies their hunger with whole, organic foods, children have the best chance to be clear-headed enough in the first place to balance wants and needs, and consider the information supplied to them without undue rebellion.


Thursday, January 5, 2017

DAY TWELVE: THE FEAST OF THE EPIPHANY/TWELFTH NIGHT





TWELFTH NIGHT, AND WHERE HAVE ALL THE PARTIES GONE?

Twelfth Night is a bit confusing, as far as the chronology of events is concerned.  Since the Eleventh is the Feast of the Magii, and the Twelfth is the Feast of the Magii's visiting the baby Jesus, when did they actually arrive and see Him?  As the story goes, the baby was born, the Hebrew infants were massacred, Jesus was circumcized, the Wise Men got directions from Herod, after which they finally visited the Boy King and blew off King Herod, who'd asked them to return to him and tell him where he could murder the--er, visit the Messiah.  But, really, it's a rough timeline, the order of which different regions and denominations disagree on, intermingled with older, Pagan traditions and New Year celebrations, and such.

The point is, it's all a party.  Exept for the horrid slaughter of the innocents, and the martyrdom of Stephen, only good stuff is being celebrated, here. Even these events had their silver linings--the Little Lord Jesus escaped Herod the Great, and martyrdom is genuinely considered to be a great thing (if not the best), being a one-way ticket to Seventh Heaven for the martyr themself, and an inspiration to us all to not compromise our principles.  Plus, the Sun/Son is returning, the end of Winter's death and chill is nigh, so let the parties roll (!), is the general idea.

As for the particulars of Twelfth Night, I can tell you what happens in Spain and other places in the present day: January 6th is when the kids get their Christmas presents, not Christmas Day, and they are brought by the Three Kings, not by the roly-poly Man In Red (if you know your marketing history, he is both roly-poly, and red, because he drinks Coca Cola).  Spanish kids know all of the “Wise Kings’” names and faces.  The children fill their shoes with straw and leave them out for the Kings’ camels, exactly the way the Old Norse would leave straw out for Sleipnir, Odin The All-Father’s flying eight-legged horse, or the way we leave cookies and milk for Santa Claus and his flying eight reindeer.  As in some other places, the Spanish make an Epiphany cake, into which they bake a small figure or plastic toy, or a bean.  Whoever gets the piece with the bean/toy is declared King, and gets to preside over the festivities.  In merry Old England, the King/Queen had the honor of leading all attending the Twelfth Night party in songs and games.

At some Mexican friends' house yesterday, they served a "Baby Jesus" cake.  Nevermind that the eponymous plastic figure was whiter than a Viking's bottom and looked  like an extraterrestrial, and that the hostess had placed one in every piece (negating the whole "king of the party" idea), it was a touching inclusion into their party and culture.  Anyway, there are those who believe Jesus looked like a northern European, blue-eyed boy, and other who think he was an alien, so....there.  Ethnic variants aside, the point, again, is--it's a party.


In Spain today, controversy has ensued over the recent inclusion of Santa Claus (Papá Noel) in their pantheon, as evidenced by an article forwarded to me by a native Spaniard urging his nation to reject the Man With The Bag and retain the Three Kings as the bringers of gifts and bearers of Spanish culture.  We shall see how that turns out; it depends whether the Spanish have it in them to fight off the sugary, caffeinated spectre of Coca-Cola (they are coffee drinkers, so there is hope).


I’m glad I don’t live in Bulgaria.  There, they throw a crucifix into an icy cold river, and the first one to fish it out receives a special blessing (and good health for the family, they say).  But even if you avoid volunteering  for polar diving, you might be one of the men dancing in the same freezing waters to inaugurate the “crucifix ritual”...If you'll notice, though, everyone in that icy waterway below is smiling.


In the British Isles of yore, Twelfth Night parties are when people pulled out all the stops for one last, grand hurrah….That is, after they had disposed of all the Christmas decorations.  Wreaths and holly garlands, the mistletoe were consigned to the fire—any holly spine left unburnt would turn into a goblin!   Bonfires are also a thing--because how else were you going to burn all that green?

In echo of British celebrations, two hours from Denver, in a park in Eagle, Colorado, they hold a huge bonfire to burn all their Christmas trees, along with free ice skating and hot chocolate.



According to an English newspaper, the Daily Mirror, it was a folk belief that spirits lived in the holly and greenery used to decorate for Christmas. The festive season provided shelter for the spirits, but they needed to be released when the season was over. If the custom wasn't followed, it was believed to cause agricultural problems in the spring (similar to not Wassailing).



During the subsequent festivities, “All the world are Kings and Queens.  Everybody is somebody else; and learns at once to laugh at, and to tolerate, characters different from his own by enacting them—all conspires to throw a giddy splendour over the last night of the season.”



Sounds great, doesn’t it?  Jolly old England!  Is it still?  How jolly is the U.S., in comparison?  Well, have you read Barbara Ehrenreich’s book about the history of communal celebration (Dancing in the Streets: A History of Collective Joy)?  You must!  The gist of this book: through the history of our ‘civilization,’ the amount of time devoted to revelry has been whittled down to a sliver, and the nature of our carousing has been toned way down as well.  People used to, as Eddie Murphy sang “party all the time”.  I read somewhere that the Romans had 175 festival days a year—a bit like our weekends and holidays, but with more punch, and dancing. 

At one time, even churches lacked bolted-down benches and doubled as party halls, with dancing and singing.  Imagine!  This was in the days before the joke: “Why don’t Christians have sex standing up?—Because it might lead to dancing.”.  You couldn’t have gotten a laugh with that one before the Puritans—because, before the bloody Puritans, nobody had thought to prohibit dancing yet (or Christmas.  The Puritans banned Christmas!).  Full-throated merriment was still OK in God’s eyes.



But societies' pampered and paranoid elites progressively banned such revels, because as the rich become richer the poor get poorer, revels turn to riots, and heads will roll. So--no more parties in the church!  Bolt down the benches, and you are like a kindergarten teacher who has successfully arranged her room like a maze to minimize overly spirited tikes' room for sprinting--exept, in the church, what you have removed is the celebrations that formerly rang out in that space.  You have made church a solemn and sober affair that many would eventually and instinctively avoid.  I suspect this is how atheists were born--and why the guillotine was invented.

The elites have been so successful at curbing revels in churches that I cannot even google an image of a church with chairs pushed aside so as to hold a party in it.  This, even though I have successfully browsed to images such as Twelfth Night celebrations in Eagle, Colorado--??  

I guess my point is, in this case as in many others, I’m all for turning back the clock and extending our celebrations, making them merrier and more meaningful.  This is why I love the Twelve Days of Christmas (really fourteen counting Christmas Eve and Christmas Day—and you have to).  Even if I don’t have a bunch of Old English friends with which to carry on for these two weeks, they do give me more chance to reflect, and they have given me at least more opportunities to celebrate with my American friends and family.  I hope in the future they give me even more.  What’s else, I hope that you, reader, faithful and tireless (which you certainly are, if you have read all my twelve days’ worth of posts), are there to celebrate with me.

PLAYLIST, available on YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLdartdqjh56BbrHf5hAkhxSMC_iBBTLhw: 

Eddie Murphy - Party All the Time

Aaaaaand, turns out there's plenty of songs called "Epiphany"...

Andrew Rayel - Epiphany (Extended Mix)
Epiphany- Staind Unplugged
bare: A Pop Opera - Epiphany
Mark Petrie - Epiphany
Tinush - Epiphany
Epiphany: Bowling For Soup
Visionate - Epiphany (Original Mix)
The Ocean - Epiphany