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David, my house

At the top of a 10′ ladder on the front porch. David loved climbing things.

I decided to post this despite not having enough photos of David. David’s childhood photos are all prints and they’re in Dallas. When I’m back, I’ll scan some and then complete this post. Some of what follows is a repeat of parts of this post: https://ckjournal.com/david

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I love my house. All the years with Leslie, then Leslie and David. Loving days. Happy days, growing together as a family – so much time.

I look around. Our home.

It was built in 1931 – three bedrooms, two baths, two kitchens (the house was built to have an apartment in part of it), LR, DR, kitchen and breakfast room. There is a good-sized front/side porch and a cottage (hippie) garden in front. My Mom died there, as did my brother, Tom. My brother John lives there now.

When I’ve been away it takes about three days for the house to reopen in my presence, alive in the present and into the past… Leslie and I were in the midst of the best years of our lives and then David was born propelling us into even better years. Leslie taught me how to be a parent, a good parent.

David was a water baby – bathing in the sink when he was tiny and a

David and his Grandmother Mary a few months before she passed

little later playing in a plastic tub in the shower, playing in his Grandmother’s sink for hours and hours. Later, when he was 3-4-5 we would walk to the Y and swim the summer days away. Playing with Katie and Mary Beth like little brown fishes. He and I would swim down to the bottom of the deep end and pop up as far away as we could to surprise Leslie.

When he was about two months old, A Cambodian grandmother named Pov Lon and her granddaughter, Keo came to live with us to help with David for several months – until the betel nut stains on the pillows became too much for Leslie. Lon and Keo moved in with Keo’s Mom in a two story frame house known as “the mansion” in the Cambodian refugee neighborhood. There were 6-8 other families living in the mansion in rooms divided by blankets. David spent many days there, always being held or in a hammock, rocking back and forth, back and forth… Years later I took care of Keo when she was dying of breast cancer.

Leslie’s office was a few blocks away and I was in the community a lot, so we could both come by a few times a day. David’s siblings, Bunchoeun, Phana, and Soda also were there some, as they lived nearby. I’m guessing Choeun was about 8, Phana 5, and Soda 3. Thirty years later I took care of Phana through many days of cancer treatment and into the days of her dying.

The second structure is “the mansion”

David slept in a crib in his bedroom. He cried when we put him to bed, so one of us always slept beside his crib. The pediatrician said, “Let him cry it out.” We tried that for about three minutes, which was as close as he ever got to “cry it out.” He was colicky in the evening and the only thing that soothed him was going for a walk, so every night there we were, walking Baby David. When the weather was bad we’d walk in the corridors of JL Long Middle School a block from the house. Big-time good times.

From the earliest days we arranged our home for David. In the living room I built a carpeted three-step stair leading to a 2’x3’ platform and then three more steps down. The sides had walls and there was a little hidey-hole beneath. Later after he could zoom up and down the stairs, I exchanged that for a huge (4’x4’x8’) heavy-duty cardboard box full of pillows and stuffed animals. The couch was a boat and there were wagon rides all over the house.

Goldy, David, Judo

After the high chair (always at the table with us), we put a child’s table with two little chairs in the kitchen. We usually ate at that table. David learned his ABCs at the table and when he was in K-1, did his homework there. Since there only two little chairs, I always sat on a milk crate. That was back when I could sit on a little box for long periods of time.

David had big heavy bunk beds (David Overton helped carry and set them up). The bottom bunk was like a cave full of “babies” (stuffed animals) and pillows. In the evenings he and I would sit in the cave and I would tell stories about “Little Wolf and his Daddy.” We would have adventures in the snow and forests and mountains and then there would be a big snow storm and we would be holed up in the cave and would let assorted (stuffed) animals in for shelter. One of the animals was Critter, who was always starting trouble, and Sandy, the biggest bear would talk tough and then of course, David’s oldest bear, Cookie Baby, would get everyone calmed down. Sometimes we would put on plays for Leslie, with the biggest hit being “Running Bear” sung by Critter.

David’s room usually had a tent set up in the middle of the floor. Often the whole room was a “fort” made of blankets and tapestries and tables and chairs. Always Goldy would get into the tent with us or whomever was there and when she would pass gas everyone would pile out laughing.

We all three liked to pile up in Leslie’s and my bed – we would read and talk and sometimes David and I would have huge battles trying to push each other off the bed and when it looked like the other guy was going off the edge, the one winning for the moment would shout (for reasons unknown) “Big Door!”

In the back yard I built (with help from Chuck Maxey) a big tree house with a “secret entrance” that only big kids like David and Katie could use. There was a pulley and bucket that Leslie would put food in for the children to haul up. We were always trying to get Goldy to “Put the ball in the bucket!” but it never happened. We would laugh and laugh and she would just stand there with the ball in her mouth. There was a zip line from the tree house to the corner of the yard. “Don’t let go!”

After Christmas we scoured the neighborhood for discarded Christmas trees, which were used to make vast “tree forts” – with tunnels and rooms and children and dogs everywhere.

We would go for long walks along the Santa Fe railroad tracks with David riding my shoulders much of the way. Other times he would bushwhack along the steep 20-30’ high berms. Sometimes we’d get as far as the “big black bridge” – a railroad over White Rock Creek. Several times I climbed up a 50’ supporting pillar and belayed David up, then got quickly off the bridge, as the trains were still running then.

We’d take canoe journeys up and down the creek – above the lake almost to LBJ Freeway and below the lake until the woods and meadows gave way to neighborhoods where street people were hanging out.

My Mom lived in the back cottage. In her last few years of life she was at peace with life. David was a part of that – hanging out with her – standing on a step stool and playing in her kitchen sink, hanging out in her bed, having snacks like candied pecans, orange cake, cookies from Neiman’s. There were back porch get-togethers, back yard parties, holidays, and countless hours spent together – what a life for all of us.

He was with her the night she died (cancer) in the cottage – before and after, my beautiful child. My Mom and I journeyed  together about four weeks before she died. After that she had much less pain and unhappiness.

David and my Mom and I went to Little Gus cafe for breakfast almost every Saturday. We’d eat and talk with one another and with other people. David especially enjoyed stuffing endless napkins in a glass of water.

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This was the house I came home to in the morning after Leslie passed away at Baylor.

 

Things I’ve learned, Marine Corps lessons, what to say when you’re in bed with a woman, new garden

Some things I’ve learned along the way:

  • Jean twirling at the Flagging party

    There are no guarantees in life; life can be short; and it can get really hard, so enjoy it fully while you can. THIS IS IT.

  • Most people have to work hard to succeed.
  • Be grateful.
  • Be nice to others; be nice to yourself.
  • If it feels good to your soul, your human potential, do it.
  • Embrace pleasure.
  • Never give up.
  • Take care of your friends and family.
  • Find your spiritual home/center.
  • Magic is alive.
  • Love is the greatest miracle.
  • We die as we live in most cases.
  • Watch your weight, take care of your teeth, don’t smoke cigarettes, take your medicine.

    David, Charles, CK, Jean at Flagging on Mother’s Day

  • Stay active (use it or lose it).
  • Tell the truth – that way, you don’t have to be careful of what you say (except for being nice).
  • Be nice, don’t be an asshole, don’t yell, be fair, help your neighbor/your friend.
  • Overcome or accept or otherwise deal with your issues (e.g., for me, anger).
  • Grow a garden, dig in the dirt, eat healthy food, live gently and softly within this miracle of life.

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Marine Corps lessons:

Never give up.

Khe Sanh. I took this photo. Incredible.

Keep your weapon clean.

Forward.

Faster.

Keep your smokes dry.

Maintain your intervals.

Pass the word.

Squeeze the trigger.

Eat your fruit cocktail first.

Your Corps and your buddies are everything.

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What to say when you’re in bed with a woman

Mt. Vision near Point Reyes – we walked up this trail on a misty foggy day. Mt. Vision!

We were in bed, reading. Jean was reading a book by Margaret Atwood. I saw that her bookmark had some very nice beadwork hanging off what I’m sure is handmade paper, now fraying. A beautiful bookmark. So I went to the bookshelves and brought out a few of my bookmarks: Harvard Bookstore, Majors Scientific Books, a Lao Airlines boarding pass, a picture I’d cut off an old calendar, so on and so forth. There we were, in bed, sharing bookmarks. What a life!

I used to frequent used bookstores – and still do, just not to the

Tarts! Homemade.

extent I used to. Time spent in the stacks meant that I was able to find some beautiful

old editions of classics, such as The Call of the Wild, White Fang, Rudyard Kipling’s complete works… And, as it turns out, Jean is a Jack London fan – she’s now re-reading my copy of White Fang, published in 1913.

A girl who likes gardening, books, White Fang, and bookmarks!

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Books read in the past month

At the Hill Fights with B/1/9. CK Photo.

The Hill Fights: The First Battle of Khe Sanh. I was in the Hill Fights for a few days. It was the heaviest, most intense combat imaginable. Here’s to the 1st Battalion, 9th Marines.

Just Kids by Patti Smith. An account of her life and relationship with Robert Mapplethorpe – “So honest and so pure as to count as a true rapture” (Joan Didion).

When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi. A neurosurgeon’s account of his journey through lung cancer into death.

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New garden!

Herbs in new front garden: thyme, oregano, lemon grass, cilantro, basil, tarragon, sage, rosemary, lavender, chives, chamomile – so far.

We took out most of the old plants and are re-doing and re-planting the garden

Roses: Iceberg and Collette.

Flowers – most in clumps; some from previous garden; N = new: foxglove, iris, alstroemarium (N), coreopsis, tansy, daisy, purple trumpet vine (N), nicotiana (N), hellebores, California poppy, Mexican tarragon (N), sweet allysum, pineapple sage, clematis (vine), borage, impatiens aloe vera, camellia (tree), smoke tree (N), lantana, matilija poppy, forget-me-nots (Ohhh) (N), salvia, columbine (N), red mask flower (N), blue-eyed grass (N), verbena, calla lily, blueberry bushes (2) (N), nasturtium, oak leafed hydrangea (N).

Grass: none at all, except for blue-eyed grass, which is grown for its flowers.

Mt. Tam in the distance. California! Click for a beautiful enlargement.

PURE California

Walking in the valley

Several hours north of Berkeley, near an obscure highway crossroads, 4 miles up an unmarked gravel road winding through the low-lying Coastal Range, through a gate, across a bridge, another mile on the gravel road… We’re at Wilbur Hot Springs, an 1800 acre nature preserve – “Sanctuary, Stewardship, Spirit.”

CK soaking

Our cabin has a queen bed and en-suite toilet and sink, but no shower. None of the rooms have showers – they’re all at the flumes (hot springs pools).

None of the cabins have locks, except you can latch yourself in at night.

There are no electrical outlets in the cabins except for people with medical devices. No TV, no internet, no cell service.

Everywhere is quiet and some flumes are silent/meditation pools.

A couple was singing a love blessing to one another at breakfast.

Jean soaking

The kitchen in the main building is a big, industrial strength hippie-New Age-psychedelic vibe shared prep/cooking area. Lots of good food being made. In the same building is a commons, music area, dining room, veranda, library, and the retreat office. No shoes in this building. About 100 feet away are the hot springs.

Most of the people in and around the hot springs are naked, though not all. The age range is about late 20s to late 70s.

View from our cabin

Our cabin looks out on a hillside of grass, pines, Manzanita, other trees with golden sunlight in the morning and evening. Then the stars!

Right now I’m sitting behind the main building and there is a jackrabbit 50-60 feet away… some birds, a squirrel, a woman floating through.

We showered, soaked, showered (I don’t know how many times we repeated this cycle), walked through meadows winding through the hills, fixed our meals, talked together and with others, read, had a massage, watched the day dawn and the evening settle over the hills, sleeping close, waking together, loving, outside of time.

Berkeley!

“Once again” you said, “I have everything I need” – in this endless summer, in this life – in this beautiful bestowed life.

 

 

 

 

India 2018

At palace in Udaipur (photo by Jean Cacicedo)

Hong Kong to Delhi – another easy flight in Cathay Pacific business with good food, quiet cabin, lying down, sleeping – what a way to travel!

Delhi airport – easy immigration and no security slowdown for foreign elders. Then taxi chaos and a wild ride in a tiny rattling van to our hotel near the airport in the dystopian smog of Delhi. I’ve never seen smog like this. I’m starting to react – “reactive airway” is the perfect description and diagnosis. Cup of chamomile tea and sleep with dreams. In the morning, Delhi airport domestic departures OMG a true sea of humanity, but everybody behaving and the line moving pretty good and before long taking off in morning smog just like the night smog. Got a cough and wheezing going on.

Udaipur: another crazy taxi ride beep beep beep. In California, motorcycles go between lanes of cars; in India, cars go between lanes of cars. The taxi stops before the hotel as streets are too narrow for cars. Onward via tuk tuk and now here we are at Amet Haveli, a “heritage hotel.”

Hanuman temple Udaipur

Ahhh, now we’re truly in India and the first part of the trip is over! The Amet Haveli is very nice, old-fashioned, luxurious. Time to hit the streets – narrow lanes, barely enough room for a tuk tuk, and when you add Jean or me, someone has to yield, and it won’t be the tuk tuk. Yikes! Intense!

Mind your head, she said

The next day we’re back on the streets, walking to the City Palace – it’s rural kids field trip day at the Palace with crowds of students filling the halls and rooms. We’re sitting on a ledge and a crowd of 10-11 year old boys starts crowding around us, staring, seemingly mystified, some smiling, some just staring, crowding closer and closer until they’re too close for (our) comfort and we split, up stairs, narrow corridors, doorways (“Mind Your Head”), small rooms, down stairs, narrower corridors, and all the while b

Photo by Jean.

ody space closer than what we’re used to – bring it on!

We had dinner on the hotel lake terrace. Great food. Went for a walk after dinner, along dark alleyways, opening on to a temple for Hanuman and here is a smaller shrine to Hanuman with two men inside. One man steps outside and the other man says to me, “Do you want to know about God?” “Sure! Is this for Hanuman?” “Yes – here,” he says, offering me and the other man a bite from the offering he was making. “Thank you. What should I do?” “Eat.” “Okay.” And I take the bite, offering it to Hanuman and David Overton.

Our room in Udaipur

In the morning, sunrise over the lake and Palace, making love in the early light.

We take a car from Udaipur to a village, Narlai. On the way we stop at a Jain temple in the middle of nowhere. It’s a marble wonderland, with endless carved columns and rooms and domes. Onward to Narlai, where we have a reservation at another heritage hotel, Rawla Narlai.

Here we are at the most opulent place I’ve ever stayed. Our suite has a terrace on the manicured lawns, marble floors, and on our jukebox, a mix of Grateful Dead, Chopin, Brandy Carlisle, Jerry Lee Lewis (has Jerry Lee ever been heard in this place?).

At night we meet two other couples for wine and then a ride in bullock carts (two people/cart) through narrow village streets and into the very dark countryside – see the stars! I recall the first time flying over India at night where it was all completely black, black as black, and occasionally a sprinkle of lights where there was a city with electricity. Now there is electricity almost everywhere.

When we were almost to our destination there was a fire by a 20’ high rock by the road and an almost naked sadhu standing there blowing a little horn and soliciting baksheesh, which we gave, which elicited more excited horn-blowing. Ahead were 100s of candles and lanterns and the step well (a hole in the ground about 75 yards on a side and 50 yards deep). There was a man part way down strumming a string instrument and shaking cymbals and singing – home-grown trance. Good food, good times.

Hotel restaurant Udaipur

In the morning, lying in bed talking about intimacy and what happens when we die. Will we ascend like sparks of light to join with all the other lights of those who went on before – unimaginable Union!? Will we be united with loved ones who’ve gone on before with our consciousness and identity intact, i.e., “me,” “you,” “her,” “him?” Will we just cease?

Whatever the case may be, it’s our homegoing and we’ve lived enough, suffered enough, loved enough that whatever, we embrace it. Oh Life! It hurt so much and now our happiness and all else embraced. This is the train. Complete.

Some food:

Curries

Thali in Narlai

Bharwan tandoori aloo

Mint raita

Garlic naan

Chicken soup

Pakora

Thalis

Khozi kozambu

Lahsumi palak (spinach)

From Narlai we took a car to Jaipur – a five hour ride, including a stop at a fantastic Jain temple in the middle of nowhere. Guy offered to say a prayer for us, which we declined as it was a hustle. Onward, through troops of long-tailed monkeys sitting on stones

Marigold deco in Narlai. Getting ready for a party.

beside the road. Someone in a people’s bus ahead of us threw some bananas out the window and monkey-shines ensued. Otherwise it was an uneventful trip.

Jaipur – oh my, more urban chaos, but not near as polluted as Delhi. I’m coughing and wheezing more than before, so we stop at little pharmacy to buy an inhaler. I’m thrilled to find exactly what I wanted: an inhaler with levalbuterol and beclamethasone. Puff-puff.

We stayed at the

Not a bad pharmacy in Jaipur (photo by Jean)

Arya Niwas, a mid-range hotel recommended by Jean’s friend, Sophina. It was “an oasis in a sea of chaos.” Nice room, nice staff, decent food, good breakfast buffet.

On our first full day in Jaipur we went to a nearby town to visit Jean’s friend, Charlotte, who deals in textiles (see https://maiwa.com/). Traveling now is much like the last few times Leslie and I went to Southeast Asia: everything seems to take so much effort that we basically do one thing/day other than be, eat, sleep, and so on.

Tuk-tuk girl

Somewhere along the line we began experiencing GI issues. Was it the soup? The ginger drink? The hummus? Who knows? Jean kept on trucking while I laid up at the hotel. She had some misadventures at the Pink Fort and good times at a museum.

Dancing in the hotel (however briefly).

Winding down. Trying to figure out what next – Goa vs. Dharamsala? Both lead through Delhi twice and though I’m wheezing less, I’m not 100%. Then there are the GI issues. In the end we decided to come home early – a great decision.

We took a car Jaipur to Delhi – about five hours past endless iterations of the same shops, cafes, cows, trucks, buses, etc., etc. The lounge at the Delhi airport was perfect: nearby workers were cutting metal with a power saw – RRRRRRR, Screeeetch, the smell of hot metal… sigh. On to HK for a 6 hour layover, but we found a couch to lie on. Feeling marginally better. Nice, clean, quiet airport. Easy, long flight. Both of us very tired, still with GI problems.

Night view from our room in Udaipur

Random thoughts:

Independent travel in India is probably best done when younger. It’s a very challenging place, even with staying in nice places and comfortable flying.

We’re both good travelers, good attitudes, good communications, and that feels good.

Based on how I feel now (home for a week and today was my first day of feeling physically well all day), our decision to leave early was clearly the best decision.

Sunset today, 1/29/2018, Berkeley California.

 

 

 

Hong Kong 2018

Hong Kong Island, Central

50 years ago this month I first was in Hong Kong. Since then I’ve been in this city about 20 times. The first time was on R&R from the war in Vietnam. The last time was with Leslie in 2013, less than a year before she passed away. Most of the times it was on the way into Asia and again on the way out, with Hong Kong bookending two month trips into the magic of travels with Leslie. Now I’m with Jean and the magic is alive. It’s different, of course, but undeniably beautifully magical.

At the moment we’re on the big A-350 jet riding high and smooth above the mighty Pacific Ocean – the same Pacific we see from the deck of our home in Berkeley.

Life!

The first time in HK was a surreal respite from

Exactly 50 years ago, after R&R in HK

war. I stayed in an anonymous hotel, had anonymous sex with several women (I was anonymous; they were anonymous), drank a lot, hung out with several British soldiers, rode the Star Ferry, ate at Ricky’s Café, drank more – one night I got everyone in a bar to stand while I stood on a table singing The Eyes of Texas, yeah – I was a piece of work alright – and most notably spent a few days with a nice Chinese girl. On the way back

to Vietnam, I got a

Jean resting at the (people’s) Fa Yuen Market

quart of gin and a bottle of champagne, which Jeff Wiseman, Mike Noumov, and I drank on an epic drunk at battalion headquarters on Hill 55 before I staggered back insensate into the war.

In 1978 when Leslie and I were living in Austin, she came home from work one day and asked what would I think about going to Thailand? Yes! Sure! We bought one-way tickets in the back room of a Thai grocery store going from Dallas to Hong Kong to Bangkok.

That first time we stayed in a place in the Chung King Mansions. Leslie was nauseated every time we got into the back hallways. We rode the very funky, very small elevators crowded in like sardines with people from across the world – Indians, Arabs, Europeans, Africans, not many Americans. I would wake at 2 or 3 in the mornings and sit all folded up in the tiny, tiny bathroom reading a Larry McMurtry book. We rode the Star Ferry, ate at Ricky’s, and walked and walked and walked, high on life. Then onward to Thailand, Burma, Nepal, and on around the world.

The view from our room

In 2005, David and Jeff and I were there on our pilgrimage back to Vietnam (for Jeff and me) and the first visit to Cambodia (David’s other homeland). We stopped off in HK on the way in and the way out of Asia. Sometime during those days I was riding the Star Ferry alone (I thought probably my last ride). There was a little girl and her father sitting directly in front me. She was singing, first in Chinese, then in English,

“Row, row, row your boat,

gently down the stream,

Merrily, merrily, merrily,

Life is but a dream.”

The day before we left we were in Big John’s Café, a small place in Tsim Sha Tsui, and on the sound system was,

“Those were days, my friend,

We thought they’d never end,

Writing on the Cathay Pacific plane

 

We’d sing and dance forever and a day.

We’d live the life we choose

We’d fight and never lose,

 

Those were the days,

Oh yes those were the days.”

And so it has been.

And now it’s three hours before we land (we slept for about six hours)… Jean and I in our life together, 22 months and still our magic unfolding. I’m writing and Jean is creating art – because that’s what she does. My jukebox is playing Brandi Carlisle, Chopin, Van Morrison…

These are the days.

These are the days that

Wonton noodle soup (shrimp) at Tsim She Kee

will last forever,

You got to hold them

In your heart.

I’m so high!

In the Fa Yuen Market (photo by Jean)

Two nights ago we went to a party at Peter N R’s house. It was a total Berkeley party. Stood out front smoking a joint. Inside the question arose, who was Joe Hill? Three people broke into song – “I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night, alive as you and me.” Someone was talking enthusiastically about her meditation teacher. I laid a little something from the Bible on her – “In my Father’s house are many

Tsim Sha Kee

rooms.” Jean danced, I didn’t. An old friend of hers and I talked about how just because someone is gone from our lives doesn’t mean that they have to really be gone. Jean and I were talking with a Jewish woman and Jean said, “I have Jewish guilt.” I could see the woman prepping for something weird. Jean said, “I’m the only person who didn’t bring any food.” LMAO.

From Victoria Peak

New Years Day lunch with David and Charles and John and Sherry at a restaurant on the water in San Francisco. David updated

Jean’s Global Entry on his iPad. We talked of music and writing and art and life.

“Baby, ain’t it all worthwhile.”

Tuesday I went to San Francisco to see David. We talked about travel and Leslie and what David said a few days about he and his Mom and I never really had any issues – any big anger or angst – it has always been all of us trying hard, knowing what we have, just like now.

Life!

A couple of days later (night before last): I went for an evening walk along the crazy crowded streets and saw a place I had looked for several times since David and Jeff and I were in HK in 2005. It was Big John’s Café. I had wanted to take Leslie there, but never could find it, and now here it was! The next morning Jean and I went there for breakfast. On the sound system was The Sounds of Silence.

On the Star Ferry. Deep personal meaning to this photo

Life is a miracle!

 

Common regrets/questions at the end of life, The Shield of Achilles

I was listening to World One Radio the other morning. Someone was talking about regrets at the end of life and by some miracle I had pen and paper at hand. Below is more or less what the person said – I was struck by the similarities to what I used to teach in hospice training and similar forums. I’ve added to the WorldOne list based primarily on what I taught (and still believe).

What this is about is that we have our life; we have our choices; this is it – no second chances except within the context of this life. In other words, it’s not too late. It’s getting late, but it’s not too late. Common regrets/issues at the end of life include, I wish I had…

Been truer to myself.

Been more loving toward the people who matter the most (what really matters in life is love).

Been a better spouse, parent, child.

Had the courage to express my feelings.

Stayed in touch with friends.

Not worked so hard.

Taken more risks.

Taken better care of myself.

Done more for others.

Let myself be happier and enjoy life more.

(One who sees the way in the morning will gladly die in the evening.)

—————-

The Shield of Achilles

Some years ago I knew a man who had been a doctor in the Iraqi army during the Iran-Iraq War in the 1980s. About 1,000,000 people (half combatants, half civilians) were killed in the desert and trenches and artillery and human wave attacks and poison gas and horror. Since that war, the following poem has resonated in me in an awful way.

Now a question arises, will America fight the next war against North Korea or against Iran? Here are some lines from The Shield of Achilles (WH Auden, 1955).

A plain without a feature, bare and brown,

No blade of grass, no sign of neighborhood,

Nothing to eat and nowhere to sit down,

Yet, congregated on its blankness, stood

An unintelligible multitude,

A million eyes, a million boots in line,

Without expression, waiting for a sign.

 

Out of the air a voice without a face

Proved by statistics that some cause was just

In tones as dry and level as the place:

No one was cheered and nothing was discussed;

Column by column in a cloud of dust

They marched away enduring a belief

Whose logic brought them, somewhere else, to grief.

—————-

I feel sick

 

 

Honor Thy Daughter (Review of the book by Marilyn Howell)

Honor Thy Daughter is the story of a mother and daughter’s journey through cancer. The daughter (Mara) has a highly aggressive colon cancer. Her mother (Marilyn) is the primary caregiver and the chronicler – what a time, what a terrible journey they had!

Mara

This was difficult to write. I felt that I should truly honor this book, these people, these truths. I hope that I have, to some extent. In the end, I used Marilyn’s words.

—————

Mara experiences the reality of some cancers: one treatment failure after another and symptoms, especially pain, uncontrolled for the most part. The physical disease is exacerbated by Mara’s difficulties in accepting the realities she is facing – she fights the disease, the dying, the realities of being young and beautiful and dying. Her mother supports her in this and in all Mara’s other responses to the disease. Both mother and daughter hope against hope that the cancer will be cured or at least slowed. To these ends, Mara tries virtually every treatment she is offered or can find – mainstream and alternative. Nothing works. The cancer progresses and the symptoms worsen. It’s a hard road. There are respites, but the direction (toward the end of life) remains the same.

I experienced this as a difficult book. The valley of the shadow of death is a tough place. For me, personally there was an eerie sameness in Mara’s experience and the year and few months I spent taking Phana to chemo and other appointments. Phana and Mara’s tumors (primary colon) were basically the same, as were their ages and the progression of the disease. Hours and hours and hours in the infusion room, waiting rooms, exam rooms, the car… But of course, Phana wasn’t my daughter.

I don’t recall if Marilyn ever says this directly, but it seems to me that what she was doing was practicing a radical acceptance of her daughter’s path through cancer – fully supporting Mara’s every decision. “It wasn’t until I returned home that I realized how much fear and grief I had been holding in check. I stepped into my house, shut the door, and screamed” (p. 52).

150 pages into the book, with the cancer spread to lungs, liver, and elsewhere; with pain uncontrolled; with nausea, vomiting, and other GI problems worsening; with weight loss and weakness increasing, with despair… Mara and her mother connect with a man (“Allan”) who is able to give Mara accurate doses of MDMA. She takes MDMA several times and each time she experiences clarity, relief from pain (the first relief since the cancer began progressing), and the return of appetite. But the symptoms return after the drug wears off. She also uses marijuana and LSD, both of which help, but still, the symptoms return. Finally…

“On Saturday morning, September 10th, it was nearly impossible to awaken her. Finally, at midday, she was alert enough for me to ask her if she wanted to take MDMA. Mara mustered all her strength to say yes before returning to her restless sleep – gasping for breath and moaning… I put a tablet under her tongue.

Her breathing gradually steadied and her body grew peaceful…

David stroked Mara’s hair as I read (from This Timeless Moment by Laura Huxley). Those words, my voice, and her father’s caress told Mara that we accepted her passing, that her death could be noble, and that she was not alone.

All at once she began to move. She took her right hand from beneath the covers, reached across to place it in her father’s palm, lifted her chin, opened her eyes, and turned her head toward him. She was radiant. In that moment, she was beautiful again. With her last breath she conveyed the rapture of her being, life’s final gift to her, and her final gift to us.”

—————-

And we live and we breathe and we have our being (Van Morrison).

—————-

Marilyn Howell, 2011. Honor Thy Daughter. MAPS (Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies). Note that MDMA, psilocybin, LSD, and marijuana are being given to people with terminal illness and despair in research studies at Harvard, NYU, USC, and other institutions.

First post: Vietnam

At the DMZ – with 1/9, “The Walking Dead”

This post (a repost of part of my first web page, 2007) marks the transition from blogspot to my own web address (ckjournal.com). Thanks David!

American Dream…

To Dwight Laws, KIA 10/30/66 inside the company perimeter near Hill 55
To Lurch Donohue, KIA 3/1/67 in a deserted ville near Route 4
To Jerry Georges, KIA 3/23/67 at the Hill 55 bridge

They were good men. We were young. They could have lived a long time.

Photo: me, Mike Noumov, Jeff Wiseman at the rear on Hill 55 on my return (bearing gifts) from R&R. Over and over again we were playing the Byrds album with Turn! Turn! Turn! on it – “a time to be born, a time to die; a time to kill, a time to heal; a time to laugh, a time to weep; a time for peace, I swear it’s not too late.” Do you think that wasn’t blowing our minds? (4 of the first 5 photos are mine; the rest by someone else; all are taken at places/battles I was in.)

Here is the whole story of how Donohue was killed. For the first 10 or so years after I came home, there was never a day that I didn’t run this through my mind at least once – like some kind of video. I gave my compulsive rumination a name: How Donohue Got It. Then in 1978 I spent a week in a retreat with Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, Stephen Levine, and others. That was the first time I told this aloud. The second time was with my brother, Jeff (who identified Donohue’s body back at battalion). I seldom think of this now.

We were on patrol north of the bend in Route 4, the dirt road that went by C Company’s

My gun at the DMZ. Ready to rock.

position. There were no civilians left in this area (where 1/9 got its name, The Walking Dead) – a ghostly overgrown area of deserted villes, fields, and woods. Donohue was my A-gunner. We were digging in the first night of the patrol and he wasn’t doing his part of the digging. I asked him what was going on and he had trouble answering, but finally said he wasn’t going to make it. He was really sad. I said something like, “Bullshit, man – we’ve been here too long to not make it.” I dug us in and gave him a smoke (though I don’t remember that he smoked – I’m not sure about this – maybe I just wish I’d given him a cigarette). But he was inconsolable. He knew.

Operation Prairie. Real shit, man.

Charles Kemp during Operation Deckhouse. Later that day we had several tanks blown away.

The next day we saddled up and I gave him my machine-gun. Not too much greater love than to give up your gun for another man – because my gun was my hope, my friend, my ticket home. I loved that gun; and I was pretty good with it. Please allow me to introduce myself … We moved out, into a deserted ville. I was walking left flank point and came to a hedgerow of bamboo with a closed gate the only way through. Going through that gate was death – no question about it, there was a mine somewhere with the gate. I was crouched down, trying to figure out a way to stay on line and not be killed when there was a powerful explosion off to my right and someone started yelling, “Corpsman up! Corpsman up!” In a heartbeat I knew Donohue was the explosion.

I took off up the trail to the right and there was a man standing frozen in the trail still shouting for a corpsman and my recollection is that I ran literally up and over him (though how could that be?) and there was Donohue. He was on the ground with both legs blown off. I was beside him and saw that one stump was left with shattered bone sticking out and his guts were spilled out of where the other one had been. He was still alive! He was moaning and moving around a little. I was on my knees beside him and we were receiving fire by then. I was struggling with whether to go ahead and finish him off, because he was definitely going to die and even if he didn’t die, what was the use of going on like that. Then life went out of him. I’m grateful I didn’t kill him. I joined in on the firefight and then

At the Hill Fights (“the first battle of Khe Sanh”)

it was quiet; and then I had to find my gun as it wasn’t by the body. I remember walking through the bushes and trees looking for the gun and there were little pink/grey gobbets of Donohue everywhere and on my face and hands too. The smell. I found one of his feet before I found my gun. The foot was heavy and the gun was out of commission. For some reason this whole deal was the last straw – just too much. I mean, what for?

OR in bunker at Khe Sanh

I pretty much lost hope after that. We had been in the field for about eight months: out on patrol 3-4 days, back to company for a day, out for a night ambush, another day in, and back out on patrol 3-4 days – week after week, month after month and every day, at least one casualty. I realized there were hardly any of the original men left. By then it was a company of mostly fucking new guys and there was nobody I wanted to even talk to.

I was also having weird thoughts. Like maybe I could just walk out of the perimeter a couple of klicks to a ville we’d been through a few times where a one-legged girl lived (lotta one-legged people in them parts) and I could take her an adjustable crutch so she wouldn’t have to walk in the bent and twisted way she walked with her too-short stick of a crutch. A time to heal. Or maybe I could slip out and maybe run across a VC or two and instead of killing each other we could sit down in a clearing somewhere and drink a bottle of whiskey together and have some smokes and talk about our girlfriends. You know, have a good time. Be normal. A time to laugh. These sounded like really good ideas to me and I was thinking about them a lot – all the time. Now I realize that I’ve spent much of the past 40 years taking a crutch to that girl – and I have miles to go before I sleep.

Dinner time

A few weeks after Donohue was killed we were out on a night ambush and ran into another patrol from our company. The word had not been passed that we were going to meet. I was on point and when I saw the first man in the dark – like about 10 feet away, man – I started shooting. I shot the point man of the other patrol in the leg, hip, and chest (lucky for him I was carrying an M-14 instead of the 60); and the man behind me shot him in the chest with a grenade launcher. I remember watching one of my rounds (tracer) hit him and fly off at an angle – which was pretty far out. We were so close that the M-79 round didn’t spin enough to arm, hence didn’t explode and ended up lodged in his neck. Incredibly, he lived. There was an article in Stars and Stripes about the surgery to remove the M-79 round. I don’t remember the name of the man I shot, except that we called him the Red-Headed Mexican and he was a good guy. I remember (before I shot him) him going crazy in Dodge City (Thuy Bo) and charging a VC position right after Zamora was killed. Three helicopters shot down right there that day. 13 KIA and 66 WIA that operation. Keep on rockin in the free world. And now I know his name because a few weeks ago I read a copy of the article about the incident! Raymond Escalera. The article said I shot him only once. There was an investigation and not long after I was transferred out of 1/26.

Sometimes, in a dream
You appear

Thank you Jeff. To everything, Turn! Turn! Turn! there is a season, Turn! Turn! Turn! And a time to every purpose under heaven, Turn! Turn! Turn!

A gunner (like me) at Khe Sanh. Cleaning his weapon. Goddam, good gun, good smokes.

I started at MCRD San Diego, then Infantry Training Regiment & Machine Gun School; Camp Pendleton & las Pulgas for Special Landing Force training. On to Subic Bay & Olongapo (oh, how we partied, like doomed youth) in the Philippines; first landing southern South Vietnam (1st casualties); second landing Deckhouse & Prairie for serious battles (photo from Operation Prairie – yeah, man, it’s real); Hill 55 & Dodge City (snipers, mines, occasional firefights & some battles – see above); Dong Ha & Hill Fights (168 KIA, but it took awhile); also at Con Thien, Gio Linh, and Khe Sanh, though not for long in these last three. If there was a sound track to this section it would be Sympathy for the Devil, maybe Gimme Shelter. We won every battle and beat back very attack, but America lost its will and lost the war. Nice work, so-called “greatest generation.” All told, 13 months

A beautiful sight

in combat (well, you know, not every day) in the two provinces (Quang Nam & Quang Tri) accounting for 25% of the US KIA (I think there are 20 or more provinces in VN); Danang, The World. God. I’m alive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beautiful Christmas, Phana, days into days, a day on Mount Tamalpais, Esalen couples massage, How to Survive a Plague, Book About Love, Massage class notes

Jean on Mount Tamalpais
It was a beautiful Christmas with Jean, David, and Charles, despite a death in the family. This Christmas was a time to enjoy and to savor vs. endure as in the previous year (and previous six for Jean). Jean gave me an art coat and a book on love and I gave her a lithograph and a book. A time to be born. I flew to Dallas Christmas afternoon (see below) and Jean flew in a few days later and we celebrated the New Year together. Though we were a little under the weather it was a good time.  
Amidst the joy, sadness. I got the call two days before Christmas that Phana had passed away. We spent a lot of time together over the past one and a half years – long, long days of chemotherapy, hospitals and doctor’s offices in Houston and Dallas, endless hours in the car. Phana was young and in some ways, unfulfilled, yet she went through illness and death with bravery and equanimity – and so fulfilled that last thing: an honorable death.
David and Jake, CK, Phana – Ocean Beach, August 2015
David and I flew to Dallas on Christmas day for the funeral the next day. He spoke at the service. A sad day.
Back in Berkeley, back home, we were in a time of transition, which can be difficult. But that’s the nature of things – changes, changes. (Looking out of the bus window going past the Berkeley Art Museum I see a young man holding an older man sagging in his arms.)
Days rolling into days. These are the days… of the endless summer… days upon days in Paradise. Magical mornings – waking sometime between 6 and 7, coffee in bed, watching the astounding changes of colors and clouds in the sky through the double doors with the Bay below and Mt. Tamalpais in the distance, and out of bed around the crack of 9. A bowl of fruit and yogurt with toast and almond butter for breakfast.
Grateful Dead Night at Ashkanaz – where we go dancing
Most days I go into the City to see David: Number 7 bus to downtown Berkeley, BART to Embarcadero, MUNI to Castro, walking the stairs of Harvey Milk Plaza past the rainbow escalator to the corner of Market and Castro. Walking down the avenue to meet David for lunch (Starbelly, Harvey’s, the Vietnamese place, Kasa, the usual places). Life unfolding – ahhhh – so beautiful!
Today coming up out of the subway with Bombay Calling (It’s a Beautiful Day) on my headphones flashing back to being in a little room in the Bombay airport with Leslie very sick and there was nothing to do but give her water and watch the cockroaches crawling on the wall… when you’re in a dream, time passes so slowly, time passes so slowly, open up your heart…

Back to MUNI, BART, Berkeley bus, home to Jean’s house hanging high above the San Francisco Bay.

Sunset over the Golden Gate (from deck)

(In the past months I’ve spent more time looking at the sky than ever before in my life.)
In the evening, sunset, a glass of wine before dinner, and after dinner, tea and a bowl. Last night we “made hand love” – just hand to hand – for an hour or more. These are the days!!!
Two-three times/week we have dinner or otherwise meet up with some of Jean’s group (tribe?) of friends.
Mt. Tam., Pacific Ocean
On a beautiful January day (1/31) we drove to the Pacific side of Mount Tamalpais. We walked along the Bolinas Ridge Trail, then on unnamed trails along the sensuous rounded hills rolling off the mountain to a place in the sun and trees overlooking the sea on one side and the hills on the other side. In the sun, in the wind, in the golden afternoon, on the soft hilltop talking of love, of people we love, of regrets, now dancing in the sun, embracing. Oh! As the sun began to set and the cool rolled in we walked – a long walk – back to the car. San Francisco rising like Atlantis in the far distance. Hail Atlantis! It was an epic drive home. Neither of us felt like eating, so we took a long deep bath together in the warm candle-lit bathroom.
Charles and Jean 
“The best days are the ones when I look around at all these people in my life, these people in my heart, and I think, This is it.” 
We got a massage table for Christmas and have each been getting a long massage at least once every week. We spent last weekend (2/4-5) in little hippie town in Marin County at a Esalen couples massage workshop. There were two other couples signed up, but both cancelled, so it was just Jean and me with the instructor, Nora. Somewhere along the line we both realized Nora is a master teacher. We had a beautiful and very valuable experience, learning and practicing some basics of Esalen massage.
Saturday night (after the first day of class), we went to a dinner party at Linda and Frank’s art house. To me, the dinner/gathering was an installation within an installation. Someone at the party asked why we took the course/what is this massage about (those were more or less the questions). Good question:

San Francisco in the far distance from Mt. Tam
  • Esalen massage is about the connection between the person giving and the person getting the massage… loving, expressing love, receiving love, uniting.
  • It’s about feeling good deep inside, a sense of well-being.
  • Relaxing.
  • Esalen massage is about opening to self, connecting, experiencing one’s own (and another’s) body and mind.


Notes from the class are at the end of this post.
I’ve read two books in the past month. How to Survive a Plague by David France is an account of the AIDS epidemic and the appalling lack of response on the part of the government, healthcare system, and society to the suffering and death of gay men – and the magnificent efforts of AIDS activists such as the ACT-UP group to force a response.
The book is a triumph of love and strength.
I lived in the Castro for about two years, first with Leslie and then alone. I loved it. I was surrounded by people hated and attacked for being – and their individual and community response? They take the word “gay” to describe themselves and their culture. They dance. They hold together. They create. They BE. We be. 

The Castro

Michael Callen (one of the early AIDS activists), on Christmas day, 1993:
“… just repeats like a mantra: life is good. Life is good.”
“I realize some people could look at my life and say, ‘Oh it was so sad. He died of AIDS and isn’t that tragic.’ But what I want to come through is that even after all the pain and all the torture, and even having AIDS, I can honestly say that being gay is the greatest gift I was ever given. I wouldn’t change it for the world.”
When all his friends had spoken their farewells that afternoon, Callen signed his last will and testament and then turned up the dial on his morphine drip, sliding into a deep and lasting sleep.
The other book is A Book About Love by Jonah Lehrer, given to me by Jean. It started out as kind of a feel-good book, then turned into something deeper. Ultimately it was an extravagant affirmation of living life and loving to the fullest. Loving in the face of joy, suffering, work, getting tired of it all, in the face of death, in need, in strength and weakness, for better, for worse, in life.

Meeting of minds: Marcia and Jean in Marcia’s garden

“The best days are the ones when I look around at all these people in my life, these people in my heart, and I think, This is it.”  



Esalen couples massage notes, taken at Nora Matten’s class, 2/4-5/2017 
(website: http://www.noramatten.com/)
Have supplies ready, warm room, music, lighting.
Begin with talking about intentions, connecting with the other person, dancing each part of the body, mindfulness meditation.
Start – back
Bolster under ankles.


From beginning, work to relax the person.
LEs and UEs, use deeper strokes except with varicosities, injuries, etc.
Up-strokes are more invigorating (increased force) and down-strokes are more calming (decreased force).
Avoid surprises, be intentional re everything. Commit to the stroke.
Work with one foot back (sometimes), heart open, 
Come into myself, including awareness of pain, discomfort…
3-fold towel under shoulders diagonally
Introducing myself… Slowly lower hands to lower back and behind the heart. Not doing, just being. Breathe. Breathe with the person.
There is a beginning (pause, rocking, long strokes), middle (detail work), end (long strokes, pause).
Jean: Push – rocking.
Now “long, flowing strokes… signature of Esalen massage” – entire body, including head. SLOW. Always come back to this – integrating.
Pause, still integrating.
Stay comfortable.
After long and slow, pull sheet partially down, then fold to center of body.
Oil hands and arms – will use both.
Start shoulders, back… three dimensional, circular… follow the 3-D landscape. Reach over and pull up on side. Commit to the stroke – complete, e.g., off toes and fingers. Go slow. Use forearms – for increased weight.
Sit with sheet over leg to work on shoulder.
Hands, inclu ROM


Then bring arm forward to rest on stool.

Photo from the showers at Esalen, beside massage rooms

Always come back to the long strokes.
Head now or after pulling sheet up.
LEs, inclu toes. ROM.
Draw sheet slowly up. Stroke on top of sheet.
Come to child’s pose. Lift sheet so can turn over.
Face up
Adjust bolster to under knees, towel under head.
Long and slow.
Work on shoulder and chest.
Pause
Go under shoulder, embracing.
Arms, hands (interlock fingers), rotate wrist.
Long and slow
Pause

Legs
Finish long and slow all the way off feet
Head last
Roll with hands
Face, brows, easy on temple, ears, occiput, scalp
Use towel to roll head side to side – towel over eyes.
Finish long and slow all the way off feet.

Love and magic, the sadness, Star of David, I care about/don’t care about, courage, post-election

Love and magic
Reading each word, each phrase, each one slowly with reflection. What’s left out?
💕 Love is a feeling, where everything is right – open hearts and minds and communication and synchronicity and commitment and seeing all the beauty and hope and fragility of one another and caring for each other (caring more about the other than self) and the tenderness and discovery and sex and romance and sensuality and acceptance and clear, open communication and depending on one another and softness around one another and around the love and around this life …
💕 Magic – the love is ramped up, intensified (Sometimes talking of love for hours and hours makes sense – what else is there?), kissing caressing making love for hours and hours, intoxicated with one another, pretty much completely in synch, taking the utmost care of one another, it’s the greatest thing …
💕 How? Surrender, pay attention to one another, look for all the magic and beauty in one another, believe that magic is real and possible, put selves into magical places and activities, magical music, accept times of less magic, wide-open communication …
——————–

Talking with a little 5 year old mermaid named Beatrice, who asked, “Do you have kissy love in your heart?” “Oh yes!”

——————–
Getting ready to decorate Jean’s and my Christmas tree I got out my small collection of San Francisco Christmas ornaments. Opening the box/the Christmas season triggered a flood of emotion and I cried as I did in the first months after Leslie passed. It’s a hard, consuming crying that goes on and on and leaves me exhausted and sore all through my body. Jean helped me through part of it and left me alone at a good time.

Sunset from the deck

———————
One of the decorations we put on the tree is a Star of David (for Jean’s husband, David, who was Jewish). Jean wondered aloud about putting a Jewish symbol on a Christian symbol. I quoted from John 14: In my Father’s house are many rooms… Later these lyrics came through the speakers: In my Father’s house are many rooms.
———————-
I care about:
Being a good person.
Feeling good given/within whatever circumstances.
Loving you, Jean; being loved cared about.
Loving David.
In Vancouver
How you’re doing.
Being close/connected/making you happy.
Being beautiful – being beautiful for you.
Just beingwith you.
I don’t know how to say this, but I care about your vision, your expression, your art (not only what you produce). I’m digging your wisdom, too.
Experiencing nature/natural beauty.
Having beautiful, loving sex – pleasing you sexually – exploring one another’s sexuality.
Suffering in the world.
Justice.
John.
Friends and men in bible study group.
Who wins the election.
La Honda – before a magic night
People being nice to one another, especially parents being nice to children.
Growing, becoming, reaching toward my potential.
Being healthy.
Having or having had meaning – as in a life pattern.
Getting high, especially with you.
Being strong.
Having peak experiences.
Having enough money.
Being respected by people I respect.
Looking good.
Low stress, no conflict.
Being around kind people.
Living life effortlessly. 
Baking and things like that – I care but not all that much about these things.
I don’t care about:
What we eat, when we eat, where we eat.
Where, when, how we go, except that want to go with you.
Under the same sky, the same moon
Where we sit, when we go to sleep/awaken.
What I wear, except that I want to look good for you.
Manifesting much of anything other than decency and safety (Haha – actually, I want to manifest cool).
Who wins the football game.
——————
In November
Falling in love in these days/this age takes courage. One will pass, one will grieve (though surely not as long, nor as terribly as before). Eyes wide open.
————————
Political/cultural comment
We came so close, and then we lost it. The reasons are complex, I guess. Someone else can figure it all out.
My friend, Janet said, ”…everything we worked so hard for…” And for so long. Ah, what a beautiful vision we had.
I think we may be on the threshold of a time of tribulation. I have no idea what form(s) it might take.
What to do after Trump election? (Answers evolving)
Live our normal lives, working on love and acceptance and meaning and growth… manifest these things.

Indian Path 

Now, more than ever, be a living mudra (symbolic gesture) of the potentials in life. Lift up (with energy, with money) positive forces, in my case World One Radio (http://worldoneradio.org/), my son’s high school, hospice – especially the Presbyterian hospice in Dallas, Atrium Obscurum, other entities. Be kind to others, friends and strangers.
I need to remember that long-ago boddhisatva vow: to liberate all sentient beings. It ain’t easy lol. I’m not done with myself.


–>

Lay it all on the line at the right time. No need for fear… we’ve all faced at least this much before.
——————-
And the bodies move and we sweat
And we have our being
Van Morrison, Daring Night